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[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 99:  Ill Tidings

~Soldier’s Peak~

Saykor stumbled up the path to Soldier’s Peak. He thought informing Riordan and Nathaniel was a bit like telling Oghren about Branka, “Only this time we might be able to do something.” He trudged up the steps and entered the Peak. Riordan and Nathaniel were sitting at one end of the large table with papers spread between them. Saykor studied the senior Warden closely, “You look healthy enough,” he grunted.

 

Riordan cocked his head and lifted one eyebrow, “I am, thank you. You, however, look tired. What is the news from the Vigil that you had to come yourself?” He gestured for Saykor to sit and eat.

 

“According to Nathaniel you should be near insane if not dead from your Calling,” he answered gruffly and bit into the warm bread. “It’s why he didn’t return to Amaranthine and asked Stroud to continue as interim Commander.”

 

Nathaniel blinked, “I assure you, sir dwarf, I said no such thing.”

 

“Clearly something is amiss. We received a nearly illegible note from Alistair saying he still hadn’t heard from the First and suggested that Nathaniel remain here until he had a more definite timetable. He apologized for his lousy handwriting but he suffered an injury to his arm during sparring practice. The words themselves were not out of character,” Riordan frowned. “It seemed odd that we heard no further, but I concluded that the First Warden was not happy with Alistair and making difficulties.”

 

Saykor shook his head, “Nope, he left on schedule. There’s more, Anders was ambushed.”

 

“What?” Riordan and Nathaniel exclaimed in unison.

 

Saykor stopped eating and took a long drink of ale. He shook his head, “The Not-nows and the exchange Wardens were split into groups and sent to different parts of Ferelden. These Cumberland Wardens, they showed up a few days ago, said they were interested in the Architect and the Children; they asked if Anders could show them the Architect’s lab and then Kal’Hirol. Stroud hesitated but he didn’t see any reason not to grant them their request. I guess it seemed reasonable enough,” he admitted grudgingly. “He may even have thought it would be good for Anders; he told him he couldn’t take his cat with him on patrol anymore. That cat, I swear it has it in for Stroud. Or did, I think Ser Pounce-a-lot is with your sister Delilah.”

 

“Anyways, Velanna and I agreed something wasn’t right so we followed them at a distance. I wish we’d been closer but the stone is settled now. I don’t know who the templars were, but they were waiting in a clearing. The Cumberlands left after handing him over. That mage put up a pretty powerful fight, Justice with him; I thought he was going to die for sure when there was . . . it was like a blue explosion. Justice fell and Anders destroyed all the others before he collapsed. He must not have been down long because when we got there he was gone. Only dead bodies remained. We decided I would come here and Velanna would watch the Vigil.” He told them everything he knew leading up to the ambush.

 

They debated their options the rest of the night. If they acted precipitously then the Arling, so recently victimized by darkspawn and Bann Esmerelle’s treachery, might descend again into chaos and all the ground Alistair gained would be lost. It seemed that whatever machinations were in play were against Alistair specifically and not against the Wardens.

 

“I think,” Riordan began, “this is perhaps not a conspiracy against Alistair but an act against an insubordinate Commander. Let us examine the chain of events, the First Warden orders Alistair to Weisshaupt, an order which was refused. No matter the reasoning, I doubt the First was happy.”

 

“No action was taken against Alistair in Ferelden, nor was it taken openly. Her Majesty gave the arling to the Wardens, not Alistair specifically. As long as there is an acting Commander to handle the dual responsibilities of the position then technically all is well. To me it seems clear that the goal is not to destabilize the Arling, which would give the crown a reason to take it away from the Wardens.”

 

“Mistress Woolsey must be in communication with the First. He sent her, after all,” Nathaniel remarked shrewdly.

 

“Yes, I have no doubt she has been his eyes and ears all along. She clearly disapproved of many of his decisions and so her reports surely have influenced First Warden Amaz. He may even feel removing Alistair is better for the Grey Wardens as a whole than keeping him in a leadership position. He has served his purpose,” Riordan shrugged and frowned. “For the sake of discussion let us say she has been given latitude to ‘clean up Alistair’s mess.’ I think it reasonable to assume the Cumberlands are her choice, her doing.”

 

“She never approved of Anders, either. I heard her more than once complain to the Commander he shouldn’t antagonize the templars; that he should turn the mage over to them. Every now and then, a group of them sniffs around, looking for signs that he’s ‘gone rogue.’ Nughumpers get real peeved when Alistair reminds them they have no jurisdiction and if they have nothing better to do to clear off and stay out of the way. He’s more polite, of course,” Saykor added.

 

“I shall go to Amaranthine.”

 

“But they think you’re half insane,” Saykor and Nathaniel protested.

 

“Yes, and they may not be convinced otherwise but of the three of us I know Stroud best. He is a good man with no liking for political manipulations. I doubt he is complicit in what is happening and perhaps he can help us,” Riordan frowned.

 

“I could go, after all it wouldn’t be odd for me to show up,” Nathaniel argued.

 

“You need to go to Highever and speak to Fergus Cousland,” Riordan shook his head. “I know it will not be easy but the only other people we can approach are Zevran and their Majesties. This would not go unnoticed. A trip to Highever, however . . .”

 

“And what about me? I could go to Highever,” the dwarf closely resembled his truculent cousin at that moment.

 

Riordan shook his head, “Nathaniel knows the way and can get there faster. You, my friend, need to be ready to go to Denerim and report to His Majesty all you have told us, just in case. Blake will be very angry if we do not tell him but I want more information before we go to the king of Ferelden. Think carefully about the last few weeks. Where did Woolsey and the Cumberlands go? Who did they talk to? Is there anything you observed which you ignored at the time but might have a different meaning with what we know now?”

 

Saykor sighed, “Very well. Sod it all. I know they’re friends, but will the king actually do anything? Politics and action aren’t always partners.”

 

It was the senior Warden’s turn to sigh, “Blake considers Alistair his brother as well as his friend. He is a very clever young man and will do everything in his power to get Alistair back to Ferelden. More than that, I cannot say.”

 

~Highever~

If he weren’t so worried about Alistair he would be dragging his footsteps. He was even tempted to turn around. He wasn’t proud of that fact but he wasn’t going to deny it either. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find Ser Mhairi and not have to face Fergus at all. “No, I have to speak to him. He is a Teyrn and has access to people that nobody can question.” He did want to speak to her first, anyway, so he went to the village only to be told she was up at the castle. He kept his hood up but some of the townspeople eyed him suspiciously.

 

When he reached the grove Fergus planted he stopped. He looked around at all the trees, “If I remember correctly Mouse said there was one cherry laurel for every three people who died; one bay laurel for each family member and friend,” he shook his head in sorrow, “and one plum tree for Connor.” He fingered the leaves on the young sapling, “Plums were his favorite fruit. Oh Father, how could you do this? When did you turn into a monster?”

 

“Nathaniel?” Ser Mhairi asked in surprise. “Why did you come here?” Mhairi could feel the grief pouring off of him and hoped Fergus, “I must remember to all him Teyrn or my lord,” wouldn’t kill him on sight. She frowned when she heard there was trouble, “Follow me to the castle but keep your hood down. It won’t help if Lord Cousland thinks we’re trying to trick him into letting you inside.”

 

“Very well, I put myself in your hands,” Nathaniel agreed, “For all our sakes I hope you’re right.”

 

Fergus smiled when he heard Mhairi’s voice, “Mhairi, I didn’t expect you to return this evening, perhaps,” he turned around and all good humor fell away from him. Anger and hate quickly replaced surprise and hurt, hardening his face more than Nathaniel thought possible. Pain kept him rooted when Fergus rushed forward to attack.

 

Bravely, Mhairi positioned herself to defend Nathaniel, “Lord Cousland, please, don’t.” She might as well have slapped him, based on the look he gave her.

 

The Warden moved Mhairi aside, he wasn’t going to hide from the man or let another shield him, “Teyrn Cousland, I am not here to add to your grief. I can only tell you how incredibly sorry I am for your loss and if the situation wasn’t urgent . . . Let me explain and then I won’t stop you from killing me, if it will make you feel any better.” Nathaniel hoped his old friend would listen to reason, but in his place he wasn’t sure that he would.

 

“Wait for me in the study. I assume you remember the way,” Fergus spoke through teeth gritted so tight it was a small wonder his jaw didn’t shatter from the tension. His gaze burned Mhairi with accusations of betrayal before he stalked off.

 

Nathaniel flinched. Quietly he and the knight walked through the halls to the study. He could hear servants whispering but didn’t turn his head, afraid to see who was gone and replaced. “I see Mouse rearranged a few things,” he indicated the furniture casually grouped in front of the library fire, just like the Vigil. The sight heartened him a little, made him glad Fergus didn’t try to put it back exactly as it used to be. Inside the study he went straight to the portrait on the wall and stared at the faces of the Cousland family, “Is it my imagination based on memories or the artist’s skill that I see the closeness, pride and love between them? Fergus’ quick smile, Blake’s deviltry, Elissa’s sweetness and strength, Bryce and Eleanor’s confidence tinged with humor and compassion . . . there’s no fear in this portrait.”

 

Seeing Nathaniel again brought back all his pain. His head pounded from it. His hands shook with anger as he poured himself a large brandy. He gulped it down, hoping it would at least dull the agony he felt and keep him from killing his former friend. Or keep him from killing Nathaniel before he heard what the man had to say. He’d think about Mhairi later. He threw the empty glass into the fire, rolled his neck to ease his tension, and then walked to the study bearing the semblance of calm. Nate and Mhairi were talking.

 

“ . . . I remember one time we put frogs down the back of Delilah’s dress. I was confined to my room for a month. Father was livid, I don’t think I sat down for a week,” Nathaniel was smiling at the memory.

 

“I remember that, it didn’t help that Blake infested her room with them. She’d open a drawer and out popped a frog. Elissa scolded us and then refused to talk to us for days for the injury done to her friend,” Fergus recalled. He didn’t go in just yet.

 

Mhairi saw him but didn’t tell Nathaniel, who was still looking at the portrait, “That seems a rather harsh punishment for a boyish prank.”

 

Nathaniel snorted, “Maybe, but it put a definite crimp in his plans to marry her to Fergus. She refused to listen to him; she even threatened to join the Chantry if he so much as hinted at the possibility. Knowing Delilah she would have done just that.” He shook his head fondly and turned around, “Fer-, Teyrn Cousland. I didn’t realize you were at the door.”

 

Fergus entered and sat down behind his desk; he wanted a barrier between him and them. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t bother with civilities.

 

“Alistair is long overdue and nobody has heard from him since he first arrived at Montsimmard,” Nate started to relay all the recent events. Fergus scowled, thinking of all the complications, but didn’t interrupt. When Nathaniel was finished nobody spoke for several minutes. Finally they agreed that Fergus should discreetly assess the situation in Amaranthine from the banns’ perspective while Mhairi would accompany Nathaniel to Orlais.

 

“Soup and a cold buffet are set up in the small dining room; I didn’t know how long we would be. I’ll inform the stable master to have horses ready for you both in the morning,” Fergus coolly informed them. He didn’t look at Nathaniel, “Warden, you might as well spend the night in one of the guest rooms; you’ll be safer here than in the village. Probably.” He nodded curtly and left them. He grabbed a loaf of bread and a bottle of whiskey and stalked upstairs to the family quarters. He didn’t want to spend another minute with the son of his family’s murderer.

 

The guard outside the family quarters was one of the few Highever soldiers to survive Ostagar. He’d been in service to the Couslands for years; his youngest son was squire to some of Teyrn Cousland’s men, “And I didn’t think that’d mean Master Fergus so soon. My brother lost his little girl to that murdering rat; hasn’t been the same since. Master’s having a bad night. It’s been months since he took a bottle into the rooms he shared with his wife and son. That Oren, he was a lively whelp,” he thought fondly. “It ain’t right, young Howe coming here and bringing back all those bad memories.” He frowned and shook his head to clear it.

 

He was still frowning when Howe and Mhairi came upstairs. Maker help him, he wanted to hate the son for the father’s deeds, but, “That boy looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks nearly as miserable as His Lordship.” He remembered when the men were just boys and inseparable, causing pies to mysterious disappear from the kitchen. Sometimes they let young Blake tag along behind, the little rogue just beaming. Poor Thomas just never seemed to catch up, “I heard he died fighting the darkspawn, like a proper Fereldan. The sister, what was her name again? Delilah, that’s it, for all the difference in years she and young Mistress Elissa were thick as thieves. Those girls had each other’s back when it came to the boys, scamps that they were. That seems like a long time ago.”

 

In his room Nathaniel was finding it difficult to sleep. The last time he was here he was visiting from the Free Marches. He brought candied plums for little Oren who would have made himself sick if Oriana didn’t ration them. “Fergus was so happy then, he loved his Antivan bride. Father was too blind to realize he was destroying the Howes as well as the Couslands.” Finally, too tired to stay awake, he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

 

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky when Nathaniel and Mhairi were ready to leave. Fergus stood at the top of the courtyard steps to see them off. An onlooker would have a difficult time deciding which man looked more haunted as they stared at each other. “They’re not the fastest horses but they’re strong goers; you should make good time. I hope you quickly find what you need.” Fergus then looked directly at Mhairi, “Safe journey. If you need anything, send word to me in Denerim.” He flicked a glance at Nathaniel, as if he couldn’t decide whether to say anything to his former friend.

 

“Thank you, my lord,” the rogue spoke in a low voice. “May our fears be for naught or at least quickly vanquished. Fortune follow you.”

 

“Take care of yourself, my lord,” the pretty knight also spoke softly. She looked like she wanted to say more but Fergus’ brooding expression deterred her. She got onto her horse and followed Nathaniel out of the castle grounds.

 

“Maker watch over you, Mhairi,” Fergus spoke to the empty air and went inside to get ready for his own journey.

 

~Vigil’s Keep~

He found Velanna, rather she found him, and they exchanged information. The Dalish mage agreed to keep watch for a while longer before heading to Soldier’s Peak and Saykor. “So, in the evenings Mistress Woolsey goes to the old village near the Vigil and uses it for her information. Smart to mostly use the Grey Warden falcons and hawks to send messages . . . I wonder who it is she meets on occasion.”

 

“Riordan,” Stroud was alone in his, or Alistair’s, office and raised an eyebrow when the senior Warden entered. “I never knew our Commanders had so much paperwork; I’ll show you the state of Voldrik’s repairs while you tell me what brings you to the Vigil. I could use a break away from this desk. Before you ask, the little girl is behind the stables preparing her garden.” They spoke on general matters until they were out of earshot, and nodded politely to Mistress Woolsey as they passed.

 

“I am glad the little one has found something to occupy her during Alistair’s absence. I admit I was worried about how she would cope during such a long separation.”

 

Riordan watched as Stroud automatically turned his gaze in the direction of her labors. A slight sneer crossed his face even as he brooded, “The little girl seems to be adjusting well enough.” He looked sideways at Riordan, “You didn’t come here to talk about the little girl, or were you hoping to ‘comfort’ her in her hour of need?”

 

“Well, well, this is unexpected,” Riordan thought with dismay. “She is my friend and I care for her very much. This is no secret. I was referring to her garden; to what . . . I see . . . you and she have ‘connected.’ I am relieved, for you are a man of honor.”

 

“I used to think so,” Stroud almost visibly tried to shake off his mood. “You are surprisingly perceptive. I have known many Wardens before they left for their last trip to the Deep Roads. You are not as close to your Calling as I believed.”

 

“And Alistair was not delayed as we were led to believe.” Stroud turned his full attention on his fellow Warden and waited. Riordan took the plunge, “For reasons I am not at liberty to share, this connection between you is a good thing. Alistair would agree, though he may not be happy about it.” The recruiter from the Free Marches frowned in confusion. He shook his head slightly and Riordan sighed, he dare not go further. “I am worried about Alistair.”

 

Stroud grunted, “So is the little girl. She is afraid he is being held prisoner. I did not believe her at first, but . . . the fact you are here and not delirious from your Calling does support her claim. There have been other indications; and I do not like the two Wardens from Cumberland. I don’t have the resources to investigate but take some comfort in the fact they should be gone soon enough.”

 

“They have done their damage. Their trip to Kal’Hirol was a ruse, though I suspect they went there after turning Anders over to templars.”

 

“What! I would not have chosen to conscript him but he is a Grey Warden and entitled to be treated as a brother. How do you know this?” Stroud was angry now. Riordan told him about Saykor’s arrival and the two false letters. He outlined their suspicions.

 

The Acting Commander viciously stroked his mustache, “Occasionally a rumor from Nevarra or Antiva filters to us in the Free Marches, rumors that First Warden Amaz is touched by megalomania. Nebulous, easily the result of dissatisfaction rather than a possible truth. He is not likely to be near his Calling, so either the trait was always within him or he is particularly susceptible to the taint. Either way, this does not bode well for Alistair. The little girl will be devastated,” he said with pity.

 

Later, “Riordan, what brings you to Vigil’s Keep?” Mistress Woolsey challenged him at dinner. She spoke quietly, with a smile, but it was still a challenge. Riordan explained that it was time for Nathaniel to have actual recruits to teach. Failing that, he would take the rogue to Orzammar and the Deep Roads. This was the cover story he and Stroud devised on the ramparts.

 

“That should be convenient for you,” Woolsey said, “since you are near your Calling.”

 

“I should have enough time to oversee his first class of recruits,” Riordan said mildly. “I admit to some bad dreams in which the battles of Denerim and Vigil’s Keep became combined. I believe he confused regular nightmares for something else. Perhaps I should clarify this for him. I apologize if he unduly alarmed you.”

 

“I am glad you are here, my Rio,” Jannasilane said softly as she joined them. She sat down between Riordan and Stroud, the only place left.

 

“You’re late,” Stroud said disapprovingly. He was unsettled with her next to him; usually she sat at the far end of the table. They ignored each other for the rest of the meal.

 

“The Acting Commander is doing well, though he dislikes all the paperwork,” Riordan and Jannasilane were in the library, along with some others. He trusted Stroud to inform her later so he made sure their conversation was innocent.

 

She sighed and laid her head on his chest when he draped his arm over her shoulders, “I believe so, though I see little of him. I spar sometimes but mostly I work on the garden. It will take much effort to get it properly in order. Nugflutter and Poorfella, they do not understand why I enjoy this so much. If I rolled around in the dirt . . . that they would comprehend. It, working with the earth, soothes me and makes me feel more connected.”

 

He chuckled a little and tried to ignore the buzzing in his head, “They are good companions. Did you know they approve of Stroud?” Riordan lowered his voice to a bare whisper, “Trust him. I am glad he is taking care of you, little one, I admit I was worried.” She stirred a little but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. He spoke in his normal voice, “As pleasant as it is to talk with you, I am tired. Tomorrow I leave for Denerim but I promise to take a look at your progress before I leave.” He stood and immediately stumbled.

 

“Rio!” Jannasilane cried out, “What is wrong?” He looked like he didn’t quite hear her and she repeated herself. She didn’t like how pale and disoriented he’d become. One of the guards went to fetch Stroud.

 

Riordan fought to focus, “Poison,” he whispered. “Buzzing, in my head, like the Calling, but not.” He gripped her shoulders hard in his effort to stay upright. “It must have been at dinner . . . Woolsey . . . or one of . . . the servants,” he thought.

 

“You do not look well, my friend, I shall assist you to your quarters,” Riordan felt Stroud moving his arms so that he could support him and help him walk.

 

“Apparently his Calling is closer than he thought,” Mistress Woolsey spoke with false concern. She and the Cumberlands entered the library soon after Stroud.

 

“I do not -” Stroud began only to be cut off by Riordan himself.

 

“Perhaps she is correct,” Riordan saw it in the Cumberlands’ eyes; tonight he was going to die. Carefully he veiled his expression in order to protect his friends, “If I am to die it will be as a Warden.” Jannasilane started to speak and he put a finger on her trembling lips, “I am sorry, little one. I will not be able to see your garden after all. Trust me when I say this is for the best.” He willed her to understand. He took a deep breath, then another, until he could stand on his own feet. He looked at Stroud, “Commander, there is an entrance to the Deep Roads far below the dungeons. Master Voldrik knows how to open and close the door. Please, let us proceed while I am still able.”

 

Stroud was glad his upbringing taught him to hide his feelings. No one present could tell he knew there was something wrong and it had nothing to do with the Calling. “You,” he barked an order at the nearest servant, “please fetch Voldrik at once and have him meet us at this door.” Mentally bracing himself he looked down at Jannasilane, “Little girl, find Varel and the other Grey Wardens; we shall give Riordan as proper a sendoff as we are able.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she snapped. Her eyes accused him of all manner of things and then she was gone.

 

“Be gentle with her, she is young and I am the last link to her father,” Riordan said quietly as they began to walk.

 

Stroud curled his lip slightly, “She needs to learn discipline, but, for the sake of our friendship, I will endeavor to remember your words.” He looked at Riordan to see if his friend understood. “Later, I will have to explain to the little girl. For now it is best if all see her anger at me.”

 

Jannasilane stood with Oghren, Sigrun, Voldrik, and Dworkin. She refused to look at Stroud when he entered behind Riordan. Behind him were the Cumberlands, Varel, and Garevel. Mistress Woolsey finally followed them down.

 

“In Peace, Vigilance. In War, Victory. In Death, Sacrifice.” Stroud’s solemn words touched them all, “For centuries this has been the motto of Grey Wardens everywhere, ever since the First Blight when Dumat rose as an Archdemon. Riordan, you have been our brother for many years, fighting darkspawn and protecting the citizens of Thedas. I can think of no higher praise than to say you have been a good Warden, an example to the Order. I salute you. You joined us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. You bravely and unwaveringly carried the duty that cannot be forsworn. Know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.” He bowed, and all the Wardens followed suit.

 

Riordan looked around at his friends, and the others, before speaking. He looked into Jannasilane’s eyes, “I have never regretted becoming a Grey Warden; have always considered it an honor even if a difficult one to uphold. I remember when I met two young, inexperienced, valiant, dedicated Wardens and the small woman who traveled with them. She may not be a Warden herself but as the daughter of my old friend, Duncan, she understands more than most. Little one, meeting the three of you in Ostagar that day warmed a heart which was beginning to tire. I am privileged to have been your friend. Have a good life, little one. Should I meet Duncan in the Fade I will be most pleased to tell him he has a daughter to make any man proud.”

 

Oghren pulled out a filthy bit of rag and noisily blew his nose, to Riordan’s amusement and the Woolsey’s disgust. Jannasilane flew into his arms, “I, too, am most glad we met. You have been a good friend, this is truth, and I will always carry you in my heart. And I am not small.”

 

“Ah,” Riordan framed her face with his hands and gently kissed the top of her head, “beautiful words from a beautiful woman . . . a most pleasant memory to take with me. Farewell, Duncan’s daughter, who will always stand tall in my mind.” He stepped away and faced the door, “Master Voldrik, if you please.” Without looking back he entered the waiting darkness.

 

They stood silent until his footsteps faded in the distance. Stroud told Voldrik to close the doors but one of the Cumberlands spoke up, “Sir? Have these tunnels ever been mapped? What if there’s another exit? Shouldn’t we . . .”

 

Stroud glared at the man, glad to have an excuse to vent some of his anger, “You impugn the honor and integrity of a man not here to defend himself? If you wish to follow him, do so. But know this, Ensign, when these doors close they will not open to an entreaty from the other side. Nor will I hold them open, subjecting the Vigil to possible darkspawn. Choose which side of the door you wish to be on and move. They close now.”

 

The Cumberland Warden looked around at the hostile faces staring at him and knew he’d made a mistake. Even his partner looked irritated. He quickly moved aside, “My apologies, Commander, I misspoke.”

 

When the doors were finally closed and locked, Jannasilane started to sniff. She looked at Stroud then, angrily, “You should have -”

 

“That’s enough, little girl. Show some restraint and respect for the man who just left us,” he spoke quietly, even though all he wanted to do just then was pick her up and comfort her.

 

She snarled, “Go . . . go hump a nug, you, you sodding stuffed shirt.” She thought he looked hurt for a moment but then she burst into tears and ran out of the room, Sigrun on her heels.

 

Oghren gave him a funny look, “We’ll look after Cherryplum, Commander. She just needs a good cry. And maybe some of my brew,” he walked out of the room.

 

Stroud turned to the remaining dwarves, “Thank you for your assistance, Master Voldrik. I am sure Riordan appreciated the presence of you and your brother.”

 

“That was a nice speech, Commander. Couldn’t have heard better in Orzammar,” Voldrik bowed and he left with his brother, who couldn’t resist a glare at the Cumberland Warden.

 

“You need to do something about that girl,” Woolsey warned. “She’s a disruptive influence.”

 

“Mistress Woolsey, I appreciate your advice but I am not going to kick her out of her home because she became overwrought during a particularly emotional time and called me names. I have been called much worse.” He tried to appease her, “I assure you I shall have a word with her once she is calm again.” Woolsey seemed satisfied if not thrilled with his response.

 

Stroud and Seneschal Varel were the last to leave. Just before entering the courtyard Stroud spoke quietly, “Varel, tomorrow I want you to quietly send someone to Amaranthine. Check the shipping schedule for travel to Cumberland. I don’t care if it’s a cargo vessel.”

 

Varel smiled tightly, “With pleasure, sir.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 100:  Tension in Amaranthine

She felt better in spite of her worries. The Beast was under control and relations with the man responsible much better. Stroud no longer left as soon as their ‘business’ was done. In the days after Riordan’s death he stayed with her until dawn was near, working towards friendship in spite of any lingering doubts he had. His previous contempt was now gone from their relations, “Jean-Marc does like to dominate, to control,” she smiled to herself.

 

He felt her smiling, stirring the hairs on his chest and sending a pleasant tickling sensation to his groin. He smiled in return, “What is causing you to smile, little girl? Supreme satisfaction?” This, he supposed togetherness was as good a word as any, was new to him and it sometimes worried him how much he enjoyed their recent closeness. His past arrangements were satisfactory, even pleasant, but never reached below the surface or threatened his Grey Warden detachment. Those women were easily forgotten and, he supposed, he was no more to them than they were to him. The little girl snuck past his wall of aloofness without him even realizing it. He was even sleeping better, with no nightmares, because he was more relaxed with her and finally honest with himself. So he assumed.

 

Jannasilane snickered in response before protesting, “I am not little.”

 

“Hmmm, let me check,” he squeezed a well-rounded rear and then filled his hands with her breasts. He fondled them affectionately, “Perhaps not, but you will always be ‘little girl’ to me.” He lightly caressed her behind and held her close to him. He didn’t know what secrets of hers Riordan alluded to before his death, “murder, for that is what it was,” but his words gave him pause. If a man he knew and respected for several years had nothing but praise and affection for her; was happy that she was with another man temporarily (the word ‘temporary’ hurt), then perhaps his own judgment or condemnation of her was wrong. He realized he wanted to think badly of her for his sake because it gave him the illusion that he didn’t care for her. He wasn’t proud of that. Once he faced the fact of his own ill-placed affection for the Commander’s woman he clearly perceived that she condemned herself more than he ever had. Was he completely comfortable about their relationship? No, but, “Whatever demons ride the little girl, I will no longer make it worse for her. She loves Alistair; I have no wish to destroy that. I could never be right for her in the long run, give her the understanding or freedom that he does. Instead I will strive to be her friend and take pleasure in this brief interval.”

 

He remembered one night when he tied her wrists to the bed frame while she slept, thinking to introduce a new element to their play. He planned to remove them immediately if she asked but as soon as she realized what he’d done she fought like a wild animal. She nearly broke her wrists in an effort to get away until he was finally able to slice through the fine silk. She kicked at him and rolled off the bed and backed into a corner, watching him warily, eyes wide, breathing heavily, and picking at the cloth still wrapped around her wrists. It took hours to calm her down and for her to let him approach her. The minute he touched her she curled into a ball and started to cry, harsh sobs that broke his heart. She was crying too hard to protest when he pulled her into his embrace and held her tightly against him. He whispered soft words of apology; between sobs she told him about Fort Drakon and he cursed himself for a fool. He didn’t realize the level of brutality she suffered but he should have guessed.

 

“I can feel you thinking, little girl,” he said lightly, putting the harsh memory away. He bent his knees and shifted her so that she was straddling his groin and leaning against his thighs, “Do you know how much I enjoy your femininity, still hot and wet from the pleasure I gave you, snuggled against me like this?” Involuntarily she clenched against him, her eyes darkening with re-emerging desire. He spread her legs a little wider before touching her breasts, her hair; little caresses to fan the flames. He knew she could feel his manhood growing behind her and his own eyes grew heavy with passion. “When I think of you working in your garden, I imagine you naked, working the earth on hands and knees. I imagine covering you like a rampant stallion mounts a high-spirited mare; both of us fighting for control while being controlled by sheer lust. Sometimes I lay you on the ground so the sun can kiss every golden inch of you before I replace it with my lips and the earth itself blesses our union.”

 

She licked her lips and squirmed against him, whimpering when he held her firm. “You have a most wicked tongue, Jean-Marc, this is truth,” she said breathlessly. “I do not know if I will be able to work in my garden without imagining the same.” His teeth flashed white in a rare grin at her confession. She narrowed her eyes at him, “I was not thinking of having my way with you under the stars, cool night air against heated skin, touching you until you begged.”

 

He raised one arrogant eyebrow, “I do not beg, little girl. That is what you do,” he retorted. He laughed when she made a rude noise. “Before this night is over we will see who begs,” he vowed to himself. “If you were not thinking of all the ways in which I pleasure you, then tell me.”

 

She grew serious again, “I do not think there is any more to be learned here. I must soon go. My Rio’s murder,” she blinked back tears before they could spill, “proves that the First does not plan on releasing my Ali. You have been a good friend.”

 

“No, but I will be in future,” he promised. “I am sorry, little girl, for my earlier behavior.” She looked down at him, confused. “That first night in the Commander’s office and since, I treated you with contempt. I was angry I desired another man’s woman and couldn’t put it aside. I was angry I broke my own code of conduct. I like you, little girl, and never should have directed this anger at you when by rights I should only be angry at myself. I do not understand this arrangement between you and Alistair, but I have no right to judge you for it.”

 

She stared at him for a long time. She sighed, “I never blamed you, Jean-Marc. How can I when I often despise myself? I may wish things were different but there are reasons . . .” her voice trailed off and he wondered what she thinking, if she would reveal her secrets. She shook her head, “It matters not.”

 

“It does. I hurt you, little girl, and I am most sorry for it. You are a truly generous woman if you do not blame me. Perhaps I do not understand but that is no excuse for my behavior,” he would have continued but she stopped him.

 

“You are too hard on yourself, Jean-Marc,” she said.

 

He pulled her forward so she was resting against his chest and he could wrap his arms around her. He could also hide his emotions from her. “The Cumberlands will be leaving on the next ship bound for Nevarra but it will not be for many days yet. I do not like the way they look at you, with cold speculation instead of appreciation for a beautiful woman or respect for the Commander’s companion and friend,” he kissed her hair. “When do you plan to go? I assume you will head to Denerim to meet Fergus or His Majesty.”

 

“Not before a certain Woolsey pays for her crimes against my Ali and the others,” she swore grimly to herself. She didn’t think Stroud would approve so she decided not to tell him. “Besides, he may need, as Zevran would say, ‘plausible deniability.’ I am glad now that the Beast chose him.” She wrinkled her brow, “If I do not have a believable ruse before the new moon then I shall leave that night, covered by its darkness. The less they suspect the better, but I dare not stay longer. By then Nathaniel should know as much as is possible.”

 

“Agreed. I will assist you in any way I can.” He rolled them over so she was pinned beneath him, “But now I think you need a lesson about begging.” He stopped any retort she might have and proceeded to use all his skills and knowledge of her body to prove his point.

 

Over the next several days they continued to look for ways in which Jannasilane could openly leave the Vigil without arousing suspicion. He stashed some of her belongings as well as supplies, a small amount at a time, outside the Vigil. At night they schemed, they made love, and they further explored their blossoming friendship. He even told her about the murder of his family, and he’d never spoken of that to anybody since he received the news.

 

Finally Stroud received information which might be the answer; he only hoped the little girl picked up on his cue since he was unable to tell her before dinner that night. He didn’t think they had any more time; Woolsey and the Cumberlands were different, little nuances of planning or anticipation they tried to hide. “I’m going to Amaranthine tomorrow,” he stated while helping himself to spicy chicken. “A man will be there to sell horses and I think it only fitting that we have one or two here. Alistair should not have to rent a horse when he travels, especially if it is on Arling rather than Warden business.”

 

“You didn’t say anything to me,” Mistress Woolsey argued.

 

“I was not aware I needed your permission,” he stared at the treasurer. “I am well aware of our finances, madam. I will not beggar the treasury.”

 

“Ha, better be a big horse if the Commander is wearing his full armor,” Oghren snorted.

 

“There are some things I could use . . .” Jannasilane began.

 

He sneered patronizingly, “Little girl, I am not going to shop for you.”

 

She flushed and snapped back, “I wasn’t asking you to. I’m coming with you.” She lifted her chin and dared him to stop her.

 

“Ferelden is a free country. I leave early in the morning,” he stared back. “I will not wait.” She looked like she wanted to say something but turned her full attention to the food in front of her. Conversation was subdued after their little flare up but Stroud didn’t miss the glances between Woolsey and the Cumberlands. “They are definitely planning something. Tomorrow we must be wary without seeming to be so until we are away from the Vigil.”

 

Shortly after dawn he was standing near the front gate looking for her, “I warned her that I would not wait,” he muttered.

 

The guard shifted nervously and cleared his throat, “Um, sir?” Stroud looked at him, waiting for him to continue, “She left some minutes ago; she had her little dog with her. She, um, said to tell you that she had things to do and wasn’t going to wait for you to get your, erm, rear out of bed.” He wouldn’t meet Stroud’s eyes and kept his gaze firmly on the buildings behind the man.

 

Stroud clenched his teeth, “Thank you,” he said through pressed lips. “You did well, little girl. Let’s finish this,” he thought. “I doubt it will take long to catch up. Why does she have that dog with her? It will be no use against bandits or darkspawn.”

 

“She, uh, she said he wanted to visit Ser Pounce-a-lot.” The interim Commander stared at him and then walked off, muttering something under his breath the guard was thankful he couldn’t hear.

 

It wasn’t long before he saw her on the road ahead of him. “Stubborn woman,” he said when he caught up to her. She smirked and his lips curled in a slight smile, “I told Oghren I wanted him and Sigrun to take the Cumberlands to Kal’Hirol and look for more darkspawn, especially signs of the Children. We can continue to Amaranthine and find a ship bound for Denerim; I think that is the safest course, little girl.” She didn’t say anything and they walked in silence for some time.

 

“Thank you,” she said finally, “for everything. Working against the First, this can’t be easy for you.”

 

“I serve the Grey Wardens, not the First. It does the Order no good if we can’t trust our leaders. The First betrayed us when he kidnapped the Hero of Ferelden. Bring Alistair home; I will maintain his command until he returns. Little girl, Jannasilane, you are heading into great danger. Try to be careful, you have many friends who will miss you,” he gently brushed his hand across her hair. “I already miss you, little girl, come home safely.”

 

She stopped and turned to him, “Jean-Marc, I-” he didn’t let her finish.

 

“We have company,” he quietly warned her.

 

“Apparently you two don’t dislike each other as much as you want everybody to believe,” the taller Cumberland said. “Look, Stroud, we don’t care if you’re bending her over; she’s decent looking and close to hand, I get it.” He waved his hand dismissively and leered at Jannasilane. “That’s finished now; we have orders from Mistress Woolsey to take her to Weisshaupt. Hand her to us and we’ll get going. We have a long way to travel and I don’t want to miss our ship,” the shorter Cumberland reached for her arm.

 

“Gentlemen,” Stroud’s sword stopped them from moving forward. “You are very much mistaken if you believe I accept orders from some dried up bookkeeper or two Wardens with less brains than an Orzammar nug. The young lady is not a Warden and not bound by any dictates from any of us. Kidnapping, which is what you propose, is a crime. If you wish to live you will very slowly put down your weapons and place your hands on your heads.” He spoke softly, his voice full of menace.

 

The Cumberlands were useful to Woolsey because they were loyal, strong, and willing to get dirty. Past successes made them over-confident. They drew their weapons, “We have our orders. We only have to keep her alive, if you make this difficult for us we’ll make it difficult for her. It’s a long trip and we have one cabin. We could work something out with the crew if we tire of her.”

 

“Roll,” Stroud commanded and charged the two men. Jannasilane rolled sideways, drawing her daggers and moving behind them. The Cumberlands fought hard, but couldn’t stand against the well-trained chevalier and their victim’s flashing daggers. “I meant for you to stand aside, little girl,” he berated her as they moved the bodies behind some bushes and arranged ‘evidence’ of a bandit attack.

 

“I will not stand aside and let another fight my battles for me while I wring my hands helplessly,” she snapped. Then she smiled, “I am, of course, grateful for your assistance.” Her smile faded and she shuddered, “He spoke truth about what would happen on board. I sensed it, his lie was that your actions could prevent them using me or selling me night after night. I could not let that happen,” she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

 

He soothed her, “Never, little girl, I will never let that happen.”

 

She felt him wince. “You are hurt,” she accused. She looked around and made a decision, “Come, my Jean-Marc, those trees will give us some privacy and I will tend your wound.” He looked dubious so she sniffed, “Unless you are afraid and not the stalwart Warden I thought you. Really, you cannot go into Amaranthine looking like a bandit yourself.”

 

“It is merely a scratch,” he protested but let her lead him away. Nugflutter followed silently after displaying a very dog-like disdain for the two who attacked his mistress. Stroud didn’t speak as she carefully removed his armor and tended to him. He studied her, memorizing every move, every feature. He wanted just one thing for himself, a last time with her here, where it was just the two of them and they could be completely open. No subterfuge. No worry about being discovered. He stopped her hand from applying more elfroot, “I am fine, little girl.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, reverently, “For the first time I wish I were a man of words so I could tell you how beautiful you are, the sunlight dappling your skin and hair through the leaves. You should be naked, like a nymph of legend, an answer to ancient mysteries if one only had the key.”

 

She blinked in surprise; with her free hand she caressed the side of his face, “For a man of no words that was most poetic, my Jean-Marc. I fear you have carved out a niche in my heart, this is truth. I will worry about you when I leave, this is also truth.”

 

Slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he unlaced her robe and gently eased it off her shoulders. When her breasts were revealed he leant forward and barely kissed them. The calluses on his hands were a delicious contrast to the softness of his kisses, causing her to shiver. He stood, bringing her to her feet so her robe could fall to the ground in a pool around her. His breathing was ragged but still he moved slowly. He removed the rest of his armor and undergarments while she ran exploring hands over his muscles as if for the first time, stopping to trace a scar or kiss sensitive skin. When they were both naked he picked her up in his arms and carried her to a nearby patch of moss and laid her down.

 

Jannasilane looked at him solemnly; they both knew this was the last time they would be together. It would be harder than she thought to leave him but; he pressed his finger to her lips, “Stop thinking, little girl. I know your heart belongs to Alistair and I have no wish to change this. That you have allowed me a small place in it humbles me for I have done nothing to deserve it. I care for you and will always be your friend; that is enough.” She reached for him and there were no more words; just sighs and soft murmurs accompanied by the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.

 

A few hours later they were once again dressed and ready to travel. “My Jean-Marc, there were things I wished to tell you but now there is no time,” she frowned slightly.

 

“My dear little girl, you can tell me after you return with your Alistair. I am more than happy with how we spent this last time together,” he responded with a twinkle in his eye.

 

She snorted, “You can be a wicked man, this is truth. Take care, Jean-Marc. Be good, Nugflutter,” she nuzzled the little dog who whined his disapproval.

 

“Maker watch over you, little girl,” he responded with a bow. He and Nugflutter watched her leave. Finally he sighed and looked down, “Come, we head to Amaranthine; I still wish to see the man about his horses. Before we leave the city we shall retrieve your friend Ser Pounce-a-lot and bring him home. It is the least I can do for Anders.” Nugflutter woofed his agreement. “In Orlais they say Fereldans are mad. I must be a Fereldan now . . . talking to a dog and bringing back a cat who hates me. It shall be a nice surprise for the little girl when she returns, though. The Woolsey will not be happy,” he smiled a little. When he returned to the Vigil two days later with dog, cat and two horses Mistress Woolsey was gone.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 101:  Night Chill in Denerim  

She was glad it was cold and raining. Not because the darkness made her harder to see but because it matched her mood. How did Zevran manage to stay so cheerful? She’d killed. If she had to do it over again, she would, the woman threatened her Ali and others, but she’d never killed in cold blood before. “Murder,” Jannasilane told herself as she watched the royal guards from the clouds, “Don’t glaze sugar on it, it was murder. Maker forgive me, but I don’t know if I could have done anything else or even wanted to. She hurt enough of mine.” She saw her opening and quickly swooped down to Zevran’s balcony and shifted.

 

If there had been an onlooker they would have seen a small woman crouched in the shadows, shivering, in the cold, wet night. Her shoulders were slumped as if all of Thedas was pressing down on her. She looked through the curtains and collapsed against the glass.

 

Zevran hummed to himself, the Warden and Queen Anora had been out of Denerim for the past several days and tonight was the first night they had to be together. “Truth be told, she doesn’t complain or even seem to mind. I think she’s glad that publicly he is a faithful and attentive husband. Judging by her demeanor she is happy with the Warden’s prowess in bed and does not begrudge his spending time with my handsome self a couple of times a week. If only he would get her with child . . .” He opened the door to his quarters and looked around approvingly. The bath was already set up, with an array of oils conveniently in reach. Wine, food and other comforts were arranged invitingly for a tryst. He did this every night and knew the servants wondered who had his attention this time. Occasionally his mythical lover ‘left behind’ a small item the maids found in the morning. The game amused him and kept his Warden’s secret safe.

 

He frowned, something wasn’t right. He looked around again, everything was where it should be, nothing disturbed. “There,” the assassin moved carefully towards the balcony. His sharp eyes spotted a darker shadow against the glass. He silently lifted the latch and eased open the door. “Braska!” he cursed when Pocket Goddess stared at him with dull eyes. He examined the balcony, satisfied himself she was alone, and then bent down in front of her. “Come, my dear, you should not be outside in this foul weather. Let us get you warm and dry and then you can tell Papa Zev what troubles you.”

 

She was so cold and stiff he practically carried her inside. “I would be remiss if I did not remind you that the castle has a front door through which most people enter. What have you been doing to yourself?” he scolded her gently and stood her in front of the fire. He kept up a gentle patter as he wrapped her in a blanket and prepared some honeyed wine with elfroot. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just stared into the flames, swaying slightly and shaking with cold. “Bellissima, I am just going to check on something and then I am all yours.” She didn’t answer or make any sign that she heard him. He locked the door behind him and hurried to Blake’s personal desk; if he remembered correctly there was a letter from Fergus. He thought nothing of it at the time but now he wondered. He knew the Teyrn was in Denerim and had some Grey Wardens staying with him; his network of spies was quite thorough.

 

“Ah, just as I thought,” the Antivan calmly opened the letter without a single qualm. He read the brief contents:

 

“Dear little brother,

I have been traveling and would like to discuss with you a few things of interest. They are somewhat time-sensitive so the sooner the better. I would also like you to meet with some people currently staying with me.

At your earliest convenience,

Fergus”

 

Zevran made a decision. He quickly wrote out a response and rang for the seneschal. “Fenton, see that this is delivered directly into Teyrn Cousland’s hands. In about an hour he and some companions will arrive at the castle; please show them to Their Majesties’ sitting room and bring refreshments. The king is looking forward to seeing his brother,” he added the white lie. It would be truth soon enough. “And Fenton, it might be best if we maintain a certain discretion.”

 

“Very good, sir,” he left. He and Zevran understood each other very well. He wasn’t sure of the Antivan when they first met but since then realized he was devoted His Majesty’s good health, and by extension, Her Majesty. Security at the castle had never been tighter.

 

When he returned to his room she hadn’t moved, not even to drink the wine he placed in her hand. “My dear Pocket Goddess, the wine won’t do you any good unless you drink it,” he held it to her lips and she obediently swallowed. He made sure she drank it all and then took the glass from her hands. “Now for a nice warm bath. Luckily for you I happen to have one ready and waiting. We even have a variety of bath oils, some to soothe, some to excite . . . I think soothing would be best.” He poured a mixture of lavender and lemon oils into the water and stirred. He went to her side, “Still not talking? Never mind, fortunately I enjoy the sound of my own voice. Let me take this blanket away now, it has done its job. Can you begin removing your clothes? No? Then I shall have the pleasure of doing it myself. It is always a pleasure to undress a beautiful woman. I offered my services to Her Majesty but sadly, she declined.” A few minutes later, “There, that’s the last of it. Now come with me, that’s right, can you step into the tub? Very good, just sink into the warm water and let it embrace you.”

 

He watched her for a moment and made a decision. She needed more than physical warmth; she needed the warmth of a friend. He quickly shucked off his own clothes and stepped behind her into the tub. He rubbed her neck and shoulders, “Tsk, tsk, so much stress. Allow Zevran to take care of you; the Warden will tell you my fingers are quite magical.” He hummed, he told stories, he even sang an old Antivan lullaby. Finally she sighed and leaned bonelessly against him. She was so tired. For the first time since Alistair left she was able to completely relax. “See, my magic has worked. Now to get out before you fall asleep,” The worried Antivan helped her out of the water and began drying her hair after wrapping another towel around her body. “You will feel much better after a little nap and then you can tell me everything, my adorable Minit. Come, come,” he helped her into his bed and tucked the covers securely around her.

 

Her eyelids were fluttering to a close so he was surprised when she finally spoke. “Zev,” she might as well have whispered, her voice was so soft, “how do you kill someone without getting sick?” She was asleep before he could answer; which was just as well because for once he didn’t have the words to answer her.

 

He looked down at her sadly, “What other burdens do you carry, bellissima? Certainly this is not one I would wish on you; your heart is too tender.” His ‘guests’ and their Majesties would be arriving soon so he moved quickly. First, he entered the Queen’s dressing chamber and retrieved a thick, short (on Anora) tunic. It would do for Pocket Goddess when she woke. Anora was fond of her and would surely forgive the appropriation. Once all was ready he poured himself a glass of wine and sat down to wait.

 

“I’m glad that’s done,” Blake entered. He and Anora looked stunning after dining with Eamon and other nobles. “Sometimes I agree with Alistair that people should just say what they mean without all the pomp and circumstance.”

 

“But you and her lovely Majesty make pomp and circumstance something wondrous to behold,” Zevran replied.

 

“I appreciate the compliment,” Anora nodded slightly, “but I always find it a relief when I can shed the fripperies. They can be annoyingly heavy at times.”

 

She started to leave the room but Zevran stopped her, “I must tell you that Fergus will be arriving soon with some companions. I fear we might have a situation and it may involve the Crown as much as it does the Grey Wardens. I am sorry that the matter intrudes on your personal time.”

 

Blake looked at him; he understood the last was meant for him. He sighed, “At least we got home first so we can change into something a great deal more comfortable. We could be in for a long night.” They quickly changed and returned to wait for Fergus. They passed the remaining time telling Zevran about the evening; Blake knew what Anora was quickly learning, that it was a waste of time trying to get the Antivan to reveal anything before he was ready. So Blake was unprepared when Fergus entered followed by Nathaniel Howe, “What is he doing here?” he growled under his breath. He looked daggers at his lover. Zevran was prepared and unperturbed.

 

Anora lightly tapped his arm in friendly warning, “Teyrn Cousland, it is good to see you again in spite of the late hour. Is all well in Highever?” Her greeting helped pass over the tense moment.

 

“Your Majesty, lovely as ever,” Fergus bowed. “I admit I didn’t expect my brother to call me to the castle near midnight instead of first thing in the morning. However, I think it is just as well that he replied to my message as he did.”

 

“I may have taken a liberty or two,” Zevran admitted with a graceful wave of his hand. “Some . . . evidence has come my way which, since you are here with two estimable Grey Wardens, I believe has some bearing on your cause.” All eyes turned to him for an explanation. “No, no, allow me my moment of drama. And it will make more sense if someone explains from the beginning.”

 

“Yes,” Anora raised one elegant eyebrow, her tone dry, “as long as somebody speaks.”

 

“Then I would like to introduce you to Warden Saykor. He is Oghren’s cousin and one of the new recruits who followed Alistair to Amaranthine.”

 

Saykor stood. He was damned if he was going to speak to the king and queen of Ferelden while his feet dangled above the floor like a child’s. “It started with a letter from the First. . . .” he relayed the events and his observations until the time he arrived at Soldier’s Peak.

 

“We, or I, had not sent any such letter,” Nathaniel took up the narrative. “Instead we received one stating Alistair’s travel plans were delayed. The scrawl was rough but the phrasing very much like the Warden-Commander’s. Riordan decided to go to Amaranthine; he knew Stroud and felt he could best assess the situation. We haven’t heard from him since.”

 

“I was surprised to see a Warden on my doorstep,” Fergus spoke lightly but his knuckles were white from gripping the arm of his chair, indicating the strength of his tension. “He and Mhairi left to trace Alistair’s movements in Orlais and I went to Amaranthine to analyze the nobles' understanding.” Blake sent a look of sympathy to his brother; he knew Fergus had been avoiding the arling since he returned from the Korcari Wilds.

 

Zevran held up a hand, “And now, before you go any further, I shall produce my own contribution to the story.” Anora took control of the conversation while he was gone, eliciting details from the two Grey Wardens. When Zevran returned the reactions were everything he hoped.

 

“Mouse!” “Package, when . . .” “Lady J?”

 

“I found her slumped in a doorway, shaking in the rain. My first priority was to get her warm and dry. My dear,” he helped her onto the settee next to Nathaniel, “it is time to tell us what brings you to Denerim. Saykor has told us much.” His Warden scowled when she grabbed the hand offered by his onetime friend.

 

Jannasilane sighed wearily, “Then you know my Ali should have returned weeks ago.” She turned sorrowful eyes to Nathaniel, then Blake, “Jean-Marc told me about Anders. I hope he is somewhere safe, unlike my Rio,” she burst into tears and wept in Nathaniel’s arms.

 

Blake didn’t like the sound of that, “Who is Jean-Marc?” he asked. The other two Wardens shrugged.

 

She got herself under control, though she was still shaking. “S-stroud,” she answered. “He came from the Free Marches to learn more about the Children. He was considering my Ali’s offer for him to become the new Professor of Wardenology. He is a, a friend.”

 

Only Zevran could see enough of her face to notice her blush through the tears. Blake smiled a little, “Only Alistair would come up with that title.”

 

“Jannasilane, what happened to Riordan?” Anora’s soft voice reminded them they needed information.

 

“That ****** murdered him!” she snarled and dug her fingers into Nathaniel’s arms. To give him credit, he didn’t even wince. “Rio came to the Vigil and spoke with Je-, I mean Stroud. That same night she poisoned him, making it appear to others that he was suffering from his Calling. He went into the Deep Roads under the Vigil, all alone.” She waited until the men’s vigorous cursing subsided before continuing. “There was no longer any doubt in our minds that my Ali was kidnapped. I did not wish suspicions to fall on the Wardens staying behind so we created an opportunity for me to leave Vigil’s Keep. I was not sure what I might find at Soldier’s Peak so I came here.”

 

“I am glad you are safe, my lady Mouse,” Nathaniel said. “After Highever, Ser Mhairi and I journeyed to Jader and Montsimmard. You’ve heard the phrase nobody curses like a sailor? I have wandered a number of sea ports and can honestly say that nobody curses like a female Orlesian Warden-Commander. Commander Clarel managed to sound both vicious and elegant. They sent their best scouts to learn what they could. Shortly after the Weisshaupt Wardens who came to Montsimmard left, they picked up a large wagon, boarded up like a giant crate. I think it is safe to say that Alistair was in that box.”

 

He smiled a little, “She wasted no time in sending a slew of messages to other Warden-Commanders. I don’t know exactly what she said other than inviting any who wished to join her in protesting such high-handed actions to meet her near Kal-Sharok. I doubt she plans a rescue action, exactly, but she definitely plans to let the First know that he cannot kidnap Warden-Commanders without paying a price. If he wanted to keep his actions a secret, he didn’t do a very good job. Ser Mhairi and our Wardens are returning to the Vigil where she will take over Woolsey’s duties.”

 

“We need to make sure neither she nor the Cumberlands can interfere,” Fergus was concerned for the knight.

 

“They won’t,” Jannasilane withdrew into herself and clasped her arms around her knees. “We left for Amaranthine, Stroud ‘reluctantly allowed me to accompany him.’ But our ruse was for nothing; the Cumberlands were waiting for us. They had orders to take me to Weisshaupt, alive and in one piece, more or less. Jean-Marc refused; we fought; they’re dead, ‘victims of bandits.’”

 

“Ah, we are getting closer to her troubled soul,” Zevran thought. “I am glad they are dead,” the others murmured agreement. They understood what would have happened before she reached the Anderfels. “This is encouraging news, Pocket Goddess. I daresay you were to be used as a pawn against our Hero, which means the First has no immediate plans to kill him. You are most fortunate to have such a stalwart ally. But that still leaves Mistress Woolsey of the perpetually sour disposition. She -” He got no further.

 

Jannasilane began chanting. Chills chased up their spines; Blake and Zevran looked at each other, eerie memories dancing between them of their trip to the Deep Roads when they found Hespith.

 

“Mistress Woolsey placed herself above us all,

Mistress Woolsey from on high had a terrible fall,

Some of her here,

Some of her there,

Bits and pieces of Woolsey everywhere,

But you will find Mistress Woolsey most of all

In the depths of dwarven Kal’Hirol”

 

Everybody was silent for a moment, thinking about her meaning. Jannasilane looked ill and started to stir. Anora took immediate action. She quickly moved to the younger woman, “Come with me.” She didn’t give Jannasilane a chance to refuse. She took her hand and hustled the girl to her private quarters. The two ladies were gone for some time before Anora returned, “She’s fine. We talked and I convinced her to get some rest; I can only imagine the strain she’s been under.” She looked at each man in turn, “Whatever plans we make, she will not remain behind. She told me to tell you that not even Fort Drakon will hold her and keep her from rescuing her Ali.”

 

Blake grinned, “That sounds like my Package.” He was relieved. He rubbed his hands together at the prospect of more adventure, “Let’s figure out how to get one big lug home again. We should be able to use Commander Clarel’s protest as a distraction.” They all threw out ideas and discussed their merits.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 102:  The Prisoner Alistair

First Warden Amaz was convinced Fereldans were mad and this one was deliberately trying to make him crazy. For days, he’d been questioning Alistair without success. He received no further information than what Xavier had already collected. The very first time Alistair came to the Great Hall of Wardens he witnessed an animated exchange between the ‘Hero’ and his High Constable, culminating with Xavier practically shoving a package into the large warrior’s hands. Xavier angrily walked away and approached the First. “Trouble, Constable?” he asked while he kept his pale brown eyes on the Fereldan.

 

“He wished to take back a gift,” Xavier didn’t keep his voice down as much as he thought.

 

Alistair stopped perusing the robe he had ostentatiously opened in order to pretend to look for damages. He'd already tucked the daggers into his belt. He looked directly at the First, “These were for somebody I respect. That person is definitely not here.” He turned his attention back to the robe, folded it, placed it on the floor and then lay down with his hands behind his head. “Nice ceiling you have way up there,” he remarked.

 

Everybody stared. Some who had suffered from the First’s high-handed and unwarranted actions were secretly, and not-so-secretly, amused. The guards didn’t know what to do. The man had weapons and obviously knew how to use them, but was making no moves to do so. The First’s nostrils flared. “You were not brought here to discuss the ceiling. You are here to answer questions about the Archdemon,” he said coldly.

 

“Your agenda, not mine,” Alistair cheerfully replied, his eyes still on the ceiling. He had excellent peripheral vision and decided he wasn’t in immediate danger. His campaign of annoyance was off to a terrific beginning. “I wonder which fortress is older. Vigil’s Keep has been around for at least a thousand years . . . I bet it’s older. Your ceilings are a lot higher than the Vigil’s, yet are so clean and shiny. How do you manage it? Magic? A really, really long stick with a duster on the end? Must look like a white flag,” he saw a servant girl moving around the perimeter of the room, quietly seeing to the needs of the observers, “my questioners, perhaps?” He sat up and caught her eye, “Excuse me, miss,” he smiled as charmingly as he knew how, which was more than he realized.

 

She blinked in surprise; she didn’t know how to respond. The man was a prisoner, yet he was also the Hero of Ferelden and he was smiling at her. “Maker, he’s so handsome,” she thought. “S-sir?” she stuttered and then blushed.

 

“How do you keep such a high ceiling so clean and sparkly?” he looked at her as if her answer was the most important thing in the world to him.

 

She looked around. Everybody was now staring at her but nobody made a move to prevent her from answering, “You, you can’t see them, sir, unless you know where to look, something about per...ception and angles, but there are actually balconies up near the top.” She pointed, “Those beams aren’t support or simple decoration; they’re planks we can walk on. You’d actually hit your head on the ceiling, my lord. Other rooms aren’t so high and we have special ladders we can hook to the wall sconces for stability.”

 

“Fascinating,” Alistair replied. “You may call me Alistair. Aren’t you scared to be up so high? You’re too pretty to be smashed on the ground, um, what’s your name?”

 

“Vhundar, and isn’t everybody?” she replied pertly.

 

“Almost everybody,” he smiled lazily. “Thank you for the information.” Somebody coughed and she started guiltily before scurrying off with a story to tell the other servants. Alistair lay back down, “It’s so nice to be able to stretch out for a change.”

 

“Since you seem to be so tired, you should probably go to your room and rest. Two of my Wardens will show you the way,” Amaz motioned jerkily to the guards.

 

The next several days followed a pattern. Alistair got up, put on all his gear, and roamed the same areas as any new recruit to Weisshaupt, except for the armory, accompanied by two guards. No matter who they were, he called the taller one Frick and the other Frack. He exercised every day, sparring with other Wardens or against training dummies. Frequently he jogged from one part of the fortress to another which forced his guards to do the same. Their fabled Warden stamina wasn’t honed by being on the run for a year and then chasing talking darkspawn all over Amaranthine. Every morning and every afternoon, he was summoned to the First; every morning and every afternoon, he asked his own questions and never answered any.

 

He liked the library. Alistair strolled through the sections, plucking books and papers at random. Some he would skim and immediately replace others he would peruse at length. The archivists couldn’t determine a pattern to his selections. They were mostly histories, but then over 75% of their collection was comprised of histories, biographies and some journals. They attributed his interest in magic to his templar training. They could only report to the First that he had the makings of a scholar and might make a good Archivist one day.

 

He surprised everyone the first night at dinner, irritating some of the Anderfels Grey Wardens and entertaining others. His guards conducted Alistair to a table with eight other Wardens, including High Constable Xavier. Food was already on their plates with platters and bowls ready for the inevitable second and third helpings. He quickly traded goblets with one tablemate, his plate with another and his bread with a third. When he sat down and began eating, he disdained the utensils at his place. Somebody muttered something about dog-lords and their manners and Alistair grinned, “Just trying to reduce my chances of being poisoned. You learn a lot when traveling with a witch who hates you, a bard, and an assassin.”

 

“Nobody is trying to poison you, Alistair,” Xavier said tightly. “I have told you this before.”

 

Alistair snorted, “You can’t possibly know that for certain. Just because you didn’t do it or order it done doesn’t mean somebody else,” he glanced deliberately at the table where the First sat glaring at him, “didn’t slip something in somewhere.” When one of the Wardens he traded with stopped eating Xavier left the table. Every meal afterwards, Wardens grabbed plates, bowls, etc. at random and served themselves from communal platters.

 

The servants liked him because, just as he did at Vigil’s Keep, he treated them with respect and always thanked them for any services they did for him. Consequently, they disliked the egotistical First even more. They never did anything obvious, but he wasn’t quite as comfortable as before. Amaz was clueless; he attributed it to Alistair’s irritating behavior.

 

Finally First Warden Amaz’s limited patience snapped. The day started like any other, the morning questioning was as unproductive as any other was. “It is past time, Alistair, for you to tell me about the Archdemon,” the First started the afternoon session tersely.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Alistair conceded. “The Archdemon . . . it was really big and really purple, a beautiful, deep purple. I remember thinking I know why royalty likes it so much. Are all the Archdemons that color? I couldn’t find anything in the records. And are any other high dragons the same color? The only other one I’ve seen was purplish-brownish-greenish, kind of. If only Archdemons are that color, shouldn’t everybody know? Then if people did see an Archdemon-colored dragon, they could tell their local Wardens. We can sense them, but if more people knew what they looked like then maybe they would be easier to find. I really hate that something so evil can be so beautiful. The armor you could make from it, I bet kings would envy whoever had it. Hmm, guess I’ll stick to my regular armor. I really don’t think being the envy of kings can possibly be a good thing.”

 

“I don’t care about the damned color of the Archdemon!” First Warden Amaz was nearly apoplectic.

 

Alistair looked at him reproachfully, “You don’t need to yell; I can hear you perfectly fine. You were the one who wanted to talk about the Archdemon, after all. Fine, fine, Mr. Grumpypants, we’ll talk about something else. Do you think blue is the Maker’s favorite color?” he asked seriously. “Look around, well, not in here. In here, it’s all grey and stony colors. Maybe you’d be more cheerful if you added some yellow or pink or red. A cheerful, bright red and not icky, blood red. Anyway, the sky is blue, water is blue, lots of people have blue eyes, even the night sky is a deep blue and not black. So it seems to me that blue must be His favorite. It’s like painting your bedroom; you see it every day so you want it to be a color you like. And before He turned away from us, he must have looked at us and our world all the time. On the other hand, maybe green, there’s a lot of green, too. The Fade is greenish, but I don’t really like that shade of green-”

 

The First pounded his fists on the table in front of him. Then he calmed himself. Still breathing heavily, he glared at Alistair, “Perhaps when you have some company you will be more forthright with your answers instead of all this inane babbling. Until then you can stay in our dungeon. Guards,” he commanded them to take the young warrior away.

 

The dungeon really wasn’t a dungeon. It was simply an unused building at the back of the fortress with cells built into it. He supposed Weisshaupt really didn’t need one, as inaccessible as it was except through the main gate, “Unless you can fly,” he thought wistfully.

 

One of his guards, Frack, noticed his gaze, “That’s where the griffons used to be. I bet you wished you had one with you when you were fighting the Archdemon.”

 

“Who wouldn’t?” Alistair replied.

 

“There used to be more buildings but they got crushed in a rock slide several decades ago, killed a lot of Wardens. Our prison here is the nearest one not damaged. Sometimes one of our leaders suggests digging it out,” he shrugged, “but without the griffons we can hold twice as many Wardens as we have now and still not be crowded. Wasted effort, if you ask me.” Alistair nodded thoughtfully.

 

He stepped inside the largest of the cells; somebody had tried to make it a bit more comfortable and dragged in a small table and chair. His guards noticed it with mild surprise but didn’t say anything. They, as did many of the Weisshaupt Wardens, felt the First Warden was wrong. Some of the younger ones would have given their back teeth for the opportunity to ask questions about the Archdemon and those long months before the final battle. That they lost this unique chance to talk to somebody who had actually fought the nemesis they trained for because the First had a temper tantrum . . . Fostering a rebellion was not in Alistair’s plans but his presence was shining a light on the shadows of discontent. Riordan told him once that Weisshaupt was a cold place and the Anders a grim lot, possibly reflecting their harsh surroundings. The young Fereldan didn’t know it, but if he had responded with expected surliness and anger instead of cheerful goofiness he wouldn’t have such strong, if unstated, support. What Alistair did recognize was that the Grey Warden rank and file didn’t resent him or go out of their way to make his life more difficult.

 

That evening he stared at the rock pile through his window and mentally recited the Litany of Adralla for the thousandth time. He didn’t even think about it anymore. “I wonder how long he plans on keeping me here,” he wondered and amused himself picturing the First in various unflattering and unlikely poses. “Let the blood mages report that back to the little twit,” he smirked. “I bet Morrigan would say I’m finally exceeding her expectations as village idiot.” He performed a mana cleanse just in case and whirled around when there was a gasp behind him. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said mildly. He studied her carefully; she was older than he was by at least twenty years, obviously a mage since she collapsed after the cleansing, and an elf. She was dark, slight, and something else, “You’re not a Warden.”

 

She straightened herself and looked up at him, “I used to be.” She chuckled ruefully when he frowned in confusion, “My former fellows are just as bewildered by this fact as you are. I am, too, if you wish to know. I think I will not be here much longer; at this point, I am not particularly welcome. I have ‘somehow cheated my destiny’ and since I cannot explain how this was done . . . we are alike in this respect. Two Wardens who have survived our fate.”

 

“Uh-huh, so . . . what? You tell me your story and I tell you mine?” he snorted in derision. The expression on her face, why did it look familiar? He was quite sure he’d never met her before.

 

“That’s not why I’m here,” she protested quietly. “I am not asking you to trust me, after your forced presence I doubt that is possible. I shouldn’t be here but I am concerned and I don’t like what Amaz is doing. Did you know that Mistress Woolsey is his sister? They hide the connection but I have known him a long time. He can’t let you leave here, especially now that all his men know you are not here of your own volition. Your only choice is whether you stay here as a living Warden or a dead one.”

 

Alistair shrugged, “That doesn’t surprise me. Well, maybe the bit about Woolsey being his sister. I figured she was reporting to him, we really didn’t need a treasurer though she’s good at the job.”

 

 “She is more than his eyes and ears,” the woman said sharply. “She does his dirty work. She isn’t physically strong but she employs some young Wardens who do whatever she wants. Amaz sent orders for them to bring your companion, Janna, I think, here. His only conditions were that she must be alive and not disabled or disfigured. These men, this gives them plenty of latitude for their ‘particular’ pleasures. I’m sorry, Alistair, but the First does not like being thwarted.” She looked at him with pity.

 

“Then he’s a bigger fool than I thought,” he answered and turned his back on her to stare out the window. He forced himself to think of the First as a giant baby having a temper tantrum in order not to put a hole in the walls he built up. His people weren’t stupid; he was confident that when he was first overdue they began making plans. Woolsey was in for a surprise; he couldn’t afford to think of anything else. 

 

“Pssst, Fiona, your time’s up,” Frick stuck his head in the door. He glanced at Alistair and then withdrew.

 

“I must go, Alistair, be careful,” Fiona said sadly. There was so much she wanted to share, but it was too late. She supposed it had been too late for a very long time.

 

“You visit has been, well, it’s been an experience,” he turned around to face her. “Good luck with the whole non-Warden thing.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 103:  Finally, the Anderfels

“Sleep, bellissima. There is nothing you can do until the protesting Wardens arrive; our majestic Warden was correct in believing we would get here first. Flying with you between my legs is definitely a pleasure and not just a fast means of travel,” he leered playfully and waggled his eyebrows at her. She laughed for the first time in weeks. It was a weak laugh but reassured the Antivan that his friend was all right.

 

“I think I’ll be glad to return with Greagoir’s templars,” Blake complained. Zevran and Jannasilane grinned at him; if the Warden had a weakness, it was travel sickness whether by sea or air. “When I told him about Anders’ ambush he was almost angry enough to give me all his templars. I’m convinced he didn’t know anything about it. He even told me he was glad when he heard Anders was with the Wardens; that for all his troublemaking and escape attempts he didn’t think poorly of the man.”

 

Zevran snorted, “Then it is a good thing you let him think the templars carted him off somewhere and did not tell him the end of the encounter. Liking Anders is one thing, dead templars . . .”

 

Their plan, hastily concocted as it was, was working so far. Fergus, with the aid of a new hairstyle and some dye, was impersonating Blake for brief and sporadic appearances. If anybody was curious, the Teyrn of Highever was out of the country discreetly exploring some new trade opportunities. Zevran accompanied the Teyrn in order to lend his expertise. Nathaniel and the borrowed templars traveled on the same ship to Val Chevin, from where they began their long march to join the protesting Wardens. Commander Clarel had a head start but the sea voyage gained them some time. Blake, Zevran and Jannasilane usually remained in their cabin in order to protect their identity. Zevran insisted on making Blake resemble Fergus and that they all wear hoods as a precaution. Once out of Val Chevin, the three of them sometimes used the Deep Roads but more often traveled overland through less populated areas. At night, when they thought it safe, Jannasilane shifted and they flew with the result they were days, if not a week, ahead of Commanders Clarel and Nalia.

 

Fortunately, from her mother’s journal, they knew approximately where the aeries were in relation to the fortress and the abandoned Griffonsong encampment. They approached Weisshaupt from the rear of the fortress, as high as they could and still breathe. Slowly and silently Jannasilane flew until they found their temporary base: high enough they wouldn’t be heard, low enough they could observe clearly with the aid of a spyglass.

 

“Are you sure this will work?” Jannasilane asked doubtfully. “Won’t they see you?”

 

“Oh, Pocket Goddess, how you wound me, and after I have come such a long way to help you. Tsk, tsk,” Zevran clucked playfully. “Why do you think I like to travel the rooftops? I shall tell you,” he didn’t wait for an answer, “people don’t look up. In this case, why would they even think so to do? We have to know where Alistair is located so somebody must go down. They might be able to sense an unfamiliar Warden but I am not such a one. Alas, I shall have to cover up my pretty hair.”

 

“That is a shame. If it’s such trouble we could cut it all off,” Blake offered helpfully. He gazed innocently at his lover when Zevran glared at him and moved away.

 

Jannasilane smiled. She knew there was little chance of Zevran being discovered. The aerie serving as their base also overlooked the abandoned Griffonsong encampment. The Antivan hoped that he would find a way inside Weisshaupt from there and that he would be able to bring Alistair back. His biggest worry was that Alistair might be too weak or injured to walk without assistance.

 

“Package, you should have told us you were pregnant while we were in Denerim,” Blake admonished her.

 

She didn’t look at him, “You would have wanted me to stay behind and then I would have been forced to come alone, this is truth.”

 

He sighed, “Probably,” and then he smiled. “I am happy for you both, I know Alistair will be thrilled, he’s always wanted children.”

 

“Yes, he’s always wanted children,” she echoed and retreated to the cave.

 

“You are now taking over Alistair’s role as group idiot, my amazingly stupid Warden?” Zevran spoke quietly but his words stung. When Blake scowled at him Zevran continued, “You apparently do not know women as well as you think. Alistair is not the father; he has been gone far too long.”

 

Blake blinked and calculated, “****.”

 

“Succinctly put. Those are worries for another day, however. I am now ready to begin my descent. When I tug on the rope, this bell will ring,” he pointed to a small bell he secured to the cliff wall, “and you will know I have arrived. If it rings again, begin pulling up the rope.”

 

“Be careful, Zev, I don’t want to lose you,” Blake stroked his lover’s tattoos and hair before holding him for a kiss.

 

Zevran smiled against his lips, “Do not worry about me, my dear Warden. I am looking forward to many years at your side and in your bed. Take care of our Pocket Goddess while I am gone, yes?” He began climbing down. He wedged himself between outcroppings as much as possible so the winds couldn’t smash him against the stone. “It is a long way down,” he narrowed his eyes as he climbed. “If fortune favors us enough of the original Griffonsong encampment will still be standing and useful.” He reached the bottom and looked around.  “Some of this does not look like it has been abandoned for centuries,” he frowned and proceeded carefully.

 

He might not like what the Grey Wardens did centuries ago, but he applauded their security. The path from the ruined Griffonsong encampment to Weisshaupt was a winding trail through the rubble, buttressed where necessary, and well hidden. He surmised that you could walk right by the entrance and not see it. From his perspective, he had a good view of the rear grounds and the building holding Alistair. He made himself comfortable until dark, watching. “Two guards, rather relaxed. Well, why not? Even if Alistair were to escape, where would he go? He would have to traverse the length of the compound and get through the front, and only, gate. The road to Weisshaupt is not a hospitable one. Without sufficient food and water, he would not survive the distance to the nearest village. Braska, this place is cold! I miss the warmth of Pocket Goddess in her magnificent griffon form.”

 

As soon as it was dark enough he made his way through the shadows until he reached the rear of Alistair’s ‘abode.’ He listened to the guards quietly talking to each other about their prisoner.

 

“It’s not right, keeping him here,” one muttered for what sounded like the thousandth time.

 

“No, but we have our orders. Don’t you want to know how he survived the Archdemon when he’s supposed to be dead? If there’s some trick that could help future Grey Wardens . . .”

 

The first snorted, “Like Fiona suddenly becoming an un-Warden? Seems to me that’s a much more helpful mystery to solve. Even if we think we know how Alistair did it, it’ll likely be decades if not centuries before we even know if we’re right. What if what he told Xavier is right? That he nearly didn’t survive, and thinks it might be because of his templar training. We’re not going to conscript every templar on the off chance that maybe, just maybe, they can defeat the Archdemon and live.”

 

“How do you know that?” the second asked suspiciously. “You’ve been chatting up that serving girl, the one who keeps things neat and tidy for the First, haven’t you?”

 

Zevran imagined the sly smile on the first guard’s face, “Maybe. You know, it isn’t just a lot of the Wardens who think the First has gone too far. The servants don’t like him at all. He treats them like dirt and Warden-Commander Alistair treats them with respect.”

 

“Be careful what you say,” the second one hissed. “We don’t need any more trouble. Usually he’s too busy to bother with us and I’d like to keep it that way. Besides,” he added cynically, “one thing about the Calling is that no one is First forever. How about some Wicked Grace?” They retreated a short distance away.

 

Zevran carefully checked to see where they were and was satisfied they wouldn’t notice him. He looked in the windows and saw that Alistair was alone inside. He sidled to the door and lifted an eyebrow when he realized he didn’t even have to pick the lock and shook his head at such laxness. Once inside he remained very still, looking carefully for traps or previously missed occupants. Alistair was tilting back in the chair, feet on the table next to the remains of what appeared to be a decent meal. “Is there something on the ceiling more interesting than the presence of my handsome self, Alistair?” he quietly asked.

 

He expected the templar to start sputtering but was surprised when Alistair looked at him searchingly and quoted the Litany of Adralla before performing what Zevran realized was a mana cleanse. “Well, guess you’re not a demon or somebody in disguise. I could be dreaming,” he pinched himself. “Nope, not dreaming.” He stood and approached the elf on the other side of his bars, “Is Janna okay? Somebody told me she was captured.” Zevran could see the muscles in his neck standing out from clenching his jaw.

 

“No, my friend, that was the plan but your beautiful Pocket Goddess and a Warden Stroud defeated their efforts. He remains in Amaranthine acting on your behalf and she is safe. Now it is time to discuss your rescue. Thankfully you do not appear to be harmed, though what sort of guards are they who do not take your armor? Your weapons aren’t even locked away. They are by the door, as if waiting for you. Very shoddy,” he mocked and then explained their plan.

 

Alistair listened carefully. He didn’t say anything for several moments and Zevran could not tell what he was thinking. The walls he’d been building to keep demons and blood mages away finally allowed him to hide his feelings. Finally, the prisoner spoke, “You want to spirit me away, so to speak. If you do that, then the First can pretend I was never here and nobody could prove otherwise, no matter what I might say. That will only put the Wardens protesting on my behalf in a bad position. No. Thank you, I appreciate your coming; but I can’t make things worse for other Warden-Commanders. The First needs to be held accountable. I’m walking out through the front gate even if I have to fight my way. You said you can create a diversion . . . will it be enough?”

 

“You are truly a most difficult man,” Zevran scowled. “First, you refuse to be rescued and then you insult my abilities.”

 

“Not even Morrigan said I was easy,” Alistair replied lightly. “I’m not refusing to be rescued, just the method. Zevran, you’re a good friend who came a long way to help me; I know any resources you have must be limited. If you can’t help, I understand.”

 

“Insult upon insult, but I forgive you. I have an idea or two; I shall return. Before I go, let us see if I can teach you to pick this lock. It appears to be quite rudimentary and even your clumsy hands might be able to work it. It would be good for you to get out on your own if need be.”

 

The templar grumbled, “Now who’s dishing out insults?” But he paid close attention as Zevran worked. Finally, they both gave up in frustration; Alistair’s hands were too large to work the lock from his side without a key.

 

Zevran shook his head, “I will need to return. I must plan a different diversion, after all.” He listened at the door before cracking it open. Satisfied, he slipped out and returned to Blake and Jannasilane. But not until he did a little additional reconnoitering.

 

“How much do you trust that rangy archer of the stoic mien, oh beauteous Pocket Goddess?” was the first thing Zevran said when he reached the aerie.

 

Blake shook his head in frustration after his lover explained, “That is just so like Alistair. Moreover, I hate to say it, but he’s right. From what I know of Orlesian politics, even though Wardens are supposed to be separate, Commander Clarel would probably have to step down. She’d never be able to work with the nobles of Orlais once word got out; and the First would make sure it did.”

 

“I do not think a diversion will be a problem,” Jannasilane said softly, looking at Zevran. “That is what you meant, is it not, my pretty Zevran?”

 

“Success! At last you admit I am pretty,” he jested. “Yes, you are the best possible diversion. One of the legendary griffons comes to rescue the Hero of Ferelden from the clutches of their First? The stories, the rumors will travel to Wardens across Thedas with the speed of a griffon, if you will.”

 

“He’ll be too busy protecting his position to plan any reprisals, at least for a while,” Blake agreed with a sly grin. “Especially since he won’t have the benefit of Mistress Woolsey’s assistance.” He was pleased to see Package only flinched a little at the reminder of the woman’s death. He’d been worried after Zev told him her condition when she arrived in Denerim. “That’ll give the Grey Wardens plenty of time to protect themselves against anything he might try to do later. But we’ll think of something else if you’re not comfortable, Package.”

 

“We must get my Ali out of Weisshaupt. There is no reason to think they will connect me with the griffon. It does not matter if they do, this is truth. I came here knowing this,” she said seriously.

 

Zevran bowed and kissed her hand, “I will add a few tactical explosions. Their armory and trebuchets, I think, can be sabotaged, and some grease strategically placed on the ramparts to foil the archers. They have grown lax in their security, these Anderfels Grey Wardens. Their guards do not leave their watchtowers; they are too confident in the defensibility of their fortress. We do them a favor by reminding them to be more careful. Much as I would like to slit the First’s miserable throat, I shall endeavor to take no lives. He will be harmed more by living with failure and without being able to blame any for the deaths of his Wardens.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 104:  Time to take a Certain Warden Home

They were ready. Blake and Nathaniel argued but Blake had to agree they should switch places. Blake didn’t like being reminded that Nathaniel was the better archer and more useful from a griffon’s back, and that his former friend was less likely to be ill from the flight. He silently cursed Howe for not warning him about Nalia’s penchant for pinching her lover’s bottom. “At least he told me they are lovers,” he groused to himself.

 

Zevran was already making his way through the Griffonsong encampment, the Wardens were climbing the last slope to Weisshaupt’s gate, and Nathaniel was astride Jannasilane watching for Blake’s signal. She told him everything about her heritage while they waited. “My lady Mouse, I am both honored and awed. I vow to you, I will not reveal your secrets. His Majesty did not need to threaten me.”

 

“Yes, this I know, my Nate,” her voice was more guttural in griffon form. “My Blake is still struggling with issues caused by your father.”

 

“How many of us are ‘yours?’” he teased, ignoring the reference to his unfortunate sire. “I know you do not mean just those honored by a closer connection. You even claim Oghren, sometimes.”

 

He felt her shrug beneath him, “I do not know. Only those who are special to me; but I never counted. Oghren is most loyal and very kind underneath.”

 

“He hides it well,” Nathaniel answered dryly. “Look! Did you see it? Blake’s signal . . . let’s go.” He thrilled to feel her launching into the sky.

 

Inside his cell Alistair watched Zevran picking the lock. “What’s this signal we’re waiting for? What do I need to do?”

 

“Questions, questions,” Zevran mocked. “The signal will be obvious. It is designed to gain the attention of all you stalwart Grey Wardens. Then, my friend, you will walk out the front gate with your weapons and shield while I add to the distraction. You will seem most heroic, I assure you. It won’t be long.”

 

Commander Clarel stood in front of the Wardens from Orlais, the Free Marches and Antiva. The other Warden-Commanders had sent representatives but did not come themselves. “Open up. We want an explanation from the First,” her voice rang clearly in the mountain air. There was some discussion from the walls of the fortress but the gates did not open and nobody answered her directly. As per Blake’s warnings, the templars were continuously chanting the Litany of Adralla. He was putting to the test a theory he and Alistair developed during their year on the road: that multiple people chanting the Litany would be affective over a wider area just as multiple participating mages could enhance some spells. None of them wanted to be controlled by blood magic.

 

While Clarel was speaking at the gate, Blake calculated the angles, readied his bow, and notched a specially prepared arrow. He let it loose high over the heads of the protestors and parallel to the wall. As it gained altitude, colorful and sparkly ribbons unfurled, catching the light as well as attention. He barely started when he felt strong finger pinching his bottom, again.

 

“Do you dress up darkspawn with those arrows, Hot Cheeks?” Nalia asked. “Didn’t think you were the frilly type.”

 

“You’ll see,” he replied, pleased to thwart her curiosity, if not her hands.

 

First Warden Amaz was pacing in the Great Hall. Once the group started on the road that led only to Weisshaupt his spies kept him informed of their progress. Their demands at the gate only infuriated him. He was practically frothing at the mouth, “How dare they come here demanding an audience! That Clarel, I am the one who made her a Commander of the Grey. They answer my questions, I do not answer theirs.”

 

High Constable Xavier watched him without any expression. He didn’t bother saying, “I told you so.” The First was incapable of admitting he was wrong about anything. Instead, “She was a capable Warden and deserved to be the Commander of the Grey in Orlais. We agreed we could never put Nalia in charge; we needed somebody who knew how to play the Grand Game. She’s done an excellent job.” He might as well have been talking to the wall.

 

Fiona was also present. The First summoned her to discuss her visit to the prisoner but she was unable to add anything useful. She wouldn’t have, anyway. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t owe him anything, now that he had decided to turn her over to the Circle.  “I am certainly not going to help him harm Alistair or those who come on his behalf,” she thought indignantly. They heard a roar overhead. “What is that? It is not a dragon,” she gasped. They ran to the balcony and looked up into the sky.

 

“Damn it, Zev, she shouldn’t be here. You know how dangerous it is,” Alistair scowled.

 

Zevran smirked, “Once you are away from Weisshaupt you may rebuke us all as you wish. I look forward to your ardent tongue-lashing.” Alistair turned red and glared at him. “But for now, I suggest you move your fine warrior ass to the gate. We do not want to keep people waiting.” Alistair grabbed his shield and stalked out, ready to draw his sword at the first provocation.

 

The Anderfels Wardens were excitedly pointing to the sky, Frick and Frack among them. “Maker, it can’t be . . .” “I thought they were extinct . . .” “Why now? Where did it come from?” “Magnificent!” Nobody noticed the large warrior striding confidently to the front until he was halfway through the gaping crowd.

 

Reactions outside the fortress were the same as those inside. Nalia turned a speculative gaze up to Blake but didn’t say anything. She did pinch him again.

 

Amaz was the first one on the balcony to notice the irritating ‘Hero of Ferelden’ walking to the gate. “Get him!” he yelled. Some of the Wardens heard him and moved towards Alistair, though not as quickly as the First would like.

 

From the sky, Jannasilane and Nathaniel watched. “I do not think so,” she thought when Wardens started chasing her Alistair. “Hold on!” she shouted into the wind and climbed higher before swooping down in a nosedive. She sang her battle song over the heads of the crowd, stunning all into stillness except for her people. She circled lazily, protectively over the templar whose stride never faltered.

 

Dwarves were among the first to recover. “Open the gates!” the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden demanded, his voice crisp and firm in the mountain air.

 

Some hesitated, but others moved quickly to obey. “If the griffons are back and on his side I’m doing what he says,” one muttered to another.

 

“Bet the First is browning his drawers,” said another.

 

“A griffon, after all this time,” Xavier watched the magnificent creature with wonder, a small smile on his face.

 

Amaz didn’t know what to do about the quandary he now faced. His people were hardly likely to attack one of the fabled griffons; and obviously, it was here for Alistair. Even the Wardens who normally obeyed him in all things were hesitating. He frowned and turned to Fiona, “Is this some sort of trick?”

 

Fiona’s ears still hurt from the griffon’s shriek. Even while she held her hands over her ears, she tracked the winged creature’s movements. She blinked when Amaz grabbed her arm and he repeated his question. Fiona shook her head, “I do not think so. If it is a trick, it is far beyond my understanding. Griffons have been gone for centuries; even a shape-shifter needs to be able to study an animal before taking its form. Perhaps you should not have been so over-bearing with young Alistair, since he must know something about it, or it wouldn’t be here now.” She never would have dared say that to his face if she were alone or still a Warden. Fiona was beginning to find her new status rather liberating.

 

“Fiona, perhaps you could go down to the yard and examine our men and the beast more closely,” Xavier said before the First could attack her. She quickly moved away.

 

“We need to kill him before he reaches the gate,” Amaz declared.

 

Xavier looked at him in disbelief, “Do you really think you can kill him while a griffon, which appeared out of legend on his behalf, does nothing? To say nothing of our own Wardens? Let him go,” he counseled. “He hasn’t given you anything useful, don’t make it worse.” He left before First Warden Amaz could order him to add folly upon folly.

 

“Follow me,” he ordered all the Grey Wardens he encountered.

 

Zevran had been watching from near the Griffonsong path. When Pocket Goddess began swooping, he lit the fuses to Alistair’s prison, among other places, and hurried through the trail. He used the commotion to cover his actions pertaining to one of the Griffonsong ‘ruins.’ That explosion was lost among the others. His part done, he watched and waited on the aerie ledge, smiling in satisfaction.

 

Commanders Nalia and Clarel stood side by side, watching the griffon and their fellow Commander. “Magnificent,” Clarel said quietly.

 

“I admit, that tall drink of water makes a pretty picture with the smoke behind him while he’s calm in the confusion,” Nalia answered appreciatively. She then looked up at her friend, “Or did you mean that golden creature above him?”

 

“Do you ever get enough?” Clarel smiled without looking away from the scene in front of her. The two women had known each other for a long time.

 

Nalia snorted, “Not yet.” They continued to wait, “Do you think the First is insane enough to try and stop him now?”

 

“I believe we shall know soon enough,” the taller woman pointed to the men coming to intercept Alistair. “If they do, we shall act,” she decided. “I was not planning on attacking Weisshaupt but I did not realize our young friend had legends on his side. It seems disrespectful not to help if we are needed, does it not?”

 

“Bet Hot Cheeks knows something,” the dwarven Commander looked around. “Where did he go?” However, with Nalia otherwise occupied, Blake was able to slip away and wait for Nathaniel so they could once again switch places.

 

High Constable Xavier and the men he gathered to him confronted Alistair before he could walk through the entrance. The two men stared at each other. Jannasilane flew closer but Alistair held up a hand, warning the griffon to hold back, and waited. Xavier noticed and lifted an eyebrow, “There are some things you did not tell me, after all.” Other Wardens saw this as well and gazed at Alistair in awe.

 

Alistair shrugged, “You didn’t ask.”

 

“No, I did not think to ask if legends were now reality. Would you have answered if I had? No matter, you are free to go.” He crossed his arms in Warden fashion, gave a shallow bow and stood aside. All the Wardens around him did the same.

 

Janna cried out in triumph from above, a call that was cut short. Alistair looked up, saw her struggling to maintain flight, and sensed magic at work. “Sheila,” he cursed. He recognized that touch. He sensed the blood mage’s location and gathered up all his willpower.

 

Outside the gates the Ferelden templars sensed it and, realizing it was the Hero, followed the direction of his smite and added to it. Their smites pummeled Sheila and all mages in her vicinity into the ground. Above, Jannasilane wheeled away and out of range but not before Nathaniel sent an arrow through the foolish mage’s throat.

 

“You better go, quickly,” the High Constable very quietly suggested.

 

“Yes,” Alistair replied just as quietly and left without another glance. Above him, Jannasilane let out one more battle song and disappeared.

 

“Bring Fiona to me,” Xavier directed a nearby Warden. She was limping from the templars’ smites but moved well enough. “Fiona, how soon can you be ready to leave? It occurs to me that with Wardens and templars just outside our gates you could leave with them instead of waiting for your planned escort. Commander Clarel is from Montsimmard after all. Rather convenient, don’t you think?”

 

The elven woman looked up at him, wondering if he was perhaps warning her, “A week ago I packed a smallish bag with everything I need or want to take with me. It will only take moments to retrieve.”

 

“Then you best move. I will send some or our Wardens with you until you catch up to our departing friends. Maker be with you, Grey Warden Fiona,” he left to return to the First. He wasn’t looking forward to all the damage control he had in front of him and he sincerely doubted First Warden Amaz was going to be helpful.

 

Outside the gates, friendly faces quickly surrounded Alistair, “Warden-Commander Alistair, it is good to see again,” Clarel smiled warmly. “That was quite an exit; one which will have Wardens talking for weeks, if not longer.”

 

Nalia punched him in the side, a friendly jab, “You Fereldans are trickier than you seem. I, for one, want to get out of these mountains and back to Jader. Once we’re down the road a bit you can tell us all about your visit.”

 

Alistair bowed to the two women, “I can’t believe you traveled here on my behalf,” he said loudly enough to be heard by the Wardens and templars surrounding him. “I am truly honored, humbled and grateful. I won’t forget this,” he promised. “Once we get to the first decent tavern the drinks are on me.” Some of the men cheered.

 

“Commander,” Nathaniel struggled to get through the crowd and be heard. “Commander, Amaranthine awaits,” the rogue smiled broadly.

 

“Nate, it’s good to see a face from home,” Alistair clapped the archer on the shoulder. In good spirits, the large group started down the trail, cold Weisshaupt at their backs.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 105: Changes

She paused in the act of brushing her hair and stared at herself in the mirror. She saw an attractive woman whose girlhood was far behind her, “Hopefully not too far,” she grimaced. She remembered the night that brought her here, a tired and upset Jannasilane arriving with news that the Hero of Ferelden was gone, kidnapped. “She loves him so much; I hope he has a forgiving nature because coming home will be difficult for him, for both of them.” She smiled ruefully; she’d hated him for some time and now she was concerned about him, though she couldn’t picture them ever being friends.

 

She noticed that, after her odd chant about Woolsey, Jannasilane looked like she might be sick so she quickly brought her to her room. She couldn’t help being slightly amused at the idea of somebody seeing her, the queen of Ferelden, holding back a young woman’s hair as she vomited into a basin. She then handed Jannasilane a glass of rosewater, “Don’t drink it,” she cautioned, “use it to refresh your mouth. Rinse and spit . . . that’s it, even gargle to get the sour taste out of your throat. My mother taught me this when I had the flu, long before I came to court, of course.”

 

“I suppose that’s why people always think of roses around you,” Jannasilane remarked dully.

 

Anora smiled a little, “I suppose you’re right. Mint water is nice too, but I prefer the rose. Do you wish to tell me what you didn’t tell the men? Something to do with Warden Stroud, perhaps?” Jannasilane jerked her head up in surprise. “I haven’t survived at court all these years by being unobservant. I promise I won’t use whatever you tell me against either you or your Alistair; I’d like us to be friends. There are few people I can afford to be comfortable with to allow such a relationship.” She waited as Jannasilane worried her lip indecisively.

 

When she spoke the words tumbled over each other, “. . . feeling lonely . . . his office late one night . . . Stroud came in . . . we . . . We came to an arrangement. He wished to burn off his desire before Alistair returned and I wished his help to uncover information. He despises me for it, or did, but not, I think, as much as I do. I don’t know if my Ali can ever forgive me,” she whispered through her tears.

 

Ferelden’s queen didn’t know how to comfort her, but did her best. She took Jannasilane’s hand and let her weep for a few minutes, “Many noblewomen feel that way, that they have sold a part of themselves into marriage. Especially if they did not have any say in the matter. I knew Cailan from when we were children and I too, to a small degree, felt that way. Women do what we have to do with what’s available, and few men can comprehend the cost. I am so sorry you found yourself in such a position. From the way you speak of him this Stroud sounds like an otherwise decent man . . .” she let her voice trail off.

 

“He is. Later he admitted that he realized he was angry with himself for his lapse of honor and apologized. He put himself at great risk when he stopped the Cumberlands from taking me. He believes very strongly in the Order; it would have been far easier to acknowledge their orders than to stop them.”

 

“Then I am sure Alistair will be grateful that Jean-Marc protected you when he could not. Whatever else he feels, Alistair loves you very much. Men can be ridiculously stupid about such things but I have a feeling he is not one of them. It’s up to you whether you tell him or not,” she stopped when Jannasilane shook her head, her hair whipping back and forth across her face.

 

“I have no choice. I would tell him anyway, because we pledged no secrets and no lies. He would know I wasn’t telling him everything and that would hurt him worse. But,” her shoulders slumped, “even if I did not wish to speak . . . I think I’m pregnant. I was not so when he left for Montsimmard.”

 

For a moment her own worries and disappointments came crashing to the fore of her thoughts and for the first time in years she spoke without thinking, “Then maybe you should be my surrogate with Blake. Maker knows the Banns are impatient for a royal heir.” Jannasilane choked and Anora realized she spoke aloud. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t realize I spoke at all . . . I suppose my own worries and jealousy got the better of me.”

 

“Jealous? Of me?” Jannasilane was incredulous.

 

“Is that so hard to believe? You’re so young and already with child . . . I was married for years to Cailan and now to Blake without once quickening. I pretend not to, but I see the pointed glances at my womb when they think no one is looking. Soon I will be old enough that they will look at Blake with pity and begin their political maneuvering, if they haven’t already,” she said bitterly.

 

“I am sorry, Anora, your Majesty,” Jannasilane laid her head briefly against Anora’s shoulder. “I have brought my troubles to your door when you have enough of your own.” The two women were silent for a short time, thinking of their respective conditions, until Jannasilane said tentatively “You should consider Fergus. He looks much like his brother and was a father . . .” Anora glanced at her and then briskly tucked her under the covers without replying.

 

Strong hands plucked the hairbrush from her, “Your hair is lovely, my dear, as are you. Time for you to come to bed.” He pulled her to her feet and then just held her in his arms, inhaling her scent. “It’s just as well even we don’t know if I or my brother is the father. It will make it much easier to pretend you’re carrying my niece or nephew.”

 

“Blake will be back soon. I am sure he’ll be pleased; I was surprised really, by how much he wants a child as opposed to an heir. But what about you, we’ve spoken of this before but now that it is reality . . .”

 

Fergus smiled ruefully, “I’ll be fine. Blake will be an excellent, if unusual, father; he was always wonderful with, with Oren.” He was pleased he managed to say his son’s name with only a small hesitation. He was finding it easier to remember the good times. “I’ve always admired you; when you first came to court I was infatuated with you and jealous of Cailan. You and my brother deserve to not have to worry about petty gossip and Ferelden could use a period without drama.” He sighed dramatically, “I’ll just be the doting uncle until Eamon manages to marry me off.” Thoughts of a certain pretty knight flitted across his mind.

 

She chuckled, “I am sure you don’t need Eamon to find you a bride. Promise me one thing? Be happy.” Before going to sleep, she thought of Jannasilane and Alistair, “I hope they survive their return.”

 

They were surviving, but no more than that. They were polite to each other after their first exuberant reunion. Fiona had caught up with him and all the Wardens who protested on his behalf when he saw the three people on the road ahead. Jannasilane had been digging in with her heels, reluctant to come forward. Alistair smiled to himself a little, remembering.

 

“Will you excuse me, Eduardo? Something’s come up,” Alistair didn’t wait for a reply from the Antivan Warden, just began walking quickly towards the trio. He stopped a few feet away and watched her; she was no longer struggling or babbling. Instead, she was silently looking down at the ground. “Janna,” he said softly. “Janna, look at me,” but she didn’t move. “You shouldn’t have come, but, Maker, I’m glad to see you.”

 

She looked up then and swallowed, “I’m going to be sick.” She pulled away from Blake and Zevran and ran behind an outcropping of boulders away from the road.

 

Alistair stared after her, eyebrow lifted, “Not the response I was hoping for or expecting. She’s not ill is she? Tell me nothing is wrong with my Janna,” he demanded with a mild look of panic.

 

“Hey, Package will be fine. She’s been under a lot of stress and worn herself out with worry. Alistair, a lot happened in Amaranthine while you were gone. It wasn’t any easier for her,” Blake warned.

 

The templar took a breath to answer but Jannasilane returned then, looking a little pale but steadier, “I will tell you later, my Ali, when we can talk privately,” she promised softly. Like lightning, her entire demeanor changed and she rushed forward, half-tackling him and half-jumping into his arms, making him stagger back a few steps until he steadied himself. He locked his arms around her as she locked her lips on his in a desperate kiss. Then, in another mercurial shift, she began pounding him on the shoulders and yelling, “Stupid, stupid man! How could you get yourself kidnapped? I was so afraid you were going to be killed,” she ended on a whisper. Jannasilane began peppering his face with soft kisses before burying her face against his neck while sobs of relief shook her.

 

“Shh,” Alistair whispered soothingly. He stroked her hair and back, simply grateful to be able to hold her again. “It’s over now; I’m safe, you’re safe, Amaranthine still stands. It does, doesn’t it?” he tried to tease her out of her mood. She nodded against him, feeling foolish after her erratic outburst. “Then let’s join the others and go home.”

 

Soon the walls he was so used to building against people began to make it hard to connect to his friends and lover; there always seemed to be that invisible distance. Her news didn’t help. “I’m glad Fiona was with us. Between her lessons in cursing,” he still shook his head over Janna’s odd request to Clarel and Nalia, “and Fiona’s stories about Duncan, it was easy to pretend to others that nothing was wrong. Funny that Fiona also knew Maric.”

 

Stroud strode toward the Warden-Commander’s office to give his report. “Thank the Maker he has returned. I still find it hard to believe that the First would act so aggressively toward one of our own. The little girl should be relieved that he is returned, but something is not right,” just thinking of Jannasilane caused his manhood to stir and he once again felt the familiar mixed emotions of desire and disdain. No matter how close they became before she left, no matter that he knew he was wrong, he was unable to shake completely a disappointed contempt for their shared weakness. “I had better be careful. The Warden-Commander may understand other people finding her attractive but it can do no good for him to learn that . . . no. At least in my thoughts I can be honest. I missed her when she was gone. I miss her in my bed and miss the talks we had. We may have been weak but I told her things I’ve told no one else. It hurts knowing that I will only be able to desire her from a distance and any feelings I have must remain secret from all others. Perhaps I will ask for a transfer once all is back to normal . . .” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and knocked on the office door. He waited a beat and entered.

 

Alistair was tired in body and soul. It took all the time traveling from Weisshaupt to Amaranthine before he was finally able to break down some of the protective walls he built in Weisshaupt. As for the rest, he could only hope time was the great healer it was supposed to be. He and Jannasilane . . . he didn’t know how to fix that. She’d closed off a part of herself from him and he suspected the man entering his office was one cause. “Have a seat, Stroud,” he waited. “Before you give me your report I want you to know that Jannasilane has been completely honest with me about your r-relationship while I was gone,” he was proud that only a slight stutter gave away his discomfort. He didn’t miss the flash of desire, disdain, regret and something else, “Andraste’s breath, he’s at least half in love with her. Well, hell.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose while he thought.

 

Stroud struggled to maintain his composure. He hadn’t expected her to tell the Commander about their affair of convenience. He might not have to ask for that transfer.

 

“Stroud . . . Jean-Marc, before we get into official business I have some questions. I’m asking man-to-man, not Commander-to-Warden. Is the contempt you feel directed solely towards Jannasilane?”

 

The man on the other side of the desk squirmed like a little boy being scolded by the Revered Mother. Alistair just waited. Stroud decided to speak frankly; there seemed no point in doing otherwise, “No, no it’s not. She is your woman and I tried to push away the desire I felt for her the moment I saw her. Some boundaries should be sacrosanct and I crossed this one. May I be completely honest?” he waited for Alistair to nod, “You are a man of great integrity, you don’t chase everything in a skirt and yet you remain with a woman who is incapable of being faithful. I do not understand.” The silence in the room was quite loud.

 

Finally, Alistair answered him. “You’ve already proven your discretion; I don’t think anybody else has a clue about the two of you. Except maybe Varel and Nathaniel and there are reasons why . . . anyway. What I’m about to tell you must go no farther. It must remain a secret even to other Wardens or my Janna will be hurt.”

 

“I have no wish to cause her or you any distress. Certainly recent events do not incline me towards automatic trust even of my fellow Wardens,” Stroud grimaced as he said the last. He knew word of Alistair’s abduction was sent to other Warden outposts and many were considering Ferelden’s example of declaring their autonomy from Weisshaupt.

 

“First, you should know that Jannasilane and I both would prefer a more traditional arrangement. She won’t marry me because of what I’m about to tell you. It involves blood and other magics long before she was born,” Alistair didn’t go into many details; those were for Jannasilane to tell if she wished. “. . . unfortunately her worst fears were realized and she also has this unnaturally strong desire, even need, for the . . . umm . . . touch of a Warden.” Even now, he could still blush.

 

“Humph,” Stroud was skeptical. “So you believe that she would go insane if she doesn’t have sex with a Warden? Forgive me, Commander, but that seems far-fetched.”

 

“That’s what I thought when she finally told me, told us, a long time ago. I did not react well,” Alistair brooded on the harm he did to his beloved. “Blake and I were the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden, we hadn’t met Riordan yet, and I was a complete novice with women. I questioned her feelings and even my own. I, I hurt her, badly. Shortly afterwards, she left me and we didn't see each other for several weeks. When Blake and I found her, she was in bad shape. She’d lost weight; her eyes were haunted and sunk in her skull from lack of sleep. Her arms were scarred where she had gouged herself in an effort to hold onto her control, her sense of self.” He paused and caught his breath, “Even now I know when the Need is riding her, she holds herself like so,” he aped her actions. “Anyway . . . during our separation I realized how very much I loved her. I didn’t want anyone else. When I saw her again, well, if the price of being with her meant a more unconventional relationship then . . .” he shrugged. During Alistair’s recital, Stroud was remembering that first night. She’d been holding herself just as the Commander described and later, when she threw the shirt she was wearing into the fire, she looked so sad.

 

“It hurts her, you know. Whenever the Beast, as she calls it, is riding her and my Wardenness is not enough . . . we’ve invited another to our bed. This happened more often when we were first together, as you can guess. There were nights after I returned from my turn on guard duty to see she’d cried herself to sleep for what she sees as her failure. She’s suffering now. Not just for me, for us, but for you. I know my Janna.” Alistair hesitated and decided to say no more. He sat back in his chair and watched Stroud carefully.

 

Stroud frowned, it was so hard to believe and yet it explained many things. Most of their nights together started with comparing notes and discussing how it fit her theory. Soon they began to learn more about each other on a personal level and he found her charming. She never found him dour though he knew that was the common opinion. When it came to sex, however, she was oddly reluctant to get started but he certainly couldn’t complain about her as a lover. She was responsive and giving and . . . then there were the other times when he barely had a chance to lock the door behind him before she was all over him, almost desperate. He frowned and looked over at his Commander as a thought struck him, “Does this mean her desire was false? Or more accurately not hers? Howe and Anders . . .  were they also?”

 

Alistair sighed, only Blake knew how uncomfortable he was with conversations like this. He swallowed, “You are going to have to ask her that question. We discussed approaching you . . . so obviously she liked you and thought you were attractive and I’m not repulsed. One of the compromises we worked out was trying to figure out who would be discreet, who might be interested in sometimes joining us, as well as who we would both be willing to share a bed with. More importantly, we both had to feel we could trust them. I don’t want to be with a man that way, but you can’t have three without there being some, erm, contact. We'd at least spoken to Nathaniel and Anders. I’m not going into any details. This is strange enough,” he muttered.

 

“Howe talks less than a dead oyster, but Anders and discretion? That seems a contradiction,” Stroud answered.

 

“Anders talks a lot but his chatter covers the fact that there is a lot of non-information,” Alistair observed. He straightened; it was past time to move on to official business. “Warden Stroud, all the reports I have gathered prove to me that you were more than capable as acting Commander. Nor were you complicit in the conspiracy against me or the actions against Anders and Riordan. One of the reasons Woolsey was so successful is that Nathaniel has been in charge of Soldier’s Peak until I need him. What seemed logical at the time is no longer good enough. Instead of one second, I want three that will rotate between here and the Keep. Never again will either outpost lack leadership. I would like you to be one of my rotating seconds.”

 

Stroud was stunned. He’d been expecting a reprimand at the very least; then a transfer upon learning Alistair knew everything. “C-commander, I don’t know what to say,” his mind went blank.

 

Alistair carefully kept his expression neutral but inside he was filled with dark amusement, “I don’t want your answer right now. You need to think about it and you need to speak to Jannasilane.” When Stroud hesitated, he narrowed his eyes, “Consider it an order if that makes it easier for you. She’s up in her tower.” Stroud nodded curtly and left the room. Alone again, Alistair turned to look out the window. He was committed now, whatever Stroud decided. He cursed the First and the late Woolsey for their actions. He prayed they rotted somewhere tortured by demons and darkspawn.

 

Stroud slowly walked to the North tower. He was thinking about everything he’d learned and the generous offer of the Warden-Commander. He was no fool. Alistair was a proud man, deservedly so; the conversation and the offer couldn’t have been easy for him. Did he want to stay with the Fereldan order? There was only one thing making him hesitate, one woman rather. If he stayed, he would continue to see her without touching her. Perhaps they would further develop their friendship but . . . he knew he couldn’t join them in any intimate activity. He was surprised at how much it hurt that she was no longer available to him. She never lied about her feelings for the Commander even though at the time he questioned the depth of those feelings. He stopped halfway up the tower as a thought struck him, “If what the Commander said is true, does this mean I raped her, my little girl?” he felt sick at the thought.

 

Jannasilane huddled in her cloak and stared out into the night. The bright moon cast a clear silver light on the Keep; another time she would have found it romantic but tonight she felt cold. She hadn’t felt warm since leaving for Weisshaupt. Every day she thanked the Maker that they were able to save her Ali and that he was home once again. Nevertheless, she felt a chasm widening between them, one she couldn’t close. He deserved so much more than she could give him and now she carried another man’s child. She wrapped her cloak more closely around her.

 

“Little girl,” Stroud quietly called.

 

She whirled around and just stood there, staring at him as he approached her. “J-jean-Marc, what are you doing here?”

 

“I’ve been speaking to the Commander. He told me about your . . . your Warden condition and I started to wonder. Did I rape you?” he asked hesitantly. It was the first time she’d seen him unsure about anything, even when he first doubted there was a conspiracy. The pain in his expression reached her through her fog of depression and guilt.

 

“R-rape me? Oh no, no Jean. I know what rape feels like,” she shuddered at the memories of Fort Drakon. She blinked and took a breath to steady herself, “You didn’t do . . . that. You’re not capable. No more than my Ali. You are a good man and an attractive one and . . . and I’m glad it was you who came to me that night,” She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him, trying to convince him.

 

Stroud stared down at her, searching for answers. Finally he was satisfied, “I am relieved, but I still owe you an apology, little girl. I did not think well of you, and you did not deserve my disdain. I am truly sorry.”

 

Jannasilane withdrew and gathered her cloak around her, “Why should you? I love my Ali and I still . . . would you have even believed me?” She turned away from him and walked to the edge of the tower. Her shoulders sagged, “maybe I am just the Wardens’ ****** as Morrigan said.”

 

Stroud almost didn’t hear her whisper. Angrily he grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around to face him. He shook her, “Don’t you dare say that! You may be right; I wouldn’t have believed you then. That is my lack and not yours. Ah, little girl,” his voice softened and he brought her into his embrace, “Fate was not kind in passing this curse to you but I believe that perhaps balance has been somewhat restored by bringing to you a man who loves you and is willing to help you deal with this ‘Beast’ of yours. The Commander is a good man and I respect no one more. I am quite fond of you, little girl, and want you to be happy,” as he held her crying in his arms he realized both were true. He would always desire her, for she was a most desirable woman, but he was willing to be nothing more than her friend. He knew he could never deal with her condition as the Commander did. He kissed the top of her head, “Dry your tears, little girl. I will treasure the time we were together as I treasure little else. The Warden-Commander is a most unusual man,” he waited for her to quiet down and pay attention to his words. “He offered me the position as one of his rotating seconds but if it will be easier for you I will ask for a transfer instead. Or perhaps a permanent assignment to Soldier’s Peak.”

 

Jannasilane stepped back and looked at him, her eyes wide and moist. She sniffed, “He did that?  I see,” she mused as she considered this turn of events. “I don’t want you to transfer on my account, Jean-Marc. Your decision must be your decision but first there is something you should know,” she bit her lower lip as she thought on her words. “I was pregnant when I left to rescue my Ali.”

 

Stroud stifled the envy that flared up at her news, “I offer you and the Commander my congratulations. This is happy news for Vigil’s Keep.”

 

She snorted and raised an eyebrow, “I did not say I was pregnant when he left the Vigil. I would think you would have noticed the changes. No, Jean-Marc, everyone else will know my Ali as the father of my child but you deserve the truth.”

 

He stopped her before she could go on, “You mean I, I am going to be a father?” She nodded and stood still while he tenderly removed her cloak so he could see the changes in her. He studied her carefully from head to toe; her breasts were fuller and her waist thicker. Very carefully, he laid his hand over her abdomen and was overwhelmed at the life he sensed inside. For the first time since he was a small boy tears trickled down his face. He moved his hand to the side of her face and gently stroked her cheek, “You have given me the greatest of gifts, little girl. If you do not mind, I would like to take the Warden-Commander up on his offer. I will tell him in the morning when we meet again.” He replaced her cloak and frowned, “you should not be up here in the cold. Allow me to escort you down to the Commander.”

 

Jannasilane felt some of the weight she’d been carrying lift from her shoulders. Her lips quirked a bit at the care Stroud displayed, as if she were made of glass and had never fought darkspawn or dragons. Or been an active participant in some rather strenuous lovemaking. Of course, at first Alistair treated her the same way when he heard the news. She sighed, “It is so like my Ali to not send Jean-Marc away but give him an opportunity to watch his child grow up. He is the most wonderful, generous of men.” She practically started skipping.

 

Her drastic mood change startled Stroud. He hoped the Warden-Commander had the healer look at her. For the first time he actually missed Anders. The current man was decent, he supposed, but did not approach the level of Anders’ abilities. He hoped that soon they would recruit some good healers from the Circle. He would be sure to mention that when he met with Alistair in the morning. Once again, he knocked on his Commander’s door before entering, “Commander, I have a delivery for you. Congratulations, you are a fortunate man.” he then turned once more to Jannasilane, “Take care of yourself, little girl. Until the morrow,” he gave a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

For a moment, the inhabitants just looked at each other. Cautiously, Alistair spoke first, “I see you told him about the baby.”

 

With a slight cry Jannasilane jumped forward and into his arms, raining kisses all over his face, “You are the most wonderful of men, my Ali. I love you so very much.”

 

“Thank you, Maker,” Alistair prayed silently and held her against him. “I love you Jannasilane Alenahaella. I’ve missed you.” He held her face in his hands, caressing her face with his thumbs and gently kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her as the kiss deepened. He picked her up without breaking their kiss and made his way to their bedchamber. He kicked the door closed behind them before carefully laying her on the bed. She moaned as he undressed her and laved the exposed skin with his tongue. He stopped when she cried out, “is anything wrong, my love?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

 

She blushed, “N-no, it’s just that m-my n-nipples are more s-sensitive than before.”

 

He licked them and smiled wolfishly when she arched beneath him, “they taste different as well. I wonder what other changes I’ll find.”

 

“You are a wicked, wicked man, my Ali,” she smiled at him.

 

“I am a very grateful man,” he corrected. “I love you, always.” He placed his hand on her growing belly, “I love you and the family we are creating. We’ll work out any problems or unusual circumstances together. You saved me on the road to Lothering. I am blessed because you are in my life.”

 

Moved to tears, something that came more easily these days, she traced his lips and framed his face in her small hands, “I feel that I am the one blessed, my Ali. I love you, always.” They spent the night renewing their commitment to each other.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 106:  Aftermath of Anger

He stared at the vast night sky, seeking . . . something. He was so angry. He woke up angry and went to bed angry. He ate but found it hard to swallow through his anger. He was angry at everyone and everything. He was angry at no one and nothing. He was angry every time he spoke to one of the people in his arling and had to pretend nothing was wrong. He was angry every time he saw Ser Mhairi handling the Warden accounts and thought of the deeds perpetrated by her predecessor. He was angry every time he communicated with Soldier’s Peak and it wasn’t with Riordan. He was angry every time he looked at the woman he adored, big with the child that should have been theirs. He was angry every time one of his people was injured and he didn’t have a healer for them. He was angry that he was so damn tired of being angry and couldn’t find a way to stop. He was angry at the distance between him and Jannasilane. He was angry it was mostly his fault.

 

For a while after his return things were good. He was happy not to have to explain anything to the nobles; Stroud had done well and they accepted the explanation that, with the darkspawn situation resolved, he had to take care of some Grey Warden business. He was relieved to be home with his beloved Janna and didn’t even mind all the Arl stuff he had to do. He couldn’t say exactly when the anger began to build. Was it the first time she had a nightmare about being a prisoner in Fort Drakon? Did it begin when he had to ask the Circle for another healer? Was it when he tracked down Morrigan and she disappeared through the Eluvian after telling him his son was fine? Did it start when Stroud left to do something for his previous Commander, or when he returned with a new recruit and news of Anders? Maybe it had been present all along, ever since he was kidnapped, just hiding behind his relief at being home. He didn’t know anymore.

 

He tried to get rid of it. If only he could hit someone but there weren’t even any darkspawn or bandits reports to investigate; unfortunately his people had done their job too well. He was afraid to spar with his men; afraid his anger might take over. He stopped being intimate with his beloved, afraid that if he let go in passion he’d lose control over his anger. He was afraid of causing Janna to miscarry again and finally succumbed to Terry’s advances. She liked rough play but he flushed with shame when he remembered how he carelessly pounded into her; even at the time, he knew it was wrong and wouldn’t help but he was so desperate to let go he took the chance. Now he could hardly look at the woman. Another person in his position might have forced a transfer, but that wasn’t his way. To her credit, she didn’t take much convincing to realize it was a mistake. Unfortunately, Janna knew. Guilt and shame compounded his anger.

 

At Soldier’s Peak Nathaniel was worried. He compared the most recent communication from his Commander to earlier ones. Alistair’s writing practically tore through the paper; it didn’t take an expert to see that he was angry. This time Stroud added a letter of his own, asking him for advice.

 

“. . . even when he looks at his lady there is such anger in him that he cannot hide. It has been building since he returned. Not for the first time, I regret I was so blind to what was happening but what was done cannot be undone. I fear if your friend cannot find a way to purge himself of the poison inside him he will do something for which he will never forgive himself. He is a good man; we have to help him if we can so I ask you for advice since you have known him longer than I.

 

Please contact me soon, Jean-Marc Stroud.”

 

He made his decision. He gathered some papers, packed a few things and checked his bow before finding his second. “Saykor, I have to go to Denerim and then Amaranthine. Make sure the recruits practice their archery; I want them at least to be within a few feet of their target. I don’t think Levi has recovered yet.”

 

Saykor snorted, “He got as white one of those Fade spirits of you humans. Is something wrong with the Commander or Reynita?” The dwarf’s respect for Alistair was huge and the First’s betrayal cut the human deeply. There was literally nothing Saykor wouldn’t do for the man.

 

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Nathaniel knew how much Saykor admired their Warden-Commander and that the dwarf was as tight-lipped as Zevran was flirtatious, “Stroud is . . . concerned. I am going to ask His Majesty for advice and then see for myself. If it is nothing then I’ll lie and say that my nephew is sick.”

 

“That’ll be a fun meeting. Have you spoken more than a handful of words to each other since you returned to Ferelden?”

 

Warden-Constable Howe smiled mirthlessly, “I will let you know when I plan to return.” Saykor frowned into the fire after he left.

 

On the road to Denerim, Nathaniel decided it made more sense to contact Zevran instead of Blake. He was confident the Antivan would at least listen to him, which was more than he might get from His Majesty. Thankfully, he didn’t have to deal with any potential recruits at the Warden compound. He sent a message to the assassin and waited in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. “You do not look happy, stoic one. Perhaps you have been pining for my sparkling company and sexy body,” Zevran slid into the booth across from him.

 

“I don’t pine,” Nathaniel answered, “though I won’t mind seeing Sigrun again.” He pushed two letters to the other side of the table, “Alistair needs our help, Stroud sent a letter and if he is worried . . .”

 

“This writing speaks for itself,” Zevran responded gravely. “The hot rage practically rises from the paper. Alistair has a right to be angry at many things, but this is a festering wound. The lovely Reynita must be devastated,” he frowned. “I think it is past time some friends visited him. Drink up; we go to see His majesty.”

 

Anora was relieved to see Zevran and Nathaniel. She and her husband were allies, more often agreeing on the direction to steer Ferelden than not, and fast becoming friends. Her pregnancy strengthened the bond between them, but Blake reacted in ways she couldn’t foresee. “He hovers like a broody, mother hen. I can’t sit down without him making sure it is the most comfortable chair. I find it irritating but other women swoon and men smile indulgently,” she was torn between gratitude and annoyance at his concern. Behind his lover’s back, Zevran winked outrageously at her. He alone, other than Erlina, seemed to understand her moods much better than her husband did and was quite willing to distract him.

 

“Your beauteous blooming Majesty, I bring to you a distraction from the attentions of your husband. I found this sternly attractive Grey Warden sitting alone at the Gnawed Noble and thought it a shame to waste his strong, stoic self in a dark tavern,” he smiled at Anora while Blake struggled not to scowl. Even after their efforts at Weisshaupt, he found it difficult to be in the same room as Nathaniel.

 

Nathaniel bowed, “This is the first time I’ve ever been called a distraction. Your Majesty, I do not wish to intrude on your good nature. I wished to consult Master Arainai on a private matter.”

 

“I may not know Zevran as well as my husband does but I do know he would not have brought you here just for a little social repartee,” she answered drily, with a slight gleam of amusement at that husband’s annoyance. Zevran grinned in appreciation. “Pray sit down and tell us what troubles you,” she indicated a chair. “And please let it not be too serious, just enough to give Blake something to do other than cater to whims I don’t even have.” She maintained an expression of mild inquiry.

 

Blake stopped scowling and both royals grew concerned as Nathaniel talked. “I don’t like the sound of this at all. Alistair is not an angry person; I’ve seen him sulk, I’ve seen him pout but generally, he is an optimistic, sunny kind of guy. And Stroud says he’s angry with Package?”

 

“Angry when he looks at her,” Nathaniel corrected, “I don’t know if that’s the same thing as being angry with Mouse. It’s not good either way. The connection between them is so strong . . . if he damages that neither one will recover.”

 

“Nor will it be good for the Arling or the Wardens if he doesn’t get this rage under control. Would you excuse us, Nathaniel?” Anora waited until the Warden bowed and left the room. “Is he angry because he’s not the father?” she bluntly asked. “Don’t be so surprised, she told me before you left for the Anderfels. Do you think he might hurt her?”

 

Blake instantly shook his head, “Not a chance. Not deliberately. I’m sure his anger is an aftermath of what happened, and Package’s pregnancy might be a part of it, but he would cut off his arms and legs before doing something to her.”

 

“I hope you are right, husband. I think you and Zevran should go to Amaranthine with Nathaniel and see for yourselves.”

 

“I can’t leave you alone,” Blake protested. “What if something happens to you or the baby?”

 

“She is hardly alone, my dear Warden,” Zevran reminded him, “In addition to Wynne of the magical bosom, an entire castle is waiting eagerly for her to drop a spoon just so they can pick it up on her behalf.”

 

Anora smiled, “I wouldn’t go as far as that, but he’s correct.” Her smile faded, “I respect Alistair and like Jannasilane; she is one of the most refreshing people I know. They’re both very important to you and you will only fret if you stay here.” She added the clinching argument, “She’s my friend and she may be in trouble. She’s so close to her time; I am worried about her and trust you to prevent anything bad from happening to her. Vigil’s Keep is hardly on the other side of Thedas.”

 

“In other words, get out of your hair and leave you in peace for a few days. I know I’ve been irritating you, with my rather excessive concerns for your comfort,” he surprised his wife and his lover with the acknowledgement. He shook his head, “Very well, you’re right on all counts. If you’re sure you and Ferelden can do without me,” he raised an eyebrow at her, “I’ll leave now. I’ll be back as soon as I can, so enjoy your peace while it lasts.” He placed his hand on the life growing inside of her for a few moments before leaving.

 

Fergus was in Amaranthine, dining with Ser Mhairi. He poured some more wine, “Isn’t your replacement doing well, my dear? You are lovely as ever,” he enjoyed making her blush, “but you seem rather distracted.” After Alistair returned to Amaranthine, she visited Highever to retrieve a few items. Fergus used that opportunity to suggest they meet in the City of Amaranthine for dinner. Now they met regularly, slowly expanding on the friendship started when he was tutoring her in the necessary art of bookkeeping. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

 

Mhairi sighed, “Perhaps. I admit I am a bit worried about the Commander and Lady J. He seemed fine when they returned from Weisshaupt but now . . . now I sense a rage he struggles to control. He tries to pretend he’s the same, but she is worried, which means Brody, our healer, is worried. Stroud is also concerned.”

 

“We can’t expect him to be the same as he was before,” the Teyrn said gently. “He may not have been physically tortured or abused, but that sort of betrayal changes a man.”

 

She found comfort in the way he held her hand, firm but gentle. She sighed again, “I wish it were just that. But sometimes, sometimes it seems he can’t even stay in the same room with Lady J. He may not mean to but he’s hurting her. I know pregnant women,” she blushed slightly to be talking about such a personal topic, “can be more emotional but she’s all over the place. Between Stroud’s abilities and Alistair’s reputation, we aren’t having any trouble recruiting but earlier this week she was so difficult and bossy that a number of new recruits were ready to leave. Later that same day she apologized. She was so upset by her behavior, and worried that she hurt them that she was in tears. Those same recruits practically fell over themselves to get her a chair, or water, anything to calm her down and show her there were no hard feelings.” Mhairi shook her head, she couldn’t help a slight smile, she had a hunch it would be one of those stories. “I think they would now follow her into the Fade, even if she didn’t ask. Even Carver, the young man Stroud brought back from Kirkwall, is devoted to her, and I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody with a bigger chip on his shoulder. He teases her constantly and they bicker like brother and sister.”

 

“No wonder Zevran calls her Reynita, the little queen,” Fergus smiled at her. He liked holding her hand; it was strong with a few calluses such as a warrior would have but still soft like a woman. Any decent man would be proud to have the hand of such a woman at his side. “Package has a lot of passion for such a small person.”

 

“‘I’m not little,’” they quoted in unison and smiled at each other.

 

Mhairi’s smile faded, “I hope I’m wrong, but . . .” 

 

 Fergus frowned, “If you like, I’ll talk to him. All of you, except Package, are under his command. No matter how friendly you are he may be reticent to discuss what’s troubling him with you, but I’m a friend and practically family; I’ll play the big brother card. Maybe he just needs an outside ear, so to speak.”

 

“Thank you, Fergus,” she said softly. “I think if anybody can reach him, you can.”

 

“You have such faith in me, my dear,” he kissed her hand, charmed when she blushed. “I ask one thing of you, that you stay the night in the city and ride with me to Vigil’s Keep. Separate rooms, of course. I will not tarnish a lady’s reputation. I haven’t been to the Vigil yet and the first time will be easier with you at my side.”

 

Back at Vigil’s Keep, Stroud was frustrated. Alistair tried to be the same person he was before he was forced to the Anderfels, but the anger boiling inside him was coming closer to the surface. Even Oghren could see that and was concerned. He almost wished for something to happen so that the warrior could pummel a guilty someone without worrying about hurting anyone else but the Commander had trained his men so well that the Arling was the envy of many. Stroud even suggested Alistair take some of the recent Wardens to the Korcari Wilds but Alistair glared at him and said he wasn’t going to leave with Janna so close to her time. He rather thought the persistent Terry managed to get him into bed once but if so, it didn’t help, if anything the Commander was angrier. Somebody was going to get hurt if Alistair didn’t find a way to purge his anger soon and he didn’t know if he could afford to wait for Nathaniel.

 

Finally, the morning came when Stroud knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Something had to be done, now. Alistair had just caused one of the servants to cry, he apologized and when she left he hit the stone wall so hard he must have broken bones. He found their new healer, “Enchanter Brody, will you please go to the small sparring room and wait for me? It is time to do something about our Commander.”

 

Brody heaved a sigh of relief, “I’m glad somebody has an idea. I’m worried about the Arl-Commander and Reynita. I don’t like to see her so stressed; it isn’t good for either her or the baby. Lady Isolde’s suggestions help but can only go so far.”

 

“Yes, the little girl was surprised to see her but I think she was grateful for the diversion,” Stroud remarked. “Thankfully, Alistair was somewhere on a mission for His Majesty. Little girl told me enough of his background that I fear relations with the Arl would be permanently damaged if the Commander and Lady Isolde were in the same room.” He changed from his metal armor to his thickest leathers before seeking out Alistair.

 

He found Alistair hunkered down in his office, brooding out the window. Stroud was glad to see the man wasn’t wearing any armor, “Commander, you are needed in the small sparring room.”

 

“What is it? Why can’t you handle it?” Alistair scowled at his second.

 

“I think it best you see for yourself, I’m not sure I can explain it properly,” Stroud replied. He left, a grumbling Commander at his heels. The minute they stepped into the room, Brody closed the door behind them.

 

Alistair looked around, “I don’t see anything -” and staggered back when Stroud hit him. His eyes flashed dangerously as he blocked the next swing. He sprang at the smaller man when Stroud connected with a solid punch to his ribcage. His control quickly left him and the battle was on. Stroud was grateful for the healer’s presence, Alistair was even stronger and faster than he expected. Rage ruled the young warrior as he struck blow after punishing blow.

 

Stroud said nothing at first, waiting until some of the blind rage passed, “This is for your own good, Alistair.” He grunted and hit back, “Your rage, your anger has to stop before you hurt yourself or the little girl anymore.”

 

“You’re in love with her,” he snarled. Anger allowed him to ignore the pain and bruises inflicted by the former chevalier.

 

“As are you,” Stroud gasped back. He dodged a blow and momentarily restrained Alistair, “You, however, are the man she wants and deserves.” Alistair broke away and began hitting once again. Mostly Stroud defended himself; he fought just enough to make sure Alistair didn’t stop.

 

Blake, Zevran and Nathaniel arrived. “Seneschal Varel, we need to see the Warden-Commander,” Nathaniel spoke for the three of them.

 

Varel didn’t know what to do, he had strict orders not to interfere, but he didn’t expect the king to show up, “Your Majesty,” he kneeled, “I regret to say that Arl Warden-Commander Alistair is in the small sparring room and can’t be disturbed.”

 

Blake’s mouth quirked, “You can’t disturb him, but I can. What small sparring room?” Nathaniel explained that it used to be his father’s private armory collection. “Nate, I think it’s better if you don’t come with us. Too many people might be counter-productive, and he can’t do much to me since I’m the king.” As he left he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

 

The king and his security advisor heard the sounds of scuffling long before they reached the sparring room. “No guards or servants,” Blake noted before opening the door. “Payback’s a ******,” he murmured before tackling Alistair.

 

Zevran snorted, “But for whom, I wonder.” He sidled around to Brody’s side, “Is there some reason the big, handsome templar is beating up the Warden with the magnificent mustache?”

 

Brody was maintaining a low level of healing energy directed to Stroud, “Warden Stroud’s idea.” He winced when Alistair knocked Blake’s head back. “He said Alistair needed to purge his anger before somebody got hurt, though I think he really meant Reynita, I mean Lady J.” They continued talking and staying out of the way.

 

Zevran sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to use his daggers on Alistair when he saw his lover take another hard blow. “You do know spells other than healing ones, I trust?”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 107:  New Arrival

Fergus stopped their horses a short distance from the gates, “I didn’t often visit Nathaniel; he usually came to us. I remember the structure well enough but the atmosphere is far from what I recall.” The Howe crest was gone and Grey Warden banners waved alongside the Amaranthine insignia. The Keep used to have an air of neglect, Rendon Howe preferred the capital of Denerim, but now Fergus could see pride of ownership. Even through the debris from rebuilding, he saw well-maintained walls. The courtyard gates were wide open and a couple of merchants were doing brisk trade before traveling on to the city. Servants walked with pride and without fear of being accosted or beaten. “Is it my imagination or do the outer walls actually sparkle?”

 

Ser Mhairi smiled, “One of Lady J’s projects. She had an idea that lemonweed and other ingredients might stop at least some pests from getting in. I don’t know if it works, but everybody was willing to indulge her. Alistair and Stroud both forbade her to work in her garden when she complained about not seeing her feet. The Warden-Commander didn’t endear himself to his lady when he warned her that if she fell she’d be as helpless as a turtle on its back.”

 

Teyrn Cousland grinned, “Things can’t be all bad if Alistair is tactful as ever. Let’s go.”

 

Jannasilane, up in her ‘aerie,’ was unaware of all the arrivals below. She was reading one of the journals Zevran rescued from the old Griffonsong ruins. He gave them to her after they reached Ferelden to make sure the other Wardens didn’t see. She didn’t understand some of them, or even know what language they were written in. Maybe one day she and Ali could search for other possible Griffonsong. Her smile faded when she thought of Alistair; he was so angry and she didn’t know how to reach him. It hurt every time he looked at the child growing within her; he seemed to get even angrier. She worried that rage would cause him to do something he would always regret, even more than he regretted his encounter with Terry.

 

“My Ali, Jean-Marc, Varel, even Oghren would be annoyed if they knew I was up here. If they find out, well, it is the last time until my baby is born,” she sighed; she was finding it more and more difficult to climb the ladder. Carefully she locked the journal in the chest with the others and made sure everything was in order. She didn’t want to stop coming. It was the only place she could be alone and didn’t have to pretend that everything was fine. She didn’t even bring Nugflutter up with her. Nobody could see her if she cried or threw things. She was so moody and temperamental these days that, on one of his visits, Zevran called her Reynita, a nickname that gained currency with many at the Vigil. She tried to rub her back, the uncomfortable twinges she’d felt all morning was one of the reasons she decided to stop coming to her little refuge.

 

Minutes later Jannasilane was on the floor, gasping for breath. She thought she heard voices calling for her and tried to respond. The discomfort she ignored all morning was actually the first stages of labor. The sharp pain that brought her to her knees took her by surprise. The trap door opened. She looked up in panic when she saw Nathaniel, “Nate, I think . . . the baby, it’s early . . . help me.”

 

Nathaniel was worried but also fascinated by the way the contractions rippled through her entire body, like waves across the Amaranthine Ocean. He lifted her in his arms and she latched onto him, nearly choking him.

 

Fergus poked his head through the trapdoor entrance; his eyes widened with concern when he saw her wet gown, “Her water broke. We need to get her down.” He noticed the death grip she had on the archer. “I’ll go down and you follow. I’ll guide you and help support you until we can get her to her room.”

 

“Thank you,” Nathaniel breathed. He smiled encouragingly at the not-so-small woman holding onto him, “Don’t worry, my lady Mouse, you and the pup will be fine. Fergus and I are here.” Carefully, the two men worked together and settled her on her bed. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let go of the rogue.

 

“Where is my Ali? Jean-Marc?” she panted as pain wracked her body.

 

“I’ll find your healer and Alistair,” Fergus bowed over her hand and kissed it. He looked at his former friend and frowned a little at the concern he saw in those grey eyes. He quickly left.

 

Brody watched in awe as the Hero of Ferelden returned blow after blow without slowing down. The three men were bruised and bloodied, but showed no signs of stopping. Beside him, the Antivan Crow was watching closely while commenting on the action, “Such a fine sight is it not, to see three excellent examples of manhood in their primal glory. Ooh, another blow from the Hero to the senior Warden. Now His most attractive Majesty sidesteps a jab intended for his pretty face and the magnificent mustache takes advantage to deliver a blow of his own.”

 

None of the occupants, save Zevran, saw Fergus enter with Varel and some servants until Fergus threw the first of several buckets of cold water over the combatants. The three men were surprised into inaction and gaped at the Teyrn of Highever. Fergus shook his head at them, “Look at the three of you, brawling like gutter rats after a night of drinking. You’re the healer?” he looked at Brody, who nodded. “If none of these boys have any life-threatening injuries you’re needed in the Commander’s quarters at once. That’s right; while you ‘men’ have been ‘busy’ Package fell to the floor of her tower in pain.” Fergus was grimly pleased when the Wardens lost all color and Brody practically ran out of the room. “Howe and I got her to her room; he’s with her now. You will march yourselves to the bathing chamber where hot water, towels, clean clothes, and even bandages wait for you. Then, if I decide you’re acceptable, and if the healer approves, at least one of you might be allowed to see her.” He turned on his heel and left them, a quietly grinning Varel at his side.

 

Blake blinked after his older brother, “He sounded just like Father.”

 

“It’s too early for the baby,” Alistair murmured, stunned. “It’s not due for another two or three weeks, Brody said.”

 

Zevran snorted, “I frequently heard the same from the whores as I was growing up. Babies do not care about calendars or timetables. If you have finished pummeling your friends, I suggest you hurry and do as the ferociously sexy Fergus commanded.  I shall come along to make sure you clean behind your ears.” He smirked when three pairs of eyes stared at him.

 

Alistair stuck out his hand, “Stroud, Jean-Marc, thank you. If you hadn’t . . . I might have,” he shook his head. “I couldn’t find a way through my rage.”

 

Stroud shook the proffered hand, “You are no longer angry at the little girl?” he asked cautiously.

 

The large warrior blinked in surprise, “What are you talking about? I was never angry at my Janna.”

 

“I have seen the way you look at her, and the child she carries, my friend. Others have noticed this as well; and you frequently leave a room shortly after she enters,” Stroud said sternly.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair swore unhappily. “I’m sorry. If that’s what she or anybody else thinks, they’re wrong but . . . maybe not completely, in a sideways upside down kind of way.”

 

“Perhaps you will feel better, Alistair, if you clarify what you mean in words we can understand without standing on our heads,” Zevran finally interjected.

 

Alistair locked the door to make sure nobody interrupted them and then sat down. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to think how to explain, “I’m not very good with words.” He looked at the three men watching him closely and sighed, “Each of you knows the truth about Janna’s ancestors and her unique, um, abilities and the side effects. Even though she’s Duncan’s daughter I still never really expected her to become pregnant, that we could have children. I suppose years of templar training followed by becoming a Grey Warden . . . I accepted I would probably never have a family of my own. I dunno, maybe I was just protecting myself. Anyway,” he pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration, “after we got out of Fort Drakon . . . she was so badly hurt . . . then Wynne said she m-miscarried . . . it was like joy and pain and hope just got mixed up in a huge ball of hurt. To come so close to something I’ve always wanted and losing it in the same moment . . .”

 

“When we came to Amaranthine, we both realized, in spite of talking darkspawn, that we could finally have the home we both wanted, a place to start a family, Maker willing. I accept that, because of something neither of us can control, I might not be the, erm, technical father. Mostly accept, anyway,” he said with a weak grin. “I don’t blame you,” he looked Stroud directly in the eye, “and I certainly don’t blame Janna, but I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed.”

 

“Yes, I can understand that,” Stroud answered.

 

“But I should have had a chance,” Alistair burst out, angrily. He shook his head to clear it, “That doesn’t sound right. Maker, I need to figure out how to say this so I can apologize to my Janna.”

 

“The First interfered with your family, as unconventional as such a family may be,” Zevran said thoughtfully. “Because of his actions, the, shall we say parameters, of your personal lives were violated and her pregnancy is a reminder of this. The bee that keeps buzzing around your head, as it were.”

 

Alistair’s sigh of relief was more like a gust of wind, “Yes! The rest is bad enough, but this, this is too personal. I got so angry I couldn’t think about why I was so angry, if that makes any sense.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell this to the little girl?” Stroud wanted to know. “Will you be angry at the coming babe?”

 

Alistair stared at him blankly, “Why would I be angry at a baby?” He shook his head, “I was too mad, too filled with rage to put the words together. Every time I tried, I choked. Literally, a ball of rage would just close in my throat. There weren’t even enough darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds to make a dent in the anger I was feeling; or maybe Finn and Ariane were too good at fighting them,” he mused. He smiled slightly; there was just something about the finicky Finn with the ugly hat that amused him even through his anger.

 

“If confession time is over perhaps we can go see if Fergus will allow any of you to see Pocket Goddess Reynita?” Zevran unlocked the door and walked out.

 

“Like he could stop me,” Alistair muttered petulantly.

 

“Don’t pout, Alistair, or Fergus might send you to bed without supper,” Blake informed him with a straight face. Alistair made a rude noise. “So erudite,” His Majesty teased his friend.

 

Fergus was pleased to see that whatever demons were riding Alistair were gone. “You three look acceptable enough. Fortunately Package has fought with you so your bruises won’t scare her,” he said drily. “She’s asking for you, both of you,” he pointed to Stroud as well. “I suggest the two of you move, quickly.” They did.

 

Nathaniel was relieved to see them, “Good, you’re here. See, Mouse, I told you your Ali was fine.” He kissed her forehead and stepped away. Alistair and Stroud settled on either side of her.

 

“Oh, what happened to your pretty face?” she brought one hand up to trace the bruises but was stopped by another contraction. She gripped their hands until it was over and leaned back against the pillows. Jannasilane looked from one man to the other before speaking again. “You are no longer angry, my Ali,” she sighed in relief.

 

“Thanks to Stroud. Just needed to have some sense knocked into my head,” he gave her a crooked grin, and then winced when he remembered his cut lip. “I’m sorry I worried you, my love. I wasn’t thinking straight but I was never angry with you. If I made you think that, well, I’ll make it up to you, somehow, I promise.”

 

Jannasilane smiled at her friend, “Thank you for bringing my Ali back to me, Jean-Marc. I hope he did not hurt you,” she said softly.

 

“Little girl, we all needed the Warden-Commander to return to normal. Sometimes a man just needs to hit something and the darkspawn refused to cooperate,” he kissed the small hand holding onto his. The next several hours followed a pattern; the two men stayed with her almost constantly, talking to her, wiping her brow with cool cloths, wincing on her behalf with each contraction. Brody stayed close, monitoring her progress and occasionally allowing her to walk with assistance for short periods or have a sip of water. At one point Poorfella, Nugflutter and Ser Pounce-a-lot eased into the room and watched from a corner.

 

Rather than stay with the Couslands, Nathaniel decided to see if he could make Alistair’s job any easier and went downstairs to the Commander’s office. Sigrun found him there, flexing his hands. He smiled at her, “It is good to see you again, Sigrun. I suppose you’ve heard that Mouse went into labor?” She nodded, her eyes on his hands in concern, “She has a surprisingly strong grip for such a small person,” he explained. “Stroud and Alistair are with her now.”

 

“I heard a few things. Is it true they were brawling, and that the king joined them?” She grinned, “Sorry I missed that. Bout time somebody kicked that tall duster in the rear.” She watched him for a few minutes, not wanting to admit she was pleased to see him again. Finally, she walked over to him, “Here, let me take a look.” Without waiting for permission she took one of his hands in hers and began massaging it, “I don’t think anything’s broken. You should still win a few archery contests,” she said cheekily after repeating her actions on his other hand.

 

He watched her intently, pleased to see the slight flush on her cheeks. He brought her hands to his lips and lingered over them, “Thank you, my lady,” he said softly. “I welcome your company.”

 

“Such a smooth talking duster,” she mocked, and then she winked at him. “Sticking around for awhile?”

 

“Saykor would never forgive me if I didn’t stay long enough to find out if Mouse has a boy or a girl,” he answered, smiling. “I think Alistair will have a lot on his mind for a few days, thought I’d stay and help. Perhaps even spend time with a certain perky dwarva, if she’s interested. Or have you finally succumbed to Oghren’s more ‘earthy’ blandishments?” he brought her closer to him.

 

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “I think I prefer long, lean, and clean. Sober isn’t bad, either.”

 

“Well, then I am most fortunate.”

 

Upstairs, Jannasilane’s contractions were harder and faster. Down the hall, Zevran and the Cousland brothers were waiting; Ser Mhairi who was acting as a kind of delegate for the soldiers and Wardens joined them. Zevran prayed that Pocket Goddess fared better than his mother had. Blake thought about Anora and was grateful beyond words that Wynne agreed to stay with them until the babe was born. A mage in the castle caused a few eyebrows to rise but most were too relieved at the prospect of a royal heir to care.

 

Fergus couldn’t help remembering the day Oren was born. “Oriana yelled at me and threw quite a number of books at my head. It was the first time I saw her completely lose her temper, for some reason she blamed me,” he smiled. “I think she threatened me, but fortunately I don’t know enough Antivan to be sure.”

 

“Antivan women are very passionate creatures, no matter how demure they appear,” Zevran agreed.

 

“I almost feel sorry for Alistair,” Blake commented, “Package doesn’t have a demure bone in her body.”

 

Jannasilane wasn’t feeling particularly demure, either. After a particularly strong contraction, she began cursing at the men in the room. Alistair stared at Stroud in surprise, “You’re blushing!”

 

“Be grateful you do not understand, Commander. I did not think the little girl knew such words; is she even aware of their meaning?” Stroud shook his head in disbelief.

 

“Just Alistair, we’re not exactly formal at the moment,” he looked warily at his beloved and lowered his voice. “She asked Clarel and Nalia to teach her how to swear. She said she didn’t want to sound like Oghren.”

 

“That would be preferable,” Stroud muttered.

 

“I am right here,” Jannasilane panted and glared.

 

Alistair kissed her hand and smiled at her, “We didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Brody, my love. I do prefer you profess your undying devotion to me in language I can understand, though.”

 

She snarled at him. A few minutes later she gave a garbled scream as her daughter made her way into the world. In the way of mothers everywhere, she quickly forgot all pains and discomforts when the healer placed her child in her arms. “Lady J,” Brody was tired but smiling broadly, “I present to you one healthy baby girl. I’ll be back in just a few minutes to finish up.”

 

They barely heard him. “She’s so red and wrinkly,” Alistair commented in an awed voice. With his finger, he traced the outline of the heavily swaddled bundle.

 

“I am no expert but I believe this is normal for all babies right after they are born,” Stroud commented, just as softly.

 

“She’s perfect,” Jannasilane whispered. She leaned against Alistair, glad to have him back. Watching them, Stroud knew it was time for him to go. “Jean-Marc, wait. Do you want to hold her?”

 

He stopped. Suddenly he was terrified, “Little girl, I have known nothing but the life of a warrior for many years. These hands know what to do with a weapon, but a baby? I worry I will hurt something so fragile.” Even as he protested he yearned, “She is correct. I want nothing more than to hold my daughter in my arms even if it is just for a moment.” Jannasilane said nothing, just watched and waited. Finally, he sat down next to them and gingerly took the precious bundle into his arms. He looked down into his daughter’s tiny face and saw her staring up at him, blinking. “Hello, you big, beautiful, baby girl,” he whispered. “Little girl, you have done well, ‘this is truth.’” He kept gazing at the tiny creature in wonder.

 

“Humph,” she snorted. “Why is she a big girl and I am still ‘little girl?’” she complained.

 

“That is a question for the wisest scholars in Thedas,” Stroud answered soberly, a twinkle in his eyes. He winked at his daughter. Alistair coughed to hide his laughter. “Commander, you have a beautiful family. Guard them well,” carefully he returned the babe to her mother’s arms.

 

“We’ll have to have a party to celebrate the arrival of Martelle Alara,” Alistair suggested.

 

Stroud was stunned, “Martelle?” Jannasilane and Alistair nodded. He stood up hastily, “Forgive me, but I shall leave the three of you to get further acquainted. Blessings on your family.” He left through the Commander’s office rather than run the gauntlet of waiting friends. “They named her after my parents, Martin and Ghiselle,” he kept thinking. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge to go to the small chapel and give thanks to the Maker.

 

“That went well,” Alistair grinned. He stroked baby Martelle’s cheek, “Don’t you think it went well, Marty? Maker’s breath, I think I love her already. Thank you, my love, my always.”

 

Nathaniel and Sigrun ran upstairs when they heard Jannasilane and joined the others in time to hear the baby cry. Oghren was already there, “Didn’t think you’d keep old Oghren away, did ya? Anybody want a belt of my special ale? I’m feeling a might generous, seeing as how I won the pool.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Mhairi rolled her eyes at the same time Fergus asked, “What pool?”

 

“When the nuglet came, of course, you fancy duster. What else?” the dwarf snorted. “Temperamental women always deliver early, probably to keep everybody from going insane. And our feisty Cherryplum sure qualifies; Felsi was the same way,” sadness briefly swept across his face but he quickly chased it away with another drink.

 

“You’re making that up,” Sigrun accused. “Just like the story you told Velanna about pink rocks are baby girl dwarves and gray ones are baby boys.”

 

“Compared to Velanna, Mouse is serene as a still pond. She was beyond steamed at you, ser dwarf,” Nathaniel remembered the various reprisals the Dalish mage visited upon Oghren.

 

“From what I recall of the lovely Velanna you were indeed courting death, my friend,” Zevran laughed, along with the others.

 

The laughter stopped when Alistair entered the room carrying a tiny bundle. “Everybody, meet Martelle Alara. Martelle, this is everybody, well, a lot of people, anyway. We got out of Brody’s way, he can be so bossy,” he laughed. The healer had actually bustled back into the room and told him to go away for a few minutes. “Janna will probably be asleep when we get back. She’s fine,” he added before anybody could ask, “and Marty is absolutely perfect.”

 

“Martelle is a pretty name, Commander,” Mhairi said, her eyes on the baby in Alistair’s arms. She wondered what it would be like to have a child of her own, though that seemed unlikely.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 108:  The Vigil Celebrates

The guest of honor was not cooperating. Neither was her father. “Alistair, stop spinning around with Martelle,” Jannasilane was cross. “I’ve had to change my clothes three times because she keeps throwing up on them. If she does it again I’m going to make you wear a dress to greet our guests.”

 

“You’re beautiful like this, half-naked with your hair falling around your shoulders and breasts. Isn’t she beautiful, Marty?” Alistair teased his beloved. Then he frowned, “Hmmm, maybe I should stop. I don’t want our little Marty to get any ideas and think running around without a shirt is a good idea. But you can remember for later,” he waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer.

 

Jannasilane glared to hide her amusement. She looked at her warrior; he was so big and strong in contrast to their tiny, baby daughter. Instead of looking silly, it looked, “It looks right. My Ali radiates love whenever he holds Martelle. Truly I am a lucky woman.” She thought of a way to pay him back for messing up so many of her clothes. Her glare changed to a feline smile of feminine appreciation for the man in front of her. She sauntered towards him with swaying hips, “You like what you see, my Ali?” she lightly brushed her fingers across the top of her breasts in a slow, delicate caress. Alistair gulped. “Maybe when we are in our rooms I should wear nothing but a thin skirt, nothing,” she emphasized. Slowly she walked her fingers up his abdomen to his chest, backing him up against the bed until he abruptly sat down, practically holding Martelle as a shield. “Perhaps I’ll give you a massage, or just kiss your soft, full lips until you are so hard you can’t even think of getting up,” she nipped his lips and kissed him slowly until he moaned. “Brody said at least another month before we can be . . . intimate,” she whispered as she trailed light kisses along his jaw line until she reached his ear, “a month can be a very long time, my Ali.”

 

“You are a wicked, wicked woman,” he groaned before wrapping his free hand in her hair and bringing her mouth to his. “Thank the Maker for that,” he plundered, he dominated, he enticed. Well, until Martelle began squirming between them. He closed his eyes on a sigh of frustration.

 

Jannasilane was already plucking her out of her father’s arms, all thoughts of teasing seduction pushed aside, “She certainly has a Warden’s appetite.” She sat down in the rocking chair, a gift from Lady Isolde. “Don’t you, my big girl,” she cooed.

 

Alistair watched them and thought his Janna had never looked more beautiful. “I’m sorry, my love,” he finally said. “Twirling around with her was probably not the best idea, but I think she likes it.”

 

“I’m sure she does,” Jannasilane responded with a soft smile, “but don’t do it right after she’s eaten.”

 

He smiled sheepishly, “I promise.” He got up and handed her a towel from the supply they now kept in their room. Alistair watched in fascination as some milk beaded on Jannasilane’s nipple. Quickly, before she could wipe it away, he scooped it on his finger and brought it to his mouth to taste. “Hmmm, it tastes a bit peachy,” he said in surprise.

 

Jannasilane blushed and shook her head at her love, “I did have peaches a few hours ago. I suppose I better be careful what I eat.”

 

“We definitely do not want our daughter to develop a taste for dwarven ale.” Some minutes later, “Are you sure about asking Isolde to be a godmother with Leliana? I understand wanting Leliana, Jean-Marc, and Teagan. Politically, it just isn’t wise to ask Blake, Anora or Fergus. Maybe with our second child . . . but I’m side-tracking myself.”

 

“I’m sure,” she tilted her head and tried to explain, “I was ready to hate her when I learned how mean she was to you when you were just a child, this is truth. Her actions in Redcliffe were deplorable this is also truth. But now, now I think I can understand why,” she looked down at the oblivious babe feeding at her breast. “She was not just fighting against those who would take her only child away from her; she was fighting for his, for his soul.” She frowned, “That sounds so, what is the term, melodramatic. Anyway, while you were seeking Morrigan for Blake she came to visit. She said that since she was a mother I might appreciate her advice; that she heard you were away on king’s business and wanted to help. She was speaking truth my Ali, of this I am sure. Most of her ‘advice’ was just what she found helpful when she was pregnant with Connor. She didn’t try to make me take it, though much of it was surprisingly helpful, mostly she was just ready to listen if I wished to talk.”

 

“She can be a silly woman, and she’s not the smartest, but she’s not as bad as we thought. She loves Eamon and Connor, and she’s terrified of magic. These are truths. She knows Eamon is fond of you; I think she wants to, not be your friend,” she stuck her tongue out at him when Alistair smiled a little at the unlikelihood of that ever happening, “but not be a, a barrier anymore. It is easier for her to be kind to me than to talk to you.”

 

“That’s because you’re so adorable, just ask any of our people,” he teased. “People just want to pick you up and carry you away. I think you won her over with your concern for Connor. You, more than any of us, took the time to talk to him and make him feel better about being a mage. Eamon told me that he even has a crush on you.”

 

Jannasilane blushed. “Silly man,” she muttered. She cleared her throat, “We talked much while she was here. The Chantry’s influence is very strong in Orlais, much stronger than in Ferelden. Moreover, it teaches that magic is evil and mages cannot be trusted. At least, the Chantry where her family lives does. Her uncles were very bad men, and they were mages. I think she wanted very much to get away from them; falling in love with Eamon gave her the courage to leave even if it meant marrying a Fereldan against her family’s wishes. Alistair, you know that Maric was very upset with Eamon for marrying an Orlesian woman. You also know that Isolde heard rumors that you were Eamon’s bastard. What you do not know, and I am only guessing based on the little Isolde told me, is that many of the so-called noble women of Ferelden were cruel to her, believing they had free rein to humiliate her and using your existence to hurt her. They may have even started the rumors that you were Eamon’s bastard and dared her to do something about it. She is not as strong as you, so she lashed out at the only person she could.”

 

“And that person was me. Maker,” Alistair exclaimed, “what a mess. I never thought about what it must have been like for her; I only knew Maric was angry at Eamon and she didn’t like me.” He thought back to his childhood in Redcliffe, trying to see it in light of what he just learned. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think she was always worse after they came back from Denerim. Even so, it doesn’t excuse her,” he said sternly.

 

“No, it does not; but I know you wish your relationship with Eamon was better, and I think this will help. Besides, Teagan and Leliana know how to keep her in line,” she added impishly.

 

“Clever and beautiful; I’m a lucky man,” he moved to her side and kissed her cheek, “Have I told you today that I love you?” He plucked the now sated baby out of her arms and held Martelle against his shoulder, gently patting her back to burp her.

 

Leliana burst into their room in a swirl of beautiful silks, “Come on, you two. It is bad form to be late to your own party.” She took a moment to admire the picture in front of her, the handsome warrior holding his small daughter and the nearly naked woman sitting behind him. Just then, Martelle gave a loud burp, causing her to laugh, “Oghren would be proud of that one. Alistair, go get your daughter ready to meet her admirers and I will help your lady.” She practically pushed him out the door. “I thought you already fed her,” Leliana helped her out of the chair.

 

“I did. Then Alistair whirled around with her and she threw up on my dress. Of course, I soon had to feed her. This is the fourth time I’ve had to do so,” she huffed. “I was beginning to think I would need to call on Celindra, her baby will soon be ready to wean and she offered to be Martelle’s wet nurse.”

 

“Poor Jannasilane,” Leliana teased. She handed Jannasilane’s breast band to her while looking at the choice of blouses. She picked one up that was of very thin silk covered with layers of fringe. Some of the fringe had a small glass bead attached to the end. She held it away from her and gently shook it, watching as the fringe moved and the beads caught the light. “Where did you get this?” she shook it again.

 

“My Ali, he said it reminded him of the fringe on my leathers. A merchant with goods from Rivain said it was a seer’s blouse and that the fringe and beads somehow acted as gatherers of energy as well as focusers,” she rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe that for a moment and Leliana didn’t appear to either. “I think my Ali just likes to see me wearing fringe.”

 

Leliana chuckled, “Then let’s not disappoint him. It is definitely unusual, but it’s not very form-fitting, I bet it is marvelously flattering on you.”

 

“I hope so, I don’t have that many clothes that fit any more, not nice ones,” Jannasilane grumbled and put on the unusual blouse. At Leliana’s direction she walked around the room, the fringe lightly swung and accentuated the sway of her hips. The bottom layer fell below her knees, so she created patterns of light and shadow as she walked.

 

“It may not be fashionable but Alistair is going to love it,” Leliana remarked.

 

“It’s comfortable,” her friend replied. The bard laughed, the response was just so, so Fereldan.

 

Alistair was waiting for them in the main hall, “See Marty? There’s Mommy, beautiful as always. I told you she’d be here soon.” He took Martelle’s tiny hand and waved it at the two women. His eyes darkened with appreciation as his love walked towards him, the swaying fringe accenting every voluptuous curve. “It’s going to be a very long month,” he sighed to himself. “You look beautiful, my love,” he said softly.

 

Stroud entered from the courtyard and stopped; he took a moment to enjoy the vision that was Jannasilane in her fancy fringe. Mentally he shook himself and bowed slightly, “It is a pleasure to see three lovely ladies together. Commander, your guests are arriving. The games and food tents are already doing a brisk business but I have made sure you will have the opportunity to enjoy some of your favorite foods, little girl.”

 

The scene outside the fortress was playful chaos. Colorful tents dotted the plain fields a short walk from the Vigil, each one waving banners advertising the exciting things within. Children ran around while their parents looked on indulgently. In order to give his people, and the people of the Arling, plenty of opportunity to enjoy the festivities Alistair hired/borrowed servants from Redcliffe, Highever, as well as elves from the Denerim Alienage. Eamon loaned him the services of Ser Perth and his men who buttressed the ranks of the Keep’s guards, allowing the Wardens, Cousins and guards the chance to have fun. Only special guests were allowed inside the Keep itself. Ser Pounce-a-lot watched disdainfully from the safety of the ramparts while Nugflutter and Poorfella waited to escort their master and mistress.

 

Fergus was laughing at something Mhairi said. “Alistair,” he turned to greet his hosts, “Package, this is a marvelous idea.”

 

“I’ve been a bit of a bear the last few months; it was the least I could do. And I get to show off my daughter to a lot of people at one time, it’s efficient,” Alistair smiled in response.

 

“There ya are, ‘bout time the two of you showed up. Cherryplum, you’re looking extra delicious today,” Oghren’s leer was muted, probably in deference to the dwarva beside him. “You remember Felsi? She brought our nuglet, Strake, he really likes that fried dough stuff.” The sturdy toddler was standing unsteadily by his mother, clutching her skirts, his face smeared with bits of sugary dough. He laughed when Poorfella licked it off his face.

 

Alistair chuckled, “It’s good to see you again, Felsi. Looks like somebody’s having a good time.” He knelt to talk nonsense to the little boy while Felsi cooed over the baby girl in Janna’s arms.

 

“So the Mini It produced a bit of an it,” Shale rumbled from behind her. “I suppose It is proud of itself,” she looked at Alistair when she spoke. “It should be careful not to lose either the Mini It or the Bit of It.”

 

“It’s good to see you too, Shale, you rocky mountain of good cheer,” Alistair smirked.

 

Blake and Anora joined them with Wynne in close attendance. “Zevran is checking your security,” Blake answered the unspoken question. “You’re looking like a pretty Package, I think motherhood agrees with you,” he kissed her on the cheek. “And the stocking stuffer is sleeping quietly.”

 

“Blake is right about one thing, you are positively radiant. And you are looking very happy, Alistair; the three of you make a handsome picture,” Anora smiled at them both. “What is her name? Blake wouldn’t tell me, he only called her Baby Package.”

 

“Martelle Alara,” Jannasilane smiled back.

 

“What a lovely name,” Wynne joined them at the same time as Eamon and Isolde. Teagan and his bride, Ginetta, were only a step behind them. “I must say, Alistair, I think being Warden-Commander suits you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking happier or more comfortable in your own skin.”

 

He brushed his hand over Jannasilane’s hair and smiled when she looked up at him. “I’ve got my Janna and now a family,” he said simply.

 

Everybody enjoyed the festival. Constable Aidan was off-duty and came with some of his city guard to enjoy the rare event and keep an informal eye out for trouble. As a result, there was very little disruption to the day’s entertainment. Most of those present had never seen the king and queen, so accepted the royal presence as just some other nobles, much to their relief. The closer she came to her own due date, the less patience Anora had for the formalities of her position. Perhaps they owed their anonymity to Shale, since the golem engendered a lot of interest. Teagan and Ginetta took a lot of teasing from Jannasilane and Alistair, who pretended to be hurt and outraged they never received an invitation to the wedding.

 

“I thought we were friends, Teagan,” Jannasilane pouted. Alistair and Leliana backed her up with ‘there, there’ motions.

 

Blake shook his head, “Annie and I weren’t invited either. I think he’s ashamed of us.”

 

“No, Warden,” Zevran said solemnly, “he did it for his bride. He didn’t want to risk her being upstaged by such loveliness.”

 

“That’s not true!” Teagan protested, “Nobody would have looked more beautiful than Ginetta.”

 

“Hmm, you might be right,” Leliana wrinkled her brow prettily in feigned concentration. “I think he didn’t want her to compare him with our handsome Warden-Commander and feel she was getting a bad deal.”

 

“Eamon, help me out here,” Teagan begged.

 

Arl Eamon coughed and shook his head, “I am sorry, brother. I did warn you and now you have to deal with the consequences.” He took a sip of ale to hide his smile. Ginetta was a perfect match for Teagan and he couldn’t be happier with his younger brother’s choice.

 

Ginetta quickly caught on to the game and was entertained by the teasing. She finally took pity on her husband and came to his defense, “I think you will have to blame me. It was either get married quietly, family only, or wait at least a year to have a larger wedding. I didn’t want anybody else to snatch him up.”

 

“I’m not a toy,” Teagan scowled.

 

“Package said that once,” Blake laughed.

 

“And I said she could be my toy,” Alistair grinned. Then ‘oofed’ when she elbowed him. “Hey,” he looked at her reproachfully.

 

The quickly arranged festival ended shortly before the sun went down. Alistair and Jannasilane thanked everyone for coming and helping celebrate the birth of their daughter and then returned to the Vigil proper with their guests. Now they were in their room, relaxing before dinner. “Martelle is sleeping peacefully, my Ali,” Jannasilane said and lay down next to Alistair. She smiled when he brought her closer to his side so she could rest her head on his chest. “I am very proud of you,” she leaned up and kissed him before laying her head back down. “That was very nice, the way you thanked Isolde for coming to visit me.”

 

“She was so flustered I could almost see the pretty girl Eamon fell in love with,” he said sleepily. “I wasn’t sure she would enjoy the festival but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so relaxed.” Soon they followed their daughter’s example.

 

Isolde wasn’t at all sleepy. She watched from her window as the sun and the tents went down. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed the day, especially considering how nervous she was at the start. Alistair allayed many of her concerns when he thanked her for visiting Jannasilane, “I was wrong to treat the boy as I did. Eamon was right, I should have ignored the rumors and given him a chance, he was a good boy who would one day become a fine man. I was so young and foolish.”

 

Eamon left the library where he’d been talking to Fergus and Mhairi. He rather thought he wouldn’t need to encourage Fergus to remarry. From all the signs, the Teyrn and the pretty knight were, or soon would be, smitten with each other. She wasn’t a noble but Wardens and soldiers alike held her in high regard, and she was Ferelden to the core. A noble marriage might be more practical but if Fergus found happiness elsewhere it was well deserved. At the very least Eamon was satisfied he was healing and looking forward instead of back. When he entered the bedroom, he was surprised that it was dark and Isolde was standing at the window. “Isolde?” he walked to her side, “Isolde, you’re crying, what’s wrong?” He brushed away her tears.

 

She looked at him and smiled, “Am I, husband? Then they are happy tears . . . Eamon you were right about Alistair. They asked me to be one of Martelle’s godmothers, along with Leliana.”

 

He smiled, “I love you, Isolde.” He held her in his arms and quietly thanked the Maker.

 

Sigrun grinned down at Nathaniel. She was sitting astride him, his manhood still inside her after some very satisfactory lovemaking, “That was fun. I’m glad you decided to stick around for a while.”

 

He grinned back at her, “It was, wasn’t it? I hope the newest Wardens Saykor brought with him don’t get the idea that today was a normal day for Grey Wardens.”

 

“If so, I’m sure you and the Commander will knock that idea out of their heads. How long ya stayin’ this time?” Sigrun liked Nathaniel; he always treated her with respect and was surprisingly inventive in bed. He also didn’t push her about their relationship. For a duster and a noble, he was all right.

 

“A few more days, I want to give the Commander as much time as possible with Mouse and their new daughter. I owe him a lot,” he lightly teased one perky breast. “He gave me a chance when most wouldn’t; the least I can do is give him some time to enjoy Martelle. Fergus is going to stay until after the christening,” his expression sobered whenever he thought of his old friend.

 

Sigrun hated to see him brood on what he couldn’t change, “I think he may be staying to spend time with Mhairi, the christening is a good excuse. There’s nothing more you can do, Nate. The best you may be able to hope for is for him and Blake to just ignore you, treat you like any other Warden they don’t know.”

 

He nodded, “Instead of the son of the man who killed their family down to a child. I saw the grove he planted in memory of those my father killed, Sigrun. There were so many, family, soldiers, servants, and more, all because of Rendon Howe’s insane greed. It’s hard, knowing I come from that. I wish I could say he was possessed by a desire demon, but I know it was all him.”

 

“If you were anything like your father you wouldn’t be a Grey Warden now,” Sigrun argued. “Let it go, Nate. You’re going to make me think I’m losing my touch,” she leaned forward to distract him.

 

“Mustn’t disappoint a lady,” he smiled.

 

“Sten would have loved that lace cake as much as you and Oghren’s son,” Leliana teased Jannasilane at dinner. She looked across the tables to where Oghren was sitting next to Strake and Felsi.  Mostly it was just Wardens eating; everybody else was still full from all the food at the festival.

 

“Yes, I think it was a surprise to all of us that the Qunari had such a sweet tooth,” Zevran laughed. “And didn’t he argue with you, Warden, that his teeth weren’t sweet?”

 

Blake snorted, “He certainly was very . . . literal. The number of times we had to explain something to him,” he shook his head.

 

“Two birds with one stone.”

 

“Tempest in a teacup.”

 

“Mountain out of a molehill.”

 

“A silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” His former traveling companions tossed out one example after another.

 

“Maker, he really had trouble with that one,” Alistair laughed. “He asked me if humans were really so ignorant that they thought they could possibly turn a pig’s ear into silk anything.”

 

“‘Mutton dressed as lamb’ was another phrase he didn’t understand, even after I explained the meaning,” Jannasilane added. “I think the idea was as foreign to him as the one that women fight.”

 

Leliana sniffed disdainfully, “Please do not remind me. My head hurt for days after that argument.” The others laughed. “If you will excuse me, I wish to talk to some of the musicians before the dancing starts. I have a new number I wish to perform.” Her leaving might have been a signal for the others to finish for soon the dining hall was empty.

 

Since the weather was cooperating, a rare enough circumstance, the music and dancing were on the roof. Leliana as well as any with a musical talent took the opportunity to perform for their fellows. Everybody agreed it was a fairy tale ending to a perfect day.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 109:  Silly, Wonderful, Beautiful

Stroud stood and stretched. Beside him, in the Commander’s office, Martelle watched him with sleepy eyes. At least half the Vigil was in love with the baby girl, so his preoccupation was, if not unnoticed, unremarked. Certainly more people stopped by the Commander’s office when Martelle was present. He picked the baby up and held her lovingly. No one would call him taciturn or dour if they saw him in that moment. “Let’s see how your mother is doing in the sparring ring. Healer Brody told her she could resume all ‘normal activities.’ Your father is watching her to make sure she doesn’t over-exert herself.” In Alistair’s place he would do the same, “The Commander could barely hide the flare of lust at finally being to reconnect with little girl. Motherhood has given her an extra veneer of voluptuous sensuality that she seems unaware. I think he might cry if she hurt herself during practice.” He smiled at the baby, “Which means I have you all to myself.” Martelle smiled at him, he was convinced she recognized his voice. “More or less,” he sighed and turned when Oghren entered.

 

“See ya got nuglet duty,” Oghren grunted. He made a face that would certainly scare darkspawn but Martelle seemed fascinated. “Came by to see if you knew anything about Her blonde Majesty popping out the new heir, seein’ as how people want to know who won the pool,” the dwarf settled comfortably in the chair. “Thought Cherryplum looked pretty good in the ring, today. Not quite as fast or hard as she was, but that’ll come back soon enough, I reckon.”

 

“Yes, the little girl obviously inherited her father’s resiliency. Let us hope that baby girl is as fortunate,” Stroud said politely. “I thought you and Sigrun were patrolling along the coast with the newer recruits?”

 

Oghren snorted, “We were. Ran into some smugglers but no darkspawn. Those cargo rats that lived we dumped on the city guard. Decided we might as well report back and start out again tomorrow. ‘Sides, Sigrun was getting on my nerves, the way she’s pining for Mr. Stoic Broody Britches.”

 

Stroud blinked, “It’s hard to imagine Sigrun pining.”

 

“Yeah, well, her way of pining is to get extra perky. Kind of makes you sick after awhile. Maybe you should send her back to the Blackmarsh. I think she likes the creepy place. Her blasted perkiness will chase away any demons or ghosts which might be lingering.”

 

Ser Mhairi knocked on the door before entering. She looked briefly at the infant and smiled, “Warden-Constable, everything is in order for me to go to Highever. However, until Her Majesty gives birth I think it best I stay here or at our Denerim compound. Fer-, Teyrn Cousland plans to remain in the capital as much as possible until his niece or nephew is born. I do not wish to presume on his good nature by establishing myself in his holding without his presence.”

 

“Ha, the lad’s smitten with you, you sexy warrior woman. You could ‘establish’ yourself all you like,” Oghren leered.

 

The knight sniffed, “Even if that were the case, ser dwarf, even more reason not to presume. The Teyrn has been a friend to the Wardens and we shouldn’t abuse that friendship.”

 

“In this case I agree with Ser Mhairi,” he ignored Oghren’s mutterings about the woman’s ‘rack,’ “we are already more politically involved than many think wise. Moreover, since we are relying on Teyrn Cousland’s knowledge of the area it isn’t practical to go to Highever at this time. I see no reason-”

 

Alistair breezed in, all smiles. “Hey, how’s our baby girl? Mommy was looking good out there, you’ll be pleased to know,” he chucked her under her chin with a light touch. “She smiled at me, I keep telling Janna she smiles at me but she says it’s gas. What does she know?” he cooed. “Janna’s taking a bath, says she doesn’t like being all sweaty when the bottomless pit wants to eat. Any news from Denerim?”

 

“No word from the capital; Martelle does smile, no matter what the little girl thinks; Ser Mhairi is ready to leave; and your baby girl needs a change,” Stroud handed Martelle over to the Commander.

 

“Of course she does,” Alistair elicited a gurgle from his daughter when he lightly rubbed noses with her. “Mhairi can go to our compound in Denerim and accompany Fergus when he goes home. He’ll be glad to have somebody along he can brag to. You’ll leave tomorrow, but first I want to meet with all four of you first, no, second or third thing in the morning.” He opened the door leading to his quarters. As he left they heard him talking, “We’re going to get you all cleaned up for Mommy, aren’t we? It wouldn’t be fair for her to smell all sweet and sexy while you stink like a dirty darkspawn. No, that’s not fair at all.”

 

“Perky, friggin’ pike-twirler,” Oghren muttered. Mhairi just looked at him. She actually thought it was rather sweet, seeing the giant warrior so enraptured with his new daughter but didn’t feel like arguing with the dwarf.

 

Upstairs Alistair whistled tunelessly while cleaning his baby's bottom. He couldn't imagine loving any child more than he adored the little girl in front of him. "I wonder if this is how her stepfather felt about Janna. I hope I'm as good a father as he is." Amaranthine was recovering nicely from the darkspawn civil war; he had a reasonable number of Wardens under his command, enough that he could start helping the dwarves take back at least some of the Deep Roads, "if Harrowmont will finally agree that it makes more sense for us to start with Kal'Hirol. We can help protect his people reclaim the thaig and the roads between here and Orzammar. He's got the Legion of the Dead on his end." He didn't let the dwarven king's deliberateness sour his mood. His Janna was healthy; their daughter was healthy; and tonight, tonight he and his love were finally going to reconnect. What could be more perfect?

 

"Now you smell as sweet as apple pie, good enough to eat," he pretended to gobble her up. "I'm going to take you to Mommy, now. You're going to fill that empty tummy and then spend the night down the hall with Celindra. Mommy and I are going to have some special alone time. You'll understand one day, maybe when you're thirty, or even forty. Yeah, forty is good."

 

He turned around when he heard a noise behind him. “Hi,” he smiled sheepishly. He cleared his throat, “She’s all clean and ready for feeding #2,073.”

 

Jannasilane smiled at both of them. “I always thought you were handsome, my Ali, from the moment we met. Holding our daughter with such love in your eyes, you’ve never been more so. This is truth. I love you, my Ali,” she padded softly towards them and leaned up to take the hungry baby.

 

Before she could move away he held her, held them both, in his arms. “You’ve given me more joy than I ever believed possible, Jannasilane Alenahaella. I love you, always, and can’t wait until I can really touch you again,” he whispered hoarsely. He still marveled that this wonderful, unusual woman loved him and vowed to deserve her.

 

“I, too, have been eagerly waiting for the moment we can be together again. I’ve thought of so many ways I want to touch you,” she slipped out of his grasp and sat down to feed the eager Martelle.

 

Alistair groaned to see one magnificent breast uncovered. “You,” he accused, “are a wicked woman. I think I’ll go bathe and decide how I want you to scream for me the first time.” He grinned at her blush and left the room. “Ha, two can play that game.”

 

When he returned to their bedroom, Jannasilane was sitting in the middle of their bed and wearing a light robe. She looked nervous. He decided to ignore that, “You know, one nice thing about having mages around is their ability to cool or heat things quickly. Somebody sent us champagne a few months ago. I don’t know if it’s any good but tonight seems a good time to try it since Marty is with Celindra until morning. Let’s hope I can open it without poking somebody’s eye out.” He started wrestling with the cork. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Jannalove?”

 

“You’re going to laugh at me,” she muttered and pulled down her robe, covering her knees

 

He smiled but kept his eyes on the cork, “Probably,” he admitted.

 

She scowled and hit him on the arm. Whether by coincidence or because of her action the cork flew across the room and sparkling liquid began effervescing out of the bottle. Alistair quickly held it over her so she was drenched. “Where are . . .oh, here they are,” he filled the glasses and put the bottle on the floor. “To our new family, may it grow as strong as our love,” he clicked his glass to hers and took a sip. “Anything wrong?” he blinked innocently.

 

“Alistair, I am all wet,” she accused.

 

“I noticed,” he grinned wickedly. “I kind of like the ‘wet frock’ look on you, the way it molds your breasts and makes them stand up.” He bent down and brought one fabric-covered nipple into his mouth.

 

She arched into him; the heat of his mouth was such a contrast to the cool, damp fabric. “You, you did that on purpose,” she gasped.

 

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally. The vibration resonated against her skin and she shivered. “Janpagne is even better than champagne.” He moved to her other breast, then stopped and looked at her with wide eyes, “Would I do that? Well, if it bothers you why don’t you just take it off?” He began ‘helping’ her, all the while stroking and caressing her. His eyes laughed at her struggles.

 

She huffed and pushed him back so he was lying down and she was straddling him, “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I,” he answered and quickly threw her robe across the room. “Maker’s breath, you’re beautiful.”

 

Jannasilane crossed her arms in front of her, trying to hide her body from his gaze, “Ali, I’ve changed. My body, it’s different now.”

 

Alistair frowned and sat up. “Janna,” he cupped her face in his hands, “you had a baby. I was there, I saw you. I don’t know much about such things but I’d be amazed if there weren’t any changes. What I know is that right now your body has a, mmm, a soft lushness it didn’t have before. Maybe it’s permanent, maybe not; but it’s sexy,” he kissed her forehead, “sexy,” he kissed one cheek, “sexy,” he kissed the other cheek, “sexy,” he brushed his lips over hers.

 

“There, there are scars,” she breathed shakily against his mouth.

 

“Huh?” he pulled back. “What are you talking about?” now he was genuinely perplexed. She pointed to a few small stretch marks. “These little things? Janna, my love, you have scars from darkspawn, bandits, even the Archdemon . . . so what if you have a few dots left over from bringing our child into the world.”

 

“Those were business, these are personal,” she frowned. She was beginning to feel foolish.

 

His mouth fell open. He gaped. Then he fell backwards roaring with laughter and bringing her with him despite her protests. He rolled them over, held her hands above her head with one hand, and trapped her with his body. “You’re so vain,” he teased. He nibbled at a scar on her wrist, “I’m going to honor every badge of honor, ‘business or personal,’ if it takes me all night,” he trailed kisses and little nips until her reached her mouth. “You amazing, silly, wonderful, beautiful, generous, brave woman, I adore you,” he whispered. “Come morning you won’t have any more doubts about how sexy and attractive you are, I promise.”

 

Alistair was a man of honor and made good on his word.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 110:  Good News for Ferelden

The Vigil was quiet. Servants, soldiers and Wardens were going about their business as normal. As per Stroud’s directions, implemented when Alistair was away, all soldiers and Wardens not seriously injured or on patrol were required to spend time in the sparring ring or practicing their archery. Even the mages had to spend their time practicing without magic. When he returned, Alistair saw no reason to change this. He even added special sessions for mages and warriors with templar training to skirmish against each other. The mages hated it but accepted the necessity.

 

Stroud escaped the dining room as soon as he could. Without Alistair and his family, it was just too quiet. He watched the sparring partners with an eagle eye, occasionally calling out instructions. “Seneschal,” he greeted Varel. “Come to escape the duties of your office?’

 

“Hmmm,” Varel smiled slightly. “The Vigil is unusually peaceful, at the moment. It is surprising that the absence of one small person can make such a difference to the energy level.”

 

“Do you refer to the little girl or her daughter?” the Warden responded.

 

Varel chuckled, “Either, I suppose. Our lady has quite the presence, with or without a new baby. After the Queen promised Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, I hoped for this type of atmosphere. It’s just people going about their business without interference. Then the Commander arrived with his lady and brought new life to Vigil’s Keep; peacefully going about one’s business just isn’t enough.”

 

Stroud nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, I think I understand. The Commander or the little girl is enough to make a difference, but together they are much more. I believe scholars have a term for it but I am no scholar. Carver,” he directed his attention to the ring, “focus. Do not let him bait you. Use your will to concentrate on what you need to do.” He watched the young man he brought back from the Deep Roads. “He has the talent and strength to be an excellent Warden one day, Anders was correct about that, but he must learn to control his temper in order to reach his potential.”

 

“He is certainly less angry than when he first arrived,” Varel noted.

 

“Fortunately we do not avoid recruiting able men and women just because they have a chip on their shoulder. Fighting darkspawn soon puts such issues into perspective.”

 

“I suppose they do.”

 

The next few days followed the same pattern of training, paperwork, and waiting for another messenger from Alistair as the previous ones. His first message was a brief note stating that he and his family arrived in Denerim without incident. Stroud allowed Wardens returning from elsewhere in Ferelden to stay until they heard news from the capital. All wished for a healthy royal heir; no one wanted to face the prospect of another civil war. All the progress the Commander made on behalf of the Wardens might be lost. As far as they were concerned, it was a miracle Her Highness became pregnant at all.

 

Nearly two weeks after their Arl and Commander left, a guard noticed a man rushing towards the Vigil. Captain Garevel ordered his men to stand ready, even though they didn’t see anything or anyone chasing the man. When he got closer they heard him yelling, “A message, I have a message for the Vigil!”

 

Stroud and Varel joined Garevel in the courtyard. “Take a breath, man,” Garevel said. “You’ll not do yourself any good if you collapse.”

 

The man straightened painfully. “The, the Hero asked me to get this message to the Vigil as fast as, as fast as possible,” he gasped. “Arkavy Dryden at your, at your service.” He pulled a missive from his satchel.

 

“I am Captain Garevel of the Amaranthine guard. With me are Seneschal Varel and Warden-Constable Stroud, you may give them your missive.”

 

“You’ve done well, Arkavy,” Varel said gravely and accepted the parchment. “Your diligence surely entitles you to some reward; in the meantime we can provide you with food and drink. We’ll also arrange for a bed for the night. Sigrun,” he motioned to the Warden approaching them, “would you be so good as to take Arkavy to the dining hall?”

 

“Sure thing, Seneschal,” Sigrun replied cheerfully. “The cook here is great. Why don’t I keep you company and that way I can answer any questions you might have.” She continued chattering as she led the man away.

 

Alistair’s advisors waited until they were out of ear-and-eyeshot before smiling. “We better warn the Commander to be more careful with his instructions. His admirers sometimes take him too literally,” Varel commented.

 

“Let us go to the office and examine this message,” Stroud suggested. “Although I daresay Sigrun will manage to get the same information from young Arkavy before we can finish reading.”

 

“Not a bet I’m willing to take,” the captain muttered.

 

“Hello, the Vigil,” Alistair’s letter began,

 

“I want to thank you, Varel, for remembering that Howe had an estate here long before he was the Arl of Denerim. The old cheapskate didn’t maintain it well, so it needed a lot of repairs. However, it is in the Palace District, which makes it desirable to some. Since my skin itches at the thought of living among the high and mighty, oh wait, I am one, now, I worked out a deal with Eamon and the Crown to let them have it in exchange for property in a more modest but perfectly respectable neighborhood. We avoided legal wrangles since some might argue the Arling doesn’t necessarily include properties outside of Amaranthine. Our new house needed a lot of work, but in the months since then the rebuilding is just about complete. We even have room to expand, if we wish.

 

You should have seen Janna’s face when we stopped; I never told her about the house and let her think we were staying with Teagan. She surprised me with her zeal for decorating. We have a bed, some tables and chairs, and a working kitchen. I figured we’d fill out the rest, eventually. Apparently, eventually is really now and she’s talking about paint, curtains, rugs, and other stuff. When I asked why, she gave me ‘the look.’ She must have learned it from Isolde and Anora, although Morrigan was pretty good with the old stink-eye. I even had to work out a budget with her. She wasn’t this worked up when we were at Soldier’s Peak or when we first arrived at the Vigil.”

 

Stroud stopped reading to shake his head at his Commander’s naivety, “Alistair has much to learn about women.” Varel nodded his head in agreement.

 

“Even I know that as far as Lady Jannasilane’s concerned this is their first place which is just theirs. She wants it to reflect her family, not the Wardens, not even the Arling,” Garevel rolled his eyes.

 

“I’ve decided to accompany Mhairi and Teagan part of the way to Highever. I want to talk to Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving about working with us in Lothering. Lothering suffered so much from the Blight . . . I think it can only benefit all of Ferelden as well as the Wardens if the Circle helps to research how to heal the land and deal with any lingering effects from the darkspawn presence. Maker knows it might help a lot of people, and Lothering is mostly deserted. The Chantry stands, as does an old windmill. It’s enough for a start.

 

One of Sergeant, I mean Captain, Kylon’s men was hurt during the battle at Denerim and can’t take permanent guard duty. The Captain has tried to find ways to use him in an administrative capacity, but as time progresses there is less need. He suggested I hire him to stay at the Denerim house as my seneschal and security. I have to agree that it’s not wise to leave the place uninhabited when we’re not there. I met him. Officer Markel is a mature, steady man who doesn’t want charity and chafes to be stuck behind a desk. Who wouldn’t? Janna and I like him. Kylon would never have recommended him if he wasn’t discreet as well as responsible. Varel, would you come to Denerim and teach him what he needs to know? I don’t think it will take long. Arl Eamon has volunteered a couple of his people to help out, if needed. Warden-Constable Stroud and Captain Garevel won’t destroy the place while you’re gone.

 

Speaking of Arl Eamon, he is now Arl of Denerim and Teagan is the Arl of Redcliffe. It makes sense, Isolde doesn’t want to go back to Redcliffe and Eamon is proving invaluable to Anora and Blake. If anybody can change the reputation of the Arling of Denerim, it’s Eamon. He’s been able to capitalize on our connections in the Alienage to build better relations with the elves, now that they are under his jurisdiction, more or less. I bet you’re getting impatient with my rambling, so . . .

 

We were with Blake, but here is the official announcement:

 

“Blah, blah blah so announce . . . ‘Between the hours of eight and nine in the morning of the 29^th day of the 6^th month in the year 9:32 Dragon our beloved Queen did give birth to a baby son. Mother and child are healthy and doing well. Their Majesties are suspending all court activities until the new month in order to celebrate the new addition to their family. The date of the christening will be announced soon.’ And more blah blah blah.”

 

 Blake, His Majesty, is thrilled. Janna says Anora is just as happy. The christening won’t be for at least a month, to give the nobility time to attend if they wish. You know they will.

 

Fergus is beaming like a proud uncle. He’ll stay for three or four days before leaving for Highever with Ser Mhairi, and me tagging along behind. He won't be there very long before returning but it'll be enough for her to get started. If you decide to come to Denerim with Arkavy, Varel, you should get here before I leave. If you decide not to come, just send a message with, I think he’s Levi’s third cousin twice removed or something like that. We’re coming home after baby Whatsit is christened and paraded before the nobles. Now I hear Janna, I think she wants me to move furniture. Again.

 

Furniture mover and sometime Warden-Commander, Alistair

 

P.S. Does this mean Oghren won the pool again?

P.P.S. Janna says to tell you all that she and Marty say ‘hi’ and I should stop procrastinating. She is so bossy.

P.P.P.S. William Duncan Bryce Gareth Cousland”

 

“I hope Alistair did not let little girl read his letter before he sent it,” Stroud chuckled and opened the bottom drawer of the desk where he knew the Commander kept brandy and some glasses. “Gentlemen,” he poured for each of them, “To the health of young Prince William. May he bring as much peace and prosperity to Ferelden as he does joy to his parents.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Varel and Garevel agreed and clinked their glasses.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Garevel put down his glass abruptly, “Oghren did win the pool, I’m sure of it. He’ll be even more insufferable.” He sighed, “To Oghren’s unexpected acumen.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 111:  Surprise, There’s Trouble in Kirkwall 

“I appreciate you filling in for Stroud, Commander. It will be an honor to work with the Hero of Ferelden and his lady,” Commander Kevain of Ansburg bowed to Jannasilane. He came to Amaranthine to talk to Stroud about a mission he wanted the senior Warden to join since Stroud was more familiar with the area around Kirkwall from his years of recruiting in the Free Marches. Unfortunately, Jean-Marc was still recovering from a collapse in Kal’Hirol that broke his leg. Even the legendary healing powers of the Grey Wardens weren’t enough for him to be able to assist. However, his recovery might be slower thanks to the ‘help’ he received from young Martelle.

 

“Since you’ll be in charge it’ll practically be a vacation. I know we won’t have time for sightseeing but I will enjoy seeing some of the Free Marches. The only other time I was out of Ferelden I ended up in Weisshaupt and didn’t see much at all,” Alistair replied.

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “Which is why I go with you, to make sure history does not repeat.”

 

Alistair looked at her slyly, “Are you sure it isn’t to make sure I don’t run off with a pretty Free Marcher girl?”

 

“Perhaps it is time to let you know my secret plan, my Ali,” she shook her head sorrowfully. “I have heard much of the handsomeness of the strong men in the Marches and I wish to see for myself. You be a good boy with your Free Marcher girl, if one will have you.”

 

“Ouch, you’ll pay for that,” Alistair promised.

 

Seeing that his former Commander looked somewhat dazed by their play, Stroud interjected, “Since Carver lived in Kirkwall you should take him. He does know the surrounding area well and it will be good experience for him.”

 

“So speaks the Professor of Wardenology,” Alistair grinned. “I bow to your wisdom.”

 

Oghren joined them in the library, bringing Martelle, Nugflutter and another ball of fluff with him, “Yo, Cherryplum, brought your daughter back. She and Strake had a good time over at Felsi’s place. He’s a real fan of hers and her dog,” he shook his head, “a dwarf boy likin’ a ball of fluff, ain’t natural.” He didn’t really mean it, he was happy that Felsi was running the small inn nearby so he could see his son. “We took a peek at Poorfella’s puppies, they’re a scrappy lot. Be causing trouble in no time, heh heh, just like their daddy during the Blight. G’night Nuglet.”

 

“Night, Oggie,” Martelle beamed at the redheaded dwarf. She crawled into her father’s lap and stared at the stranger curiously.

 

“Marty, say hello to Commander Kevain. He came to ask for our help,” Alistair explained. “Commander, this is our daughter Martelle, her dog Pinktara and Janna’s dog Nugflutter.”

 

“Hello, ManderKev,” she replied politely, “You know my daddy?”

 

Warden-Commander Kevain smiled at the little girl, “A little. I am better acquainted with Warden Stroud; he worked with me for several years before coming to Ferelden.”

 

“Is your leg better, Twodaddy?” She frowned a little, “Can we have tea now?”

 

“You, Miss Dirtface, need a bath, and your little dog, too,” Alistair said.

 

“But Daddy, Twodaddy needs tea to feel better,” Martelle began to pout.

 

Stroud smiled at her gravely, “We shall have two teas tomorrow, baby girl; one in the morning and then our regular one in the afternoon. You can tell me everything you did today with Strake.”

 

“I’m not a baby.”

 

“True, I shall have to start calling you big girl, won’t I?”

 

“My Mommy’s bigger,” Martelle giggled.

 

“Yes, but I have been calling her little girl since we met and she’s too old for me to change it now,” he stroked his mustache, hiding his smile at Jannasilane’s eye roll.

 

“She is old,” her daughter agreed.

 

Jannasilane bit her lip to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up, “It’s getting late and we need to get all that dirt off. No snack until every inch of you is squeaky clean. Daddy can give Pinktara a bath.”

 

“Nuh uh, she doesn’t like me. She bites,” Alistair whined. “I’ll give Martypants her bath and you take care of the little fluffer.”

 

“Don’t worry, Daddy, Mommy kisses boo boos to make them all better.” She got down and walked over to Stroud, “G’night Twodaddy,” she lifted her face for a kiss.

 

He kissed her forehead, “Goodnight, big girl. We will speak tomorrow.” He watched her pick up her little dog and walk away with her parents.

 

“Pinktara? Twodaddy?” Kevain couldn’t help asking.

 

“The little dog was a name-day present from her godmother, Leliana. When Alistair saw her all wrapped up in a pink blanket and wearing a pink bow, he said he was surprised the dog wasn’t wearing a pink tiara. Martelle was so tickled at the thought that she named her new companion Pinktara. As for Twodaddy, I am her godfather. We were trying to explain what that meant and as far as she is concerned it means a second father.”

 

“I have not had much experience with children; I was quite surprised to learn the Arl-Commander was a father,” Kevain sipped delicately from his wine glass.

 

“You would be even more so if you knew the truth,” Stroud mused deep in his own thoughts. “The little girl’s father was Duncan, and he was a Warden of some years at the time. That, perhaps, is the true miracle. In that light, the advent of Martelle is not so surprising.” He decided it was best to change the subject, “The First will not be happy that you are taking Alistair and the little girl with you. Be careful, my friend, we know he has a tendency to hold a grudge.”

 

Kevain smiled, “Things have changed since Alistair’s ‘visit’ to Weisshaupt. His open declaration of independence and the news of his kidnapping changed the way most Commander’s deal with our Anderfels brethren. We may not have broken away as did Ferelden, but we have more autonomy. Now, Amaz deals with the politics in the Anderfels while the High Constable makes the actual decisions for the Order.” His smile faded, “I have yet to decide exactly how much to reveal to my Fereldan brother, even most of my senior Wardens do not know, it is enough that whatever my missing man found could have repercussions for every Grey Warden on Thedas. He was unusually cryptic, even for him, in the few messages he did send. I worry, yes, I worry very much.”

 

One week later, he and the Fereldans were 30 miles outside Kirkwall, between the City of Chains and Ostwick. “We’re starting here,” Kevain answered Alistair’s unvoiced query, “because I told Charles to return via this route instead of going over the mountains or by sea or any other way available to him. The plan all along was to meet him at one of these small cabins hidden in the foothills. There are not many towns and those who travel the coast do so primarily by boat, limiting the chance of meeting curious friends or enemies. Six of my Wardens have been carefully searching between one hideaway and the next, if we see them all then we know Charles did not make it this far. They were not to venture farther until I arrived with Stroud.”

 

“I hope they won’t be disappointed not to see their former comrade,” Alistair sighed heavily. He didn’t bother trying to get more information. He respected the other Commander’s right to keep his secrets until he was ready to share them.

 

“Right, because it’s always such a letdown to meet the Hero of Ferelden,” Carver said sarcastically. “They probably won’t even see me or Cupcake.”

 

Alistair pretended to consider Carver’s ‘complaint.’ “Hmm, they might see you, you’re big enough not to be hidden by my shadow . . . Janna however . . . Janna, maybe you should ride on my shoulders, or Carver’s, make sure they see you both.”

 

“They will be honored to meet two people who fought the Archdemon. And they will be most interested in hearing about this Architect creature and the ancient dwarven thaig young Carver explored,” Kevain courteously answered. He was starting to get used to the Fereldan Wardens’ odd sense of humor and lack of strict protocol. “I think I see why Alistair’s plan was so successful at Weisshaupt.”

 

The Free Marcher Wardens were surprised to see three people, including one non-Warden, instead of Stroud but as Commander Kevain predicted, more than happy to meet the Grey Warden who ended the Blight. They were willing to accept Carver, new as he was, simply because he was in such respected company. “Warden Carver, now that we are all together, is there anything we should know about Kirkwall before we arrive?”

 

Carver blinked in surprise that somebody was asking for his advice and thought for a moment. “Well,” he began, “the city itself is divided into Hightown, Lowtown, the Docks, and the Gallows, where the mages and templars live. Below Kirkwall is Darktown, where most of the non-organized criminals and the desperate try to survive. The City Guard doesn’t get down there as much as Guard-Captain Aveline wishes, but they are stretched thin already. Below Darktown, is an ancient sewer system, an honest man has no business down there and a sane one won’t go down without a small company. The Carta and the Coterie are the, I guess you could call them the ‘established’ criminal organizations. And believe me they are organized. When I was there we earned a fair amount of coin getting rid of various upstart criminal groups, which doesn’t mean we worked for the Coterie, but these groups were more open and vicious trying to establish their own crooked niche.”

 

“But every city has criminals,” the young Warden shook his head. “I don’t know if Kirkwall is worse or not, just based on that.” He frowned a little when he looked at Commander Kevain, “You may be glad to have these two with you,” he nodded his head towards Alistair and Jannasilane. “I’ve known mages all my life. I don’t understand magic, but I also never understood why people were so afraid of it. Not until Kirkwall. At times, I felt we were tripping over blood mages and demons wherever we went. They even managed to possess some templar recruits.”

 

“That is bad . . . and disturbing, really, really disturbing,” now Alistair frowned. “A demon would need powerful magic to take possession of a non-mage, or be summoned and forced into a normal person . . . but a templar recruit . . . that should practically be impossible. From the very first day recruits begin training to strengthen their will against magic and basic resistance techniques. If your man ran across some of these blood mages or abominations,” he frowned even harder.

 

“I hate blood magic. It makes my skin itch,” Jannasilane complained.

 

“I’ll be glad to scratch such a lovely woman’s itch,” one of the Free Marchers suggested playfully. He shrugged when Alistair glared at him.

 

“Janna should lead us, at least until we enter the city. She can sense,” Alistair interrupted himself to turn to his love, “Janna, would you be able to sense Warden Charles if he’s dead? Oh, sorry, that wasn’t exactly tactful,” he added to his Warden brethren.

 

Jannasilane tilted her head thoughtfully as she looked up at her big warrior, “I do not know, my Ali, this is truth. Riordan was alive when I sensed him through the darkspawn at Ostagar. I did not sense any other Grey Wardens, even though they must have been among the dead we found. Perhaps their Wardenness was much less, if not gone, after death? And that is why I could not sense them among so many living darkspawn?” All the Free Marchers were looking at her closely.

 

“We sense darkspawn, she senses Grey Wardens,” Alistair explained calmly. “We think it might be because her father was an experienced Grey Warden. She knew Blake and I were Wardens before we had a chance to tell her, and neither of us had any of the Order’s gear.”

 

“I am beginning to think your travels were more interesting than the final battle at Denerim,” Commander Kevain studied them both. “Certainly this ability of your young lady’s shall be helpful. In light of what Carver has told us, we perhaps should expand our search and look outside the City proper for Charles’ base, if not Charles himself. Any thoughts?”

 

“If he’s not injured, or only slightly injured, he could easily be on the Wounded Coast. There are plenty of caves, big and small, in which to lay low. If he was more badly hurt, he might have gone to Sundermount,” Carver said doubtfully. “When I was here, a Dalish clan was camped there. They lost their halla and were waiting to hear from some other clans, so they might still be there. They’re a suspicious bunch, and definitely don’t think much of ‘shems.’ However, if he found a place nearby, they might trade with him; their Keeper might even have healed him some. She’s a bit more approachable. Both are this side of Kirkwall, and close to the city.”

 

“Then we shall explore the Coast first, after which four of you will remain camped where Charles will see you if he returns while the rest of us go to Sundermount. Warden Carver, you know this clan best and shall go to Sundermount. We will regroup at the Coast before continuing,” the Warden-Commander of the Free Marches decided. They had no luck in either location and finally approached the city.

 

The closer they got, the more uneasy Jannasilane became. Finally, Alistair stopped her shortly before they reached the gates, “What is it, my love? Was it those demons on the beach? Do you want a mana cleanse? It’s a good thing you were with us or we might have walked right on top of them. I really hate how they can just pop up behind you.” The Free Marchers agreed. Her warning followed by Alistair’s smite allowed them to quickly dispatch the group instead of being severely injured in an attack.

 

“I do not know, my Ali,” she complained. “I only know something feels . . . off.”

 

“Well, my lady, your sense has already proved helpful. We shall be extra wary going into the city,” Commander Kevain smiled. When they did enter Kirkwall, via Darktown, the city was under attack. “Damn,” the normally quiet Commander began swearing vehemently. “We must try to avoid engaging; Charles is still our primary concern.”

 

Alistair wanted to argue. He didn’t like seeing Qunari warriors attacking all these people, but he wasn’t the leader of this expedition. He understood his fellow Warden-Commander’s reasoning and he had volunteered to assist. Certainly, he wasn’t going to repeat his mistake with Blake years before. Jannasilane and Carver didn’t look any happier, but they didn’t argue.

 

Hawke, Anders, Varric, Fenris and Aveline were battling through Lowtown. The Arishok finally let loose all the anger he built up during his years in Kirkwall and attacked. Bands of Qunari were all over the city, and in Lowtown, several groups of elves were helping them. “Blasted Carta,” Hawke growled, “be nice if for once they were helping defend the city instead of looting it.”

 

Anders marveled, not for the first time, at the tall woman who was their leader. Her hair was a rich, deep red with soft curls that just barely reached her shoulders. Her bangs needed to be trimmed and she impatiently brushed them aside. Somehow her face was both elegant and pixieish and an endless source of fascination to him. That she was a powerful mage and fierce fighter who was loyal to her friends only added to her attractions. Nobody looking at the slim woman realized just how strong she was. He sighed, now was not the time to pursue his intermittent courtship. “Anybody need healing before the next kerfuffle?”

 

“Kerfuffle, mage?” Fenris sneered while Hawke grinned. Yet he held out his arm and grudgingly allowed Anders to heal him before they moved on to the next battle.

 

They were in time to assist some Grey Wardens who were battling a large band of Qunari including one of their leashed mages, a Saarebas. The dust was settling and Anders was able to get a closer look at one of them, he looked familiar. Before he could decide, a small woman leaped into his arms, calling his name and soundly kissing him on the mouth. He smiled and kissed her back, “I remember those lips. It’s good to see you, Poppet. I thought I recognized Alistair over there, even under the helmet. What are you doing here?”

 

Jannasilane remained in his arms, looking closely at the changes in her old friend. “Warden business,” she shrugged and then scolded him, “You have not been taking care of yourself, my Anders. You are thinner, still handsome but definitely thinner. You can come home to us, Anders my friend. You will always be one of my Wardens,” she stroked the side of his face in concern.

 

“You and Alistair have always been good friends. I should probably put you down before he gets jealous,” but he made no move to do so. Holding her was like holding a piece of himself he thought lost. Hawke was irritated by his attentions to the stranger but also intrigued by the glimpse of a younger and more carefree Anders.

 

Alistair came forward then to shake hands with Anders after Janna was once again by his side, “Janna’s right, you’re welcome to come back any time. We even have Pounce with us again. I wish we could stay and help, but you know, Warden stuff and all that.”

 

Fenris was irritated with the mage’s behavior, “He’s been chasing Hawke for years and now he holds onto some other woman in front of her.” He was also curious about these Wardens and moved closer in spite of himself.  These two did not seem to be the reason the mage left. But then, they didn’t act like any Wardens he had met in the past.

 

Hawke thought the same, “You’re not quite what I expected from Grey Wardens. I thought you were all stern and grim like that group we found in the Deep Roads when Carver fell ill.”

 

Another Warden came forward; he’d been doing some scouting. “A lot of them are, but they aren’t the HoF, the Hero of Ferelden.” Anders and Jannasilane snickered as Alistair rolled his eyes at the title. “The imp isn’t a Warden at all, but I can’t imagine the Fereldan order without her. Hello Varric, sister,” Carver growled as he pulled off his helmet, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you in the middle of chaos.”

 

Jannasilane put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot, “Warden Carver Malcolm Hawke! You will not be rude to your sister, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, little mother,” he sighed. Carver turned his back on her and faced his sister. He winked and grinned, “I apologize, Sis.”

 

Hawke threw her arms around her brother, “Carver! I am so glad to see you. I’ve been so worried about you, wondering how you were doing. I have missed you.” Then she whispered in his ear, “You said that just to annoy her.”

 

“What can I say? I like seeing her bosom in action,” he whispered back. “You missed me even though I acted like a jerk most of the time?” he smiled when she smacked the back of his head just like she used to do. “I missed you too, big sister. I wish I could stay and chat but we have business.”

 

“More important than saving the city?”

 

“The First Warden didn’t appreciate our involvement in Ferelden politics. We’re not supposed to do that sort of thing. But I can give you this; a friend of ours gave it to me some time ago. He has a knack for turning up helpful trinkets,” Alistair handed her an amulet brimming with healing and other properties. Then he motioned to Janna and Carver that they needed to rejoin the other Wardens.

 

Janna let go of Anders ear, “You remember what I told you.” She hugged the mage and left him.

 

Varric was looking at Anders; this brimming with secret amusement mood was a new one. “So, Blondie,” he began, “your old cutie pie seemed to be scolding you.”

 

“She’s my friend,” Anders grinned at the dwarf, “and she was scolding Justice, not me.”

 

“She was scolding your demon?” Fenris asked in disbelief.

 

Tambra watched her brother turn to leave, “Wait! Carver, I haven’t told you about Mother.”

 

Sadness washed over his face, “I know; and I know you did everything you could to save her. It just wasn’t meant to be. If I can, I’ll come back for a proper visit.” He left then.

 

Jannasilane moved towards Hawke and smiled in sympathy, “I am sorry for your loss and your pain. Carver has told me much about her. In time, the good memories will be what you remember most, this I know. As far as this mess,” she waved her hands nonchalantly, “you will prevail. Anders is with you and Carver talks much of your abilities. They are only Qunari,” she shrugged dismissively and left with the Wardens.

 

As one Aveline, Fenris, Hawke and Varric turned to a grinning Anders. “Did she just say ‘they are only Qunari’?” Aveline sputtered in disbelief.

 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Blondie, but now -”

 

Hawke finished Varric’s sentence, “but now we have a city to save. I wonder what the Arishok would make of your friends?” she asked rhetorically even as they were running through the streets and alleys of Kirkwall.

 

When the Wardens were outside of Kirkwall, they stopped and looked back at the burning city. Out of respect for the anguish on Carver’s face regarding his sister Alistair and Jannasilane moved a short distance away. She didn’t have to say anything; Alistair knew what she wanted. “We’ll come back, my love. Soon, or as soon as we can, anyway. Carver can check on his sister and you can check on Anders, although you don’t have to stay in his arms so long next time.”

 

“But he feels so much better than Kirkwall, my Ali,” she teased. Then she hugged him, “I love you, my Ali, always.”

 

“I love you, too, always,” he said just before bending down to kiss her.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 112:  Let’s Say Hello

More than a year later, the Warden-Commander was looking out his office window at Janna and their daughter. He smiled as he watched them play with Pinktara’s puppies. Nugflutter was also watching, the proud papa wanting to make sure the humans were careful with his babies. Strake and his mabari were off to the side getting some lessons. He grinned, remembering when the young dwarf boy imprinted with one of Poorfella and General Lee’s offspring. “I don’t know whose expression was funnier: Felsi’s absolute horror, Oghren’s mix of pride and consternation, or Blake’s whatever-that-was. Nobody expected one of the pups to imprint on such a young child, much less Oghren’s boy. Oghren might get his mabari chariot after all. Blake is right about one thing, Strake and his Brownie need proper mabari training. Maybe I could arrange something with Fergus and Mhairi, she’s got one of Brownie’s sisters and the Cousland kennels are among the best in Ferelden.”

 

Nathaniel walked into his office, “Arl-Commander, I have the latest reports from Stroud. You were right about Harami not being ready to deal with the Dalish on a permanent basis.”

 

“Maybe his going at all is a sign he’s healing. Some losses hit hard and don’t ever heal. I know Dalish are finicky about outside influences, and they’re not immune to bigotry, but casting him out just because he married a city elf . . . well, if it were me and Janna . . .” he shook his head. “I hope he didn’t do anything.” He began reading Stroud’s report.

 

“Commander, Harami came to me and said he cannot stay in Ostagar. Too many of the Dalish speak disparagingly of non-Dalish elves, even though Keeper Lanaya is originally from Denerim, and he struggles to maintain his temper. Every slur reminds him of his late wife and the actions of his clan. For the sake of the Order, he said that, much as he would like to live up to your hopes, a long-term posting here is out of the question. I agree. Therefore, I am leaving Warden Mira in charge with Warden Zeke and Cousin Trey to assist her. Warden Saykor is going to stay as well, for a time. He says since the Tower of Ishal and much of the surrounding structures are dwarven made it is possible that they could yield information even after these many centuries.”

 

“He’s always so formal in his reports,” Alistair said.

 

“Yes, so different from what he’s like in person. I’ve always said Stroud was one wild and crazy guy,” Nate spoke with only the slightest tinge of amusement. Alistair grinned in appreciation.

 

“Warden’s Pint is doing well under Cousin Mhairi’s administration. It actually turns a profit, a nice bonus for our Grey Wardens, especially since we only hoped to mitigate the costs of these outpost taverns. Ser Mhairi, or perhaps I should say the Teyrna, has established an impressive information network. The local farmers made sure to express how much safer they feel knowing Wardens are close and vigilant. All are happy that Fergus Cousland remarried and has an heir. One cannot turn around in the village of Highever without hearing stories of young Master Warren Bryce Cousland.

 

The Griffon in Lothering is doing no better than we expected; people are understandably reluctant to traverse an area still visibly affected by the Blight. It is unfortunate Knight-Captain Greagoir did not wish to allow a small group of mages and templars to remain, but the small group he does allow to visit regularly report some interesting findings. I believe you met their leader, Ines Arancia, in the Wending Wood a few years ago. I asked her to send you a detailed account, at which point she grumbled something uncomplimentary and not worth repeating. One man who returned, Barlin, claims to know you but he talks more about Qunari and giant spiders than darkspawn?

 

Some promising recruits will accompany us to Gwaren. It is quite a distance and our undoubtedly cool welcome will test their resolve. If all is, if not well then satisfactory, we shall return to Denerim where I shall collect any recruits waiting and then make my way to Soldier’s Peak.

 

Warden-Constable Jean-Marc Stroud, Professor of Wardenology”

 

Alistair put the report on his desk and seemed to study Nate, but he was actually reflecting on the past. “You know, Nate, I’ve been Warden-Commander and the Arl of Amaranthine for, let’s see, over five years now. Except for a rather rocky start the first year-and-a-half I think I’ve done a fair job.”

 

“You call the Architect and the Weisshaupt/Woolsey conspiracy just a rocky start?” Nate raised his eyebrows at the warrior across the desk. “Then I’d have to agree that you’ve done passably well for somebody carrying the burden of two demanding commands. Good thing you have such broad shoulders.”

 

The Arl-Commander batted his eyelashes, “Why Nate, I didn’t think you noticed.” The rogue replied with a rude noise, causing Alistair to chuckle. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I’m thing of going away for a while and leaving you in charge.”

 

Nate blinked. Alistair had never once hinted that he wanted a break, “though, really, if anybody deserves it, he does. He’s carried more weight on his shoulders than most, and rarely complained.” “Of course, Commander, I should have suggested it myself.”

 

“Why?” the Commander of the Grey snorted. “I don’t think vacations are mentioned anywhere in the Grey Warden manual. Somehow, they don’t seem to go with the whole being forever vigilant bit. I’m not, I mean I want to take Janna away for a short time, a few weeks. Two miscarriages since Martelle . . . she broods about them when she thinks nobody notices. But I notice. It doesn’t help that when she’s pregnant she has nightmares about, well, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know,” the rogue and the warrior were silent for a few minutes. More than once she’d awakened a number of them with her screams. People, himself included, assumed the nightmares she had while pregnant with Martelle were because of Alistair’s kidnapping. Alistair, Stroud, and, surprisingly, Oghren were the most affected; the dwarf remembered when they returned to Arl Eamon’s estate. Later, early in her second pregnancy after one particularly vicious nightmare, the dwarf told a select few that before the Landsmeet which overturned Loghain she and the Wardens were ‘guests’ at Fort Drakon. One more crime to lay on his father’s head.

 

Alistair shook himself, “Anyway, I thought maybe Kirkwall and then Cumberland; we both want to see Nevarra. She hasn’t said anything but she’ll feel better if she can check on Anders and I’m sure Carver wants to visit his sister. Oghren can come with us. I don’t want Anora or Isolde scolding me because I didn't take ‘appropriate’ guards with us. If Fergus and Felsi agree, we’ll leave Martelle, Strake and Brownie at Castle Cousland. The boy needs to learn how to train and care for his mabari properly before there’s trouble, won’t hurt Marty to learn a few things, either. I’m sure she’ll soon have people wrapped around her little finger.”

 

 “She does take after her mother, in a quieter way,” Nathaniel grinned. “Sounds like an excellent plan to me, Commander, although if you’re calling Oghren ‘appropriate’ you may need a vacation more than you think. Tell Anders I said ‘hello.’ I have no doubt Fergus will agree, since thanks to you, he and Mhairi were able to get married.” He left Alistair to his plans.

 

Nathaniel overstated Alistair’s involvement, but he did make it easier for the two of them to get married, a fact that Fergus mentioned in his reply.

 

“My friend and cousin,

 

Of course, you’re welcome to leave Martelle with us. You and my ‘little sister’ deserve some time to yourselves. As for Strake and Brownie, they both need proper training. Bring them, and an adult willing to take the time necessary to train and care for your mabari. Strake is too young to understand that mabari need discipline and training as much as love. I remember Blake; he was only a few years older when General Lee chose him. At that time, he was more indulgent than disciplined, with some sorry results.

 

I owe you more than I can express, Alistair. Three years ago, I understood but was still angry when you refused to release Mhairi from her oath, but now I believe it was best for her. I know Mother and father would approve her sense of honor, her integrity and her recognition of duty. A part of her would always feel she didn’t live up to her own standards and that she let you down if I had had my way then. She admires you greatly, sometimes I think even more than her husband, so your compromise that she stays bound by her oath as a Cousin but permanently in charge of Warden’s Pint was for the best.

 

Fergus Cousland, proud husband and father”

 

Alistair thought Felsi would be harder to convince, but he approached her at a fortuitous moment; Brownie had just overturned a table with an entire day’s worth of baking. She was madder than a wet hen, so angry that his Janna seemed tranquil in comparison. He helped her clean up the mess and explained what he wanted. She looked at him, “If it means that I don’t break my son’s heart by killing that sodding spawn of a deepstalker, you can take him and that creature with you. You better bring him back in one healthy piece,” she waved her cleaver for emphasis.

 

And now, now, Jannasilane closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, reveling in the wind and the salt spray. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed and at peace with herself. Strong hands grasped the railing on either side of her, fencing her in. She smiled and leaned back against the familiar presence, “Thank you, my Ali,” she said softly.

 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled down at her, even though she couldn’t see him. “I thank me, too.” She laughed. “Out here, at the very end of the bow, we could almost be alone,” his voice grew husky. One hand let go of the railing and he caressed her face with his knuckles before trailing his fingers down her neck, shoulders, and bosom. His body shielded them from any prying eyes. “If we were really alone I would do more than cup and stroke your beautiful breasts until you were quivering uncontrollably,” he said suggestively.

 

“What, what would you do?” she asked breathlessly. She could feel his manhood growing behind her and shimmied against him, causing him to emit a muffled groan.

 

“I’d remove your armor until you were naked in the breeze,” he could picture it, the sun and wind and salt spray lightly touching her skin from head to toe. “My hands would be all over you, not one inch would be missed, before I started rubbing you just so, maybe, if you were good, slipping a finger inside you just the way you like. Then, when you were wet and wanting, I would kiss and lick the salt from your flesh until you begged. Finally, I would bend you over the railing and make you scream for the Maker when I took you.”

 

She shivered, “Y-y-you’d be screaming with me,” she gasped.

 

His hand clenched over her breast, “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. He moved his hand away, “I think we should go back to our cabin to finish this discussion.”

 

“Discussion? Is that what you call it,” she teased. She turned around and embraced him, nuzzling his torso. He lifted her in his arms and sat her on the top rail so he could more easily devour her mouth with his.

 

“Yo, Commander, the Captain says ‘take it to your cabin,’” Oghren belched unsteadily. The sky was bad enough, but all this water . . . and the swaying deck, urgh. “Course, if you want an audience I’m willing to oblige,” he leered.

 

Alistair sighed, “I suppose I’ll walk more easily now.” Jannasilane snickered while he helped her down. She blushed when she saw Oghren staring at them.

 

“And, uh, we should reach Kirkwall first thing in the morning. Captain says you might want to get up early and watch as we approach.” The dwarf shuddered when he looked at the sea. As quickly as he could he returned to the cabin he shared with Carver. Anything was better than all that endless space. Sometimes he really missed Orzammar.

 

The sun was barely over the horizon, gilding the entrance to Kirkwall. “I hope our Anders is well,” Jannasilane worried as she stared up at the giant twin statues. She could feel cold despair emanating from them, echoes of old and terrible magic. Alistair rubbed her shoulders. He didn’t like those statues either. Even the crew, who must have passed them dozens of times, was subdued.

 

“By the Ancestors, never thought I’d be so sodding happy to plant my feet on the surface. Even your fluff ball seems happier,” Oghren snorted.

 

Carver grinned down at the dwarf, “You’ll feel better once we get to the Hanged Man. Sis is as likely to be there as she is at home. If she’s not there, we can maybe get rooms, some lousy ale, and local gossip. All her friends are likely to show up at one point or another.”

 

Oghren squinted at him suspiciously, “Isn’t she Champion or somethin’ equally daft? And lives in a mansion? Why don’t you want to go there?”

 

“She bought it for Mother; I never lived there. It just isn’t my home. Besides, I prefer Lowtown to all the fancy nobs in Hightown,” the younger Hawke shrugged uncomfortably.

 

“Yeah, deshyrs and nobs, one’s as useless as the other. Good thing the Commander’s only one 'cuz of a technicality,” Oghren chortled.

 

“Yes, glad I’m not completely worthless,” Alistair remarked drily. They were moving steadily when he saw a huge statue. He drew closer and stared, “That’s new, I think.”

 

They read the commemorative plaque, “Ooo, I hope your sister doesn’t look like that rock. Bet Sten would have one of his stoic hissy fits if he saw it. Workmanship isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” the dwarf remarked.

 

“It’s big,” Janna commented politely. Privately, she thought it rather tasteless albeit noticeable.

 

Carver laughed, “Cupcake, compared to you Nugflutter is big.” He laughed again when she stuck her tongue out at him.

 

“Children,” Alistair admonished and rolled his eyes.

 

“Better hope not, Hof, that doesn’t say much for you,” Carver replied with a straight face.

 

Oghren punched him on the arm, “Nice one, kid.”

 

“Maker,” Alistair replied after a startled moment. “I don’t get any respect.” They all laughed.

 

“Reminds me of home,” Oghren approved after taking a deep breath of the Hanged Man’s ‘ambiance.’

 

Alistair surveyed the crowd for any signs of trouble. One or two were eyeing his Janna but they quickly looked away when he stared at them. A slight commotion in the corner caught his attention. He smiled and nudged Jannasilane, “Sound familiar?”

 

She moved so she could see. She smiled and looked up at him. “Isabela,” they chorused and laughed.

 

“I didn’t know you knew Isabela,” Carver remarked. He directed them to the table semi-reserved for Varric’s friends; it had a good view of the door and they could sit with their backs to the wall. If he remembered correctly, they wouldn’t even need to keep a lookout for his former companions. Anybody sitting at what was traditionally ‘their’ table received immediate attention. “While you’re waiting for the ale I’ll go see if Varric is here.” When he returned minutes later, the pirate was already making herself comfortable and causing the Commander and Cupcake to blush furiously while Oghren leered at the tall brunette. Nugflutter sat on the table as if he owned the place. “If Isabela hasn’t already told you, Varric’s not here.” He grinned at the woman who used to tease him continuously, “Buxom and troublesome as ever, I see. Glad to see some things don’t change.”

 

“Well, well, well, Hawke’s little brother all grown up. I never got to tell you I’m sorry about what happened to you in the Deep Roads,” she sobered for half a minute before grinning back at him, “but I think being a Grey Warden suits you. You’re finally as handsome as I thought you could be, once you grew up.”

 

“It has to happen to all of us at some point,” Carver replied, pleased. “So, what’s the news?” She filled them in, including her part in the Qunari debacle that earned Tambra Hawke the title ‘Champion of Kirkwall.’ “You’re lucky my sister is the loyal sort,” he shook his head.

 

“Don’t I know it,” Isabela grimaced in agreement. She frowned at the table, “This developing a conscience bit is very annoying when you’re a pirate. Your sister is a bad influence.” She faced Jannasilane across the table and smiled slightly, a sly smirk, “Kitcat, as I recall I lost a bet to you. I think it’s time for you to collect your winnings.”

 

Jannasilane frowned, “I don’t remember, oh!” She looked at Alistair who was looking just as confused until he saw her blush. He turned red in turn and got a silly smile on his face. “Isabela, it is not necessary, this is truth. I never expected,” she shrugged helplessly, unwilling to explain to the other two Wardens.

 

“Oh no, Kitcat, I may be many things, including a thief, but I am not a welsher,” Isabela was grinning widely. She grabbed Jannasilane by the arm and pulled her upstairs, “Varric lets me keep a few things in his rooms where nobody will bother them. “

 

When they returned downstairs Varric, Anders, and Oghren were trying to get Alistair to tell them about the bet; Hawke and Carver were catching up while Merrill and Carver kept looking at each other; Fenris was watching them all and brooding as usual. He was the first to see the women return. He too wondered about this bet. The Hero of Ferelden was next to notice them. Alistair stood up and stared, gaping at his love. “Oh, you look just like Isabela,” Merrill exclaimed, “only shorter, and your skin isn’t as dark, and your hair has exciting snow white streaks in it and is a lot longer.”

 

“Let’s take this upstairs to my suite and then maybe Rivaini will tell us about this bet,” Varric suggested. He was positively gleeful about the prospect of new stories. Blondie had told him a few things and maybe now he could find out the truth.

 

Alistair was fingering the collar of Jannasilane’s new armor. “Isabela certainly pays her debts well,” he remarked. The armor was modeled after the pirate’s own, but was made out of dragon leather tinted a deep bronze and trimmed with sky-blue silk. The blue collar was a nice background for his golden woman, and her breasts seemed larger and perkier. Fringe around the hem made it slightly more modest than the original. “I don’t know why, but seeing my Janna in fringe . . . I bet Isabela did that on purpose. No wonder she and Zevran got along.” Short boots and fingerless gauntlets completed the set. “Wade will be jealous; you know how he hates to think somebody might be better with armor than he is, or that they got to work with dragon leather instead of him. Better not wear it when we go to Denerim.”

 

“The Champion and the Hero of Ferelden here at the same time. I bet Corff puts up a sign.” Varric was pulling out a deck of cards, “Wicked Grace, anyone? What brings you and Magpie to Kirkwall?”

 

“Ha, another nickname for your collection, Cupcake,” Carver teased. “Maybe you two should have a contest, how many nicknames he’s given against how many you’ve gotten.”

 

“Just a little vacation and can we not talk about this Hero stuff? Just Alistair, please,” he begged.

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “My Ali pretends not to like it when foolish women throw themselves at him.”

 

“Hey, I got the only woman I want, even if she is a quiet, mousy, little thing. No need to hurt their feelings,” Alistair teased.

 

“I am not little.”

 

“Then we better think of something else to call you, ‘Alistair’ is practically synonymous with ‘Hero of Ferelden.’ Let’s see,” Varric began to consider, “you’re the Hero, a Warden-Commander, a bastard prince, an Arl, a former templar, and a man who could have been king . . . you’re one special snowflake.”

 

“I call him Hof, even though he hates it,” Carver suggested with a sly grin for his boss.

 

Oghren chortled, “Dunno kid, I kind of like Snowflake, myself.”

 

“I suppose Hof is better than It,” Alistair sighed. “No respect, no respect at all.”

 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Isabela purred in his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll respect you, every . . . single . . . inch of you.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair blushed, “I hate you all.”

 

Everybody laughed, and once Aveline, Donnic and Sebastian joined them, they spent the evening drinking and playing Wicked Grace. Jannasilane proved no better than Merrill but Nugflutter proved surprisingly adept at spotting cheating, to the pirate’s dismay. Carver and Tambra started arguing because he didn’t want to stay with her and Fenris surprised everyone by inviting the Fereldans to stay with him, stating he had plenty of rooms he never used. Of course, this was after several more pints than he usually consumed.

 

“Is it still decorated with dead bodies?” Carver asked.

 

“Only a few in strategic locations, stops people from breaking in,” the elf answered laconically.

 

“What it lacks in style it makes up for in security,” Varric offered his opinion. “I suggest you take him up on it, your belongings will be safe and Broody isn’t nosy enough to go through them.”

 

“Um, thank you, Fenris,” Alistair accepted. He was starting to think this group was as odd as the one he traveled with during the Blight. He felt right at home.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 113:  Kirkwall, Day Two

Alistair was the first to wake up. He looked around the bedroom and smiled to himself, remembering Janna’s shocked look when she saw the condition of Fenris’ mansion. “Bet she starts looking for lemonweed first thing,” he thought fondly. “No wonder nobody breaks in, they’re either afraid the place is haunted or figure there’s nothing left to steal. Although, they might think it a good place to dump a body, maybe I should mention the possibility to our host.” He propped himself up on one elbow and just looked at Janna, she was so beautiful in the mornings. He lightly traced her cheeks and lips, then chin, neck and shoulders.

 

Jannasilane stirred in her bedroll, last night she refused to get under those sheets without being able to examine them. She turned her head and smiled sleepily, “Good morning, my love.”

 

“Good morning, love,” he bent his head and kissed her softly. “Oghren is still snoring in his room. Tambra will be here soon, we’re going to go on patrol with Aveline. I don’t know who else is coming. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

 

She shook her head, “No, my Ali, I will go see Bodahn and Sandal. If I catch Anders before he goes to his clinic I can update him privately about what happened in Amaranthine. He deserves to know.”

 

“True; and I certainly didn’t want to explain last night, too many ears. I’ll meet you there,” Alistair stated. He kissed her, sighed theatrically, and left.

 

Now that she was awake, Jannasilane decided she might as well get up and search for something to eat. She’d already figured out that Fenris was an unreliable source, even if he had food she wasn’t going to trust anything stored or prepared in his mansion. “I bet Bodahn can tell me where I can find something else to eat,” she munched on some of their travel rations as she debated waking Oghren. Finally, she decided to knock on his door.

 

“Yeah, whaddaya want?” Oghren bellowed groggily and then flung open the door wearing only his smalls and his giant battle-axe.

 

Jannasilane blushed, in all their travels she’d never seen the dwarf wearing so little, “Er, um, I just wanted to let you know that Alistair left with Carver to go on patrol with Aveline and Tambra.” She kept her eyes above Oghren’s head and frowned just a little, “Well, Carver left at the same time, and I think Fenris as well. I wish to speak with Anders before he leaves for his clinic and do not wish for you to worry. We are all meeting at Hawke’s later, um, that’s it,” she squeaked and scurried away. She just knew Oghren was laughing at her and that he would surely tease her at the first opportunity.

 

Fenris wasn’t gone, however. He heard Oghren banging around some time later and he scowled at the dwarf, demanding an explanation. He was already regretting his invitation from the night before, “I must have had a lot to drink.” Which he had, he didn’t miss the closeness between Jannasilane and Anders, how she seemed to touch him more than anyone except the Hero. That the mage allowed it with Hawke and Alistair right next to him irked him for more reasons than he cared to examine. Were they oblivious? Now the bit was going to see the mage alone. “It is bad enough that Hawke chooses the abomination above all the men in Kirkwall. I will not stand for him cheating on her with this ‘Poppet,’” he sneered. He slammed out of his own mansion, leaving a perplexed and angry dwarf behind him.

 

“. . . so you see, my Anders, Woolsey and the First were working against my Ali. Jean-Marc, Warden Stroud, had no idea that Woolsey creature arranged for an ambush by templars. He was most upset. He even fought her men when they wanted to take me to Weisshaupt. I was most happy to hear that you were safe in the Deep Roads, this is truth.”

 

Anders had been listening to her, in turns astonished, angry, and relieved but at that last statement he burst out laughing, “Most adorable Poppet, I have missed you. I don’t think anybody else in the history of darkspawn has ever said ‘safe in the Deep Roads’ and meant it. I’ll have to remember to tell the Commander your unique perspective.” He continued chuckling in spite of her scowls. “I can’t believe Stroud brought Ser Pounce-a-lot back to the Vigil,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I’m glad you told me, I didn’t know what to think or who to trust. It worked out, you got your Ali back, I found Tambra, and the two of you have a daughter. I bet she’s just like you.”

 

“She is wonderful, this is truth,” Jannasilane smiled, “and my Ali is the most perfect of fathers.” She stopped smiling and bit her lip before adding softly, “but he is not her father in nature.” She couldn’t look at her friend when she admitted this, “He was gone for so long and, and . . .”

 

“I understand,” Anders replied softly. He took her hands in his, “I’m sorry, Sweeting; I had no clue based on the way he talks about her. She’s a lucky little girl and in time I’m sure you and Alistair will give her a brother or sister.”

 

Instead of reassuring her, Jannasilane got quieter. “I worry, my Anders,” she admitted, “two times since Martelle I have become with child only to lose it. I thought that, that when I lost our child i-in Fort Drakon it was because of what they d-did to me. What if the problem is with me, or me and my Ali? Is that even possible?”

 

“Oh, Poppet,” Anders murmured sympathetically, “Are you afraid that something happened or that you just can’t carry Alistair’s child?” He didn’t wait for her answer, “Come with me, I’ll give you an exam right now so you don’t have to worry anymore.” He had a quick word with Bodahn and then led her upstairs. He briefly considered taking her into the room he shared with Hawke until he remembered how they left it and decided to use Leandra’s room. He knew that, even though Tambra still wasn’t ready to change anything, Bodahn kept it clean and aired.

 

Fenris’ anger propelled him through the streets of Hightown, for once not worrying about keeping a low profile. Nor did he bother knocking on Hawke’s door; instead, he banged it open and confronted a startled Bodahn. “Where are they?” he snarled.

 

The dwarf blinked, “Who, messere? Mistress Hawke left earlier this morning to accompany her brother and the Hero of Ferelden. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you waited in the library . . .” Just then laughter drifted down the stairs. Fenris snarled and leapt up the stairs followed by a worried dwarf and Nugflutter.  

 

“I do adore you, Poppet,” Anders was still laughing at the image of the dour Stroud wearing a pink sash and playing tea with a little girl while Ser Pounce-a-lot glared at the senior Warden. He gave her a hug, “I would love to -”

 

“Love to what, mage?” Fenris spat after crashing through the door. Seeing the abomination on the bed with the Hero’s curvy bit filled him with rage. He was so angry he ignored that Anders was dressed and that Jannasilane was wearing a robe. All he saw was his rival on the bed with his arms around another woman. That the embrace was friendly rather than romantic completely bypassed him. He stalked to the bed. Anders moved protectively in front of Jannasilane, further enraging the elf. “If you think I’m going to let you disrespect Hawke in her own home with some other female, I don’t care how attractive or unusual she is, you are sadly mistaken!”

 

“You’re wrong, Fenris,” Anders said softly, trying to diffuse the situation though, frankly, he would like nothing more than to shoot a very large lightning bolt up the other man’s ass. Or a fireball, that would work, too. He was so very tired of Fenris’ hatred and paranoia laced with jealous venom. “I don’t care what you think of me but I will not let you attack Poppet. You and I can take this outside.” He tried to move her behind him, “I’m her friend and at the moment I’m also her healer.”

 

“A convenient lie,” Fenris snarled and reached behind Anders to grab Jannasilane’s arm. He hauled her up and she fell against his side, the robe gaping open in the process.

 

“This is truth, Fenris,” Jannasilane said angrily. “You are being most ridiculous, this is also truth. I wish you to let go; you are hurting me.” Because she was only wearing a light robe she felt sorely disadvantaged. Anders tried to pry the elf’s fingers loose but the minute he grabbed the lyrium-tattooed skin something changed. Energy, such as in the Gauntlet on the way to the Sacred Ashes, surged between them. She bit her lips as she felt the Beast stirring after years of dormancy. She looked away from Fenris, if he saw the desire rising in her he would believe he was in the right.

 

Bodahn was already racing downstairs and was nearly out the door when he thought of Hawke’s mabari and let him out, “Find your mistress, boy, and bring her home. It’s an emergency.” Before he ran outside, he cautioned Sandal and Orana to stay close but out of the way, he had no idea what Fenris might be capable of.

 

In Leandra’s bedroom the elf glared at the two of them, “What foul magic is this?” He didn’t understand why he suddenly remembered Idunna, an unusual apostate they encountered years before. His tattoos flared and she shivered in response, he could see her body quivering down to her toes. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, “I smell your arousal, fickle wench, but I will not allow myself to be used, so you can cease whatever it is you are doing.” Yet he deliberately set his tattoos to pulse, to punish her, not realizing he was making it harder for her to control the Beast.

 

“Fenris, you need to stop. Take a breath and try to calm yourself, when your lyrium flares like that, Poppet suffers,” Anders tried to explain. “She doesn’t want this, you, or me.” He found it difficult; through Jannasilane, he was experiencing some of the same energy and knew her Beast was rising. If he weren’t so deeply in love with Hawke, he’d find it harder to control his own reaction. He also felt mildly intoxicated from the lyrium. “She’s sensitive to magic, and apparently lyrium. We can try to figure it out later, but right now you need to go.”

 

“So you can continue your tryst? I don’t think so,” Fenris phased and drew his hand back. He only meant to threaten them, to make it clear to both of them he wouldn’t stand aside while they hurt Hawke. Jannasilane, thinking he was attacking, pushed Anders out of the way and forcefully wriggled out of Fenris’ grip. Unfortunately, she pulled him off balance and instead of merely threatening them he shoved his hand into her shoulder.

 

Jannasilane gasped and bit her lip to control the pain. Blood trickled down her chin.

 

“Damn!” Anders swore vociferously with more imagination than the elf credited to him. “What have you done?”

 

Fenris removed his hand. He was ashamed and didn’t know what he should say but before he could say anything she took a deep breath and let out her battle song.

 

“You know, Guard-Captain, if you and your husband ever want to leave Kirkwall Amaranthine has a place for you,” Alistair offered. He remembered Aveline from Ostagar and that Duncan thought she would make a good Grey Warden. “Duncan thought highly of you.”

 

“I’m flattered, Commander, but my place is here. I admire what you have done with the Wardens but I don’t wish to become one, maybe once I would have considered it, but no longer,” Aveline remembered seeing Alistair in the camp but had no idea he or the then Warden-Commander noticed her. From what she heard about him, he was a leader she could respect.

 

“Well, as somebody pointed out, I also run an arling. I can always use exceptional people, Warden or not. I respect your decision but know the offer is open to you both if you change your minds. If you’d rather the Denerim or royal guard I’ll put in a good word,” Alistair replied good-naturedly. They were entering the Hightown Market, which was a scene of unusual commotion. Instantly Alistair was on alert, in his experience anything unusual was probably bad. He looked around for the source, “Um, Tambra, isn’t that your mabari?”

 

“That dog,” Tambra muttered in exasperation, “Bodahn is usually more careful . . . I suppose I better catch him before he finds his way to the butcher’s. Do you have any idea how much I had to pay the last time he got loose?”

 

“Try paying the food bill for an entire order of Grey Wardens,” Alistair retorted. “However, I think it’s something else . . . there’s Bodahn talking to one of the guard.”

 

“Advantages of being super-sized,” Varric quipped.

 

Aveline whistled, a particular piercing note that carried to her guardsman. He looked up and signaled, “That’s the sign for domestic trouble. We better move quickly, Hawke.”

 

“Janna was going to your house to talk to Anders,” Alistair immediately started running, dodging or leaping over barriers. Carver swore and followed.

 

“Well, well, well, he has a lot of dexterity for such a big man,” Isabela ogled approvingly. Hawke raced for her mabari and shouted for the others to go to the mansion.

 

Donnic was there ahead of them, “I met Bodahn and sent him to look for you in the market after he explained,” he shook his head. “Fenris was angry and made all sorts of accusations against Anders and,” he sighed miserably, he hated having to tell the Hero of Ferelden the sorry news, “your good lady. He barged upstairs in spite of Bodahn’s efforts. I’m sorry, ser, Guard-Captain, they’re in one of the bedrooms.” Looking at Alistair, he understood why the Blight lasted only a year. He only hoped they wouldn’t have to arrest the Hero of Ferelden for murder.

 

“I see,” Alistair replied. He sprinted up the steps without waiting for anybody else. He slowed at the bedroom door and approached cautiously, all his senses on alert. He frowned a little, “That’s unexpected. Ignore it, Alistair, it doesn’t change what you need to do.” Jannasilane was whimpering under the weight of the two men, “It’s okay, Jannalove, I’m here now.”

 

“Please, my Ali, I’m sorry,” she babbled and gasped.

 

He quieted her as best he could. When Carver joined him, he took a step away from the bed of bodies. “Can you feel that?” he asked. Carver frowned and closed his eyes in order to focus his senses better. What he felt made his eyebrows rise in disbelief and he looked at his Commander. Alistair didn’t let him speak, “We need to do a cleanse before we can help her,” he said quietly, his anger coldly controlled. He went to the top of the stairs and looked down; Oghren had arrived about the same time as Hawke and the others. “Tambra, you and Merrill need to go outside until we call you.”

 

Hawke started to protest.

 

“Sis, if Hof says stay outside, stay outside. You’ll only get hurt if you don’t and won’t be able to help later,” Carver warned. “That goes for you, too, Merrill.”

 

“I’ll make sure nobody gets killed,” Aveline said quietly to her husband. “Do as he requested,” she ordered and went upstairs, followed by the Orzammar warrior. “Maker,” she breathed when she saw the three people on Leandra’s bed.

 

“Aveline, I don’t know what will happen, so you might want to watch from the landing. Oghren, go with her, the fewer emotions in here the better for us to do what’s needed. You’ll be close enough if you have to act.”

 

Oghren understood that Alistair didn’t want Aveline to interfere, “Aye, Commander. Cherryplum’s had enough for one day. Come on, you sexy warrior woman. You know, you remind me of Branka,” he leered. Aveline stepped back, just as the dwarf intended.

 

“Carver, wait for my signal. I want to see if there’s a pattern so we can disrupt the energy more easily. When I say ‘three’ I want you to act,” he closed his eyes as his junior had earlier. Once he was reasonably confident he had the rhythm he began timing, “One, two, and three.” He and Carver performed simultaneous mana cleanses. Alistair grabbed Fenris by the collar and literally threw him out the door. The elf didn’t stop flying until he hit the opposite wall, groaning. 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 114:  Kitchen Conversations

Fenris was able to shuffle home with the help of Varric, Isabela and Oghren. Bodahn went with them to gather the Fereldans’ belongings and bring them back to the Hawke estate. Nobody thought it a good idea for Alistair to retrieve them. After Anders applied some poultices to Jannasilane’s skin for her burns, he left her alone with Alistair and made his way to the kitchen. Carver helped him down the stairs without making one single smart comment. Satisfied they didn’t have to make any arrests, Aveline and Donnic returned to their respective duties.

 

“I could use something to eat,” Anders would rather be in the Deep Roads than explaining what happened to the irritated, finger-tapping Tambra. Carver started to get up but Orana was already putting platters of food on the table. The minute he smelled food he couldn’t think of anything else, he felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. He and Carver got busy. Merrill watched in awe, she wasn’t usually around when Anders ate and she hadn’t seen Carver since he became a Grey Warden.

 

Tambra sighed, “It’s a Grey Warden thing,” she explained to Merrill. “We won’t learn a thing until they’re on their second plate. Orana, would you please make up something for Alistair and Jannasilane?”

 

“Makh shure Cuphcake getsh shme of these shinnmn bns,” Carver said as he grabbed a couple. “She’ll love ‘em.” It took a minute for the others to understand what he was saying through the food in his mouth.

 

A few minutes later Tambra was ready to smack Anders, “Now you’re stalling. What happened?” What she really wanted to know was why her mother’s room was the scene for whatever weird stuff happened.

 

Anders looked at her unhappily, “Poppet filled me in on what happened after I left Ferelden. I’ll sum it up in one word, politics. I was so selfish, concentrating on my own dissatisfaction with Stroud that I failed to see or prevent . . . well, no matter. She also wanted to consult me on a personal, medical matter. I hope you know that I love you and the last thing in the world I would ever want to do is cheat on you or hurt you. I’m sorry about your mother’s room, love. When Poppet came I hadn’t had a chance to straighten ours.” He couldn’t help grinning, “I know she and Alistair have a healthy relationship,” he winked at her, “but she is still something of an innocent and I didn’t want to embarrass her.”

 

“Oh Maker,” Carver groaned and put his head in his hands, “please don’t go into details.”

 

“Is something wrong, Carver?” Merrill asked. He shook his head while his sister coughed to hide her laughter. “I missed something again, didn’t I? You’re not just talking about dirty smallclothes lying on the floor?” She blushed when she realized.

 

“Sometimes, Merrill, you remind me of her,” Anders noted before continuing his explanation. “We needed privacy so I could examine her and she could feel free to confide in me further, if she wished. I promise I was going to tell you about it. Anyway, -”

 

“Hold up, Magey, she’s not sick, is she?” Carver scowled at him.

 

The mage shook his head and reassured him, “No, she’s not sick. However, when we were talking I decided I couldn’t give her my best opinion without a complete physical examination. I can’t, I won’t, tell you more than that.” Anders stared into his cup of coffee, he didn’t particularly like the beverage but he always felt cold after a mana cleanse. “Poppet is an unusual person, and I don’t mean her personality. She has certain abilities, traits, sensitivities I’ve never seen in anybody else, all due to events that happened before she was born.”

 

Carver scowled at him, but held his tongue for the moment.

 

Anders stared at him, “I see. Trust me, I’ll explain with the minimum detail. Her legacy, if you will, is the ability to sense magic. You two are mages, so you know that once you start to study certain specialties you and your magic change, develop a certain flavor. She senses that I’m a spirit healer, which is soothing, even attractive, to her. She also senses that you, Merrill, are a blood mage even though you haven’t performed that type of magic in a long time. Being near you makes her skin itch. It has nothing to do with you personally. She also can sense demons and sometimes the type of demon.”

 

Tambra interrupted him, “Fascinating, the number of times we could have used her,” she thought of all their encounters over the years.

 

“The Fade and demons give her a headache,” Anders added. “She also needs to stay away from lyrium, though not for the usual reasons. I think she’s almost drawn to it, certainly when we were trapped in the Fade she constantly touched the crystals.”

 

“Varric knew you weren’t telling him everything,” Tambra accused him.

 

“Guilty,” Anders acknowledged. “Alistair told me later that one of my old teachers, Wynne, suggested she avoid lyrium and certain magics. They don’t have the same effect on her they do others and she couldn’t predict what harm might come from such exposure in time.”

 

“And Fenris is covered with the stuff,” Hawke noted grimly.

 

Anders cleared his throat, “We were sitting on the bed afterwards, just talking for a few minutes before I left so she could change.” He scowled, “Fenris clamored upstairs and burst in, shouting nonsense about me cheating on you and calling Poppet various uncomplimentary names. I tried to protect her but he reached around me to grab her, she was still only wearing the thin robe . . . oh, um, I borrowed one of yours for her to wear during the exam . . . and when I tried to pry him off her . . . I still don’t understand exactly what happened. I think he was only trying to threaten us when he phased,” he grimaced, “but she didn’t know that. She pushed me out of the way and his hand went through her shoulder. She’s hurting. In addition to everything else, she’s severely allergic to leather that isn’t dragon. Wherever his armor touched her, it burned her skin.”

 

Tambra stared at him somberly, “Poor girl, do you need to borrow my mana to heal her?”

 

“One of the things I like about you, and there are so many, is your keen intelligence coupled with compassion,” Anders smiled at his lover.

 

During the slow hobble back to his mansion, Fenris didn’t speak a word. He ignored Oghren’s comments; indeed, he barely heard them. He was thinking about Alistair’s words.

 

He lay crumpled against the wall where the Warden-Commander threw him. Every part of his body hurt; were all Wardens so strong? Through the buzzing in his ears, he heard Anders say he needed healing poultices for the female. He was confused until he remembered the mage saying something about leather and allergies. He sighed, he had a feeling he made a huge mistake. He received confirmation a few minutes later when large boots stopped before his eyes. “Look at me,” Alistair spoke softly but with absolute authority. Fenris didn’t resist. He ignored the pain and looked up into one of the coldest, angriest expressions he had ever seen, and he saw many in Tevinter. He couldn’t repress a shiver.

 

“You’re free now but you act like an angry wild dog off the leash. As a free man, you have responsibilities to yourself and those around you to exercise control and to think about the consequences of your actions. You have unusual abilities so your responsibility is even greater. If you are not willing to accept this responsibility, perhaps you should find a master who might prevent you from attacking innocents,” Alistair looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he sheathed his sword, which he’d held against the elf’s throat, and walked away.

 

When they entered the mansion, Oghren sneered at the elf before talking to Bodahn, Varric and Isabela, “I’ll take care of my stuff and the kid’s, I don’t like nobody touching my doodads.”

 

Isabela blinked, “I wasn’t even considering it.”

 

“Humph, good,” Oghren snorted. “I’ll show you where the Commander and Cherryplum were sleeping. I don’t know much about pirates; just don’t go sniffin’ their underwear or anything.”

 

“Got it,” Varric answered, amused to see Rivaini speechless for once, “no doodad touching and no underwear sniffing.”

 

Fenris watched them go upstairs and decided to go to the kitchen; there wasn’t much food but there was a lot of wine in the pantry. He wanted to think, he wanted to drink, and he wanted to be alone.

 

There wasn’t much to pack. In minutes, the three dwarves left to return to Hawke’s estate, leaving Isabela behind. Varric didn’t consider himself overly fastidious but he didn’t like being too close to the warrior. He preferred companions who at least understood the definition of ‘hygiene.’ However, he was also curious. “You’re not casteless or a surface dwarf, so I gotta ask, how does a warrior from Orzammar get to be a Grey Warden? Anders told me a few things that, frankly, I find hard to believe and I’ve seen some weird ****.”

 

“I ain’t no gossiping girl,” Oghren snorted out a belch.

 

“You said you were going to get a room at the Hanged Man, come have a drink, at least you can tell me if Blondie was putting me on or telling me the truth,” Varric said persuasively. He was convinced that once he got the other dwarf started he could find out more. Oghren shrugged agreement.

 

“If you don’t mind, messeres, with Grey Wardens in the house I should go to the Market,” Bodahn said hesitantly.

 

Varric didn’t know if that was the only reason he wanted to get away from them but he smiled affably, “Sure. We’ll take everything to Hawke’s and see how Magpie is doing before we head to Lowtown.”

 

Isabela quietly searched for Fenris. When she finally found him, he was just throwing the second empty wine bottle at the wall. “Fenhedis,” he swore.

 

“Well, at least you’re saying something. Mind if I have a drink?” she drawled. After helping herself to a bottle of wine she made herself comfortable and propped her feet up on the table while Fenris glared at her. She took a healthy swig, “I’m glad to see you have some decent wine left. Definitely beats anything at the Hanged Man. The way you flew across that landing, I didn’t think Alistair was capable of such anger, though one time there were rumors. I’ve always thought he was sexy, with those strong muscles and that innocent, Chantry-boy way, but now I’ve seen him scary, I think he’s even sexier.”

 

“Rat ****** beats anything at the Hanged Man,” Fenris muttered. He drank some more. “If he’s so sexy then why was she touching the abomination so much last night?”

 

“I knew it,” Isabela crowed, “you think she’s attractive. She is; she’s one delicious, exotic bundle of sex appeal. Tell me, did you run off like a lunatic because you were concerned about Hawke or jealous that yet another woman found Anders more attractive than you? It’s no secret that you’ve been pining after our magical leader.”

 

Fenris glared at her, “I do not pine. Hawke made it clear years ago, we are friends and nothing more; I treasure that friendship. It was hard not to notice you and the woman coming down the steps in that armor. I doubt a man in the place didn’t notice four large breasts so prominently displayed.” The pirate smirked at him and Fenris turned his glare to the table, “I have been a fool.”

 

Isabela took another swig and wiped her chin, “Everybody’s a fool at some point or other, sweet thing,” she said tolerantly. While he brooded, she thought of new friend fiction to write, maybe involving a very large, heroic figure and his extremely curvy lover. She smiled to herself, seeing Kitcat in the armor she gave her almost made her glad she lost the bet. She wondered how quickly Alistair ravished his lover once they were alone. “Too bad I didn’t join them,” she thought wistfully, ignoring the fact she wasn’t invited, then began plotting how drunk she could get them in order to share their bed once again. Once they shed their inhibitions, they were surprisingly adventurous. Perhaps a trip to the Blooming Rose?

 

“I will have to apologize to the abomination, won’t I?” Fenris asked glumly after an hour of brooding and drinking.

 

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, probably,” Isabela came out of her reverie. She was just at the point in her imagination where the voluptuous Lanna was performing a hesitant striptease for the supremely sexy pirate queen and her large second-in-command, Kalifare. “Kitcat too; you hurt her, Fenris.”

 

“And Hawke, and Alistair,” the elf added. “Any suggestions? I mean ones that don’t involve sex.”

 

“Party pooper,” she pouted. Languidly, she moved to straddle him, “I’ve heard physical activity can stimulate the mind.”

 

Fenris answered her, desire sparking, “Perhaps we should test this theory.” He began undoing the few fastenings needed to free her breasts to his gaze. He began phasing his hands in and out, the way she liked, until her large nipples were standing tall and proud. “You have the most magnificent breasts,” he growled.

 

“Second-most,” she gasped.

 

He stopped what he was doing and stared at her, then he began laughing, “The bet, the bet you lost was a, a breast-off?” He licked one nipple, “I would have liked to have seen that.”

 

“Hmm, maybe I can arrange a rematch,” she began scheming while removing his armor.

 

Alistair found his way to Hawke’s kitchen, “I’ve done all I can. Do you think you’ve recovered enough to help her? I hate to see her hurting,” he asked Anders.

 

“We’ll take care of her, Alistair,” Anders promised. He and Tambra quickly went upstairs.

 

The large blond warrior sat down with a tired thud. “Maker,” he sighed, and pushed his fingers through his hair, “this is not how I wanted this trip to go.” Orana quietly slid a plate of food in front of him and he began eating absent-mindedly. He’d left all the food she took upstairs for Janna. He finished that plate, then a second and was on his third before he was ready to speak again. “Tell me about Kirkwall,” he demanded.

 

Hawke the younger stared at his boss. However, a perplexed Merrill was the one who spoke, “Kirkwall? Why Kirkwall instead of Fenris? Or, oh, I’m sorry. You just want to talk of something else, and I’m babbling away.”

 

Carver took her hand, “Hush, Merrill. You’re not doing anything wrong. What do you want to know, boss?”

 

“My Janna still thinks something isn’t right about Kirkwall. She feels it more strongly now than when the Qunari attacked.”

 

“If something’s wrong in my city, I want to know about it,” Tambra declared firmly. “Jannasilane is fine; she’s sleeping and probably won’t wake for hours. Anders is exhausted so I told him he needed to lie down before he keels over.” She sat down, plucked one of Orana’s fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon buns for herself, and began nibbling. “Now, what is wrong with Kirkwall?”

 

Alistair got out of his chair and began pacing, “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can tell you this, unless your little brother was exaggerating, Kirkwall has more than its fair share of abominations, demons, and blood mages. I don’t mean you, Merrill; I mean the kill-everyone-because-I’m-evil kind. Although,” he bit into the cinnamon bun he’d been holding while he talked. “Mmmm,” he closed his eyes and finished it in one bite. He opened his eyes and looked around the kitchen until he found Orana, “Did you make these?”

 

“Y-yes, messere,” she stammered. “Is s-something wrong?”

 

“No, no, no, no. They are perfect. In fact, madam,” he took her hand and bent over to kiss the top of it lightly, “My Wardens and soldiers would throw themselves at your feet if you were in Amaranthine. If you ever find yourself in need of a job, come to Vigil’s Keep; we would be honored to have your services.” He let go of her hand and smiled kindly at her before resuming his pacing and thinking.

 

“It will be weeks before my house stops smelling of cinnamon,” Tambra Hawke thought, judging by the star-struck gaze of the elf she hired during their search for Hadrianna.

 

“To be fair, boss,” Carver jokingly nudged his sister, “when I was here some crazy woman with a painted white mouth, Tahrone? Tyranny? Tarohne? was hiding below Darktown. She may have been a powerful maleficar but we defeated her.”

 

Tambra thumbed her bottom lip, “There’s more to the story than that. A few years after you left we found some old books, books that detailed some horrific magic she’d hidden around Kirkwall from Viscount’s Keep to Sundermount and the Wounded Coast.”

 

“Hawke destroyed them,” Merrill muttered. She was still annoyed that Hawke could so easily destroy ancient knowledge when she was fighting to discover more of her heritage.

 

“Nothing good could come of such books, Merrill,” Hawke wearily repeated an old argument. “My point, Carver, is we found enough of them to discover a powerful demon hidden or caged underneath Kirkwall,” she grimaced. “That wasn’t the only one, either.”

 

“So, what, Kirkwall was a dumping ground for unwanted demons? Or like the raiders’ stronghold in Brandel’s Reach? Hear ye, hear ye oh mighty demons, want a place to rest and plot without any interference? Come to the city of Kirkwall,” Alistair intoned sarcastically. “I want to see the Circle,” he decided. “When I was training to be a templar, they told us about mages succumbing to blood magic and, of course, how to prepare for a Harrowing. I remember the statistics, the expected ‘bad results.’”

 

“Knight-Commander Meredith will never let you into the Circle. She’s grows more paranoid each year. Frankly, I think she’s battier than crazy lady’s insane Aunt Fannie. However, her second in command is from Ferelden. I don’t agree with the Knight-Captain’s views but Cullen is sane and, I think, a good man at heart.”

 

“Cullen? I wonder if he’s the same Cullen we met during the Blight,” Alistair mused.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 115:  An Announcement

While Janna slept, Alistair went to the Gallows. Just as Tambra warned, he couldn’t get inside but Cullen was willing to talk to him in general terms. He too was concerned about the number of failed Harrowings and both men agreed that moving the Circle out of the former prison might be a good idea. When he returned to the Hawke estate, Nugflutter and Hawke’s mabari were snoozing in front of the fire.

 

“Anders is at his clinic in Darktown and Mistress Hawke is upstairs, messere,” Bodahn informed him.

 

“How do you like Kirkwall, Bodahn?”

 

“It’s almost as lively as traveling with a couple of Grey Wardens,” the older dwarf answered with a smile. “The Champion is a good woman and has been most kind to me and my boy. Sandal’s doing very well here. I can’t say we like the Gallows, though, fair gives me the creeps.”

 

Alistair agreed and started toward the steps but stopped when a blizzard of envelopes bombarded him. He looked up and saw Tambra staring down at him with her mouth open. “Oops,” she finally said, “Sorry, Alistair, you caught me in the middle of filling out my social calendar.”

 

“Is it safe to come upstairs? I thought I’d been pelted with invitations before but I can see I was mistaken.”

 

Tambra laughed and waited until he joined her before signaling her mabari, “Before I became Champion I received a few invitations, mostly due to Mother’s connections, but a few. It was easy reading them all and making decisions. I doubt I spent more than two hours a month on social correspondence,” she rolled her eyes. “Now, now I get so many if I read them all I wouldn’t have time to go to any of them.”

 

“Maybe that’s the plan,” he teased. “And don’t forget about requests for help and ‘investment opportunities.’”

 

“Oh yes, like the Fereldan Refugee Fund, only Fereldan was spelled F-u-r-,” she snorted. “Bodahn removes the business items, those I take care of immediately. Can’t have my favorite mabari starve because I didn’t pay the bill, can I? The rest he leaves for me. I suppose I have to go to some of these events, so when the pile reaches critical mass, which is more often than I would like, I start going through it. I separate them into ‘not bloody likely’ and ‘maybe.’ I'm afraid I showered you with the ‘maybes.’ I let my dog pick one from the floor and that’s the one I go to,” she took the envelope from her mabari, “Good boy, you’ve done a fine job.” She opened and read it carefully, “This doesn’t look so painful.” She looked down over the railing, “Okay, Bodahn, you know what to do.”

 

“Yes, messere, right away,” the merchant-turned-manservant began picking up the scattered envelopes.

 

“Sometimes my faithful hound has to make a second selection, but it works so far. Bodahn will organize those for me to politely decline. One good thing about being in and out so much is people don’t really expect me to come.”

 

Alistair smirked, “And you can keep them guessing because they won’t find a pattern to your replies. I wonder if Poorfella or Nugflutter would be interested in doing something similar.”

 

“I suppose you get a lot, since you’re the Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, and Arl of Amaranthine. Never mind, I don’t want to know. Was Cullen helpful?”

 

“He confirmed my suspicions. And he said to give you his regards,” Alistair added. “He also said the percentage of failed Harrowings was just as high as the number of blood mages popping up. What on Thedas possessed the Divine to think a former prison in the middle of the Tevinter slave trade, where they killed hundreds of slaves, was a good place for a Circle of Mages? Didn’t anyone tell her that the Veil was likely to be thin due to the centuries of misery? And that a thin Veil was so very much not the best place for mages? Cullen is going to suggest relocating the Circle, but he doesn’t hold out a lot of hope.”

 

“I asked the Grand Cleric that a few years ago,” Tambra thumbed her lower lip, a habit of hers when she was thinking or worried. “She asked me if a sound building should go to waste. I think that we probably know more about the Veil and the Fade than Justinia I did. Unless it's an Exalted March I doubt the Chantry will move quickly to change anything,” she said cynically. “I’ve heard rumors that the new Divine is more open-minded and progressive than her predecessors but I don’t know if that will translate into actual changes.”

 

“Not preaching that mages are evil is a start, at least. I don’t envy the woman. I only had to change the reputation of an Arling after one exceedingly bad ruler,” Alistair shrugged. “Anyway, I know Janna is concerned about the effect Kirkwall has on its people. She even suggested the wrongness she senses might have influenced the Arishok’s actions. You’re in a better position to find answers, if there are any,” Alistair answered practically. He stepped towards his bedroom door, “Maybe I’ll take a nap. If we’re playing Wicked Grace here tonight, I need to keep my wits sharp. Hawke,” he faced their host before closing the door, “thank you. I know our presence was rather dumped on you and I appreciate you letting us stay.”

 

“Mother would have bitten off my head if I kicked you out,” Tambra smiled, realizing she wasn’t bothered at all anymore that somebody was using her mother’s room. “You’re my brother’s friends and he’s finally found his place in the world. I’m the one who should be grateful. You are correct about one thing; you had better have your wits about you if you’re playing with Varric and Isabela. Hmmm, maybe I should thank your little dog for spying out some of her tricks. What was the bet?” she asked in a sudden change of subject, hoping to catch him off balance.

 

Alistair smiled that silly little grin and endeavored not to blush, “Unusual.” He closed the door. “You’ve had an exhausting day, my love, and it isn’t close to over,” he whispered as he undressed and slid into bed beside her. “Why do my shirts always look better on you than on me?” He held her close and nuzzled her hair.

 

She stirred slightly, “I wish to talk to you, my Ali,” she yawned.

 

“Later, when you’re awake. Go back to sleep, my beautiful Janna,” he whispered. He watched over her as she once again slept. He had some questions of his own, but they could wait. He thought Anders probably had the answers, but he wasn’t here and he really didn’t feel like going into Darktown, not since he was supposed to be on vacation. He frowned; he didn’t know what he was going to do about Anders, not yet. He needed to talk to Tambra as well. Anders was still one of his Wardens, and a friend, but . . . he put that dilemma aside for the moment and concentrated on the woman in his arms. She was so small and yet so strong, then again, she had to be. Eventually, he dozed.

 

Most of Hawke’s friends and companions were already present and ready to play when they heard a loud thump and then swift footsteps coming down the steps. Fenris was prepared to apologize but Jannasilane brushed by him as if he were invisible. He followed her to the library and watched with as much surprise as everybody else when she accosted Anders, “Is it okay? After this morning,” she whispered in a panic.

 

Anders only needed a second to understand what she meant. He wiped away her tears and held her close, comforting her, “Everything is perfect, Poppet,” he said quietly and kissed the top of her head. He heard heavier footsteps thudding down the steps and grinned, “I think somebody wants to talk to you.”

 

Alistair stood in the doorway watching them with worried eyes. He was oblivious to the admiring glances as the group took in his lack of attire. After Janna knocked him out of bed and stepped on him on her way out the bedroom door, he only took time to pull on cotton pants before he followed. Even Aveline admired the large, well-built man, though not as openly as Isabela or Hawke. “Janna, what’s wrong?”

 

Like quicksilver, she spun around and leapt into his arms, “Nothing at all, my beautiful Ali.” She kissed him and held his face in her hands, “Nothing at all,” she whispered, “Daddy.”

 

Alistair stared at her, and then looked at Anders for confirmation. When he looked back at Jannasilane a soft smile of pure joy spread across his face, “We’re going to have a baby,” he murmured. Their foreheads touched and they gazed into each other’s eyes, a virtual cocoon of happiness. Nobody in the room said anything, not wanting to break the beauty of the moment. Aveline reached for Donnic’s hand and Varric surreptitiously brushed away a tear.

 

A loud rumbling broke the mood; it was Jannasilane’s stomach. “I’m going to look like a bouncy ball,” she wailed.

 

“Ooo, my own private, sexy bouncy ball, I can’t wait,” Alistair teased and fed her a cinnamon bun. He walked out of the room with her still in his arms.

 

“I hate you,” she muttered through a mouthful of the delicious pastry.

 

“Ha, I know you adore me, almost as much as I adore you,” he answered smugly.

 

Tambra laughed, “Well, I think a celebration is in order. I have some very fine wine I’ve been waiting to open.” She left to talk to Bodahn.

 

“Private, sexy bouncy ball? Is that a Fereldan euphemism for something, kid?” Varric laughed.

 

Carver, Anders and Oghren looked at each other and laughed. Oghren answered, “That is all Commander and Cherryplum. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories I could tell.”

 

“I better let Varel know that Reynita is returning,” Carver grinned happily.

 

Merrill frowned in confusion, “Who is Reynita?”

 

“Cupcake can be a little temperamental when she’s pregnant,” he answered.

 

“A little!” Oghren snorted. “You were nearly ready to desert after you met her, you and a bunch of others new to Vigil’s Keep.”

 

Anders was surprised, “I know Poppet can be fierce, but she’s really quite sweet.”

 

“Not when she’s carrying, Sparklefingers, then her moods change faster than you can blink. Sometimes her mean streak comes out. The boy here did something to irritate her and she let loose. You should have seen his face get red, and then he yelled back at her. Cherryplum burst into tears and sat down in the dirt while he scowled at her. Stroud and Alistair both came out to see what the ruckus was all about. I swear, they were about to lay into him but she stopped them. Through her tears she gave them a look, said it was her fault, and she owed the lad an apology.”

 

“She looked up at me, said she was very sorry for losing her temper and being so disagreeable and that she hoped I would forgive her in time. What else could I do?” Carver shrugged, “I helped her up, Nugflutter nodded at me, and they both went into the Keep, leaving me with the Commander and Constable. Talk about an uncomfortable moment,” he shook his head at the memory. “I don’t even remember what I did or what she said.”

 

“The assassin is the one who started calling her Reynita, said it meant ‘little queen,” Oghren let out a, for him, polite burp. “Said if she was going to be so bossy and officious, like a spoiled queen, she needed a new nickname.” He thought a minute, “Maybe if she slept better she wouldn’t be so,” he waved his hand around.

 

Anders studied him, frowning slightly, “She did mention something about not sleeping well,” he said cautiously. “Is it that bad?”

 

“Yes,” Carver and Oghren answered together.

 

The healer thought for a moment, taking mental inventory of the supplies in his clinic, “I can make something that may help her sleep and not harm either her or the baby. I’ll have to go back to Darktown, though.”

 

“I will guard your back,” Fenris stated. Everybody stared at him, Anders and Oghren glared. He’d stayed out of sight while Alistair and Jannasilane were downstairs. The thought that he might have hurt a child with his temper sickened him. “Mage . . . Anders,” Fenris thought he would choke on the name, one he’d refused to utter until now, “I owe you an apology. And you, Hawke. I was wrong to come here as I did. Whatever is between you is just that, between you. You and I, Anders, will never like each other, but you have healed me many times in spite of this. Moreover, you fought with me when slavers, Hadriana, and later Danarius came for me. Instead of remembering, I allowed temper and hatred to rule my actions. You were hurt, as was your friend. For this, I apologize and promise to master my reactions in the future.”

 

Anders was silent for a long time, studying the annoying elf glaring at him from the doorway, “I can’t say I expected better from you,” he said. Fenris grimaced at the truth of his statement but didn’t respond. “I didn’t expect you to apologize. Poppet’s the one you hurt, though.”

 

Fenris lifted one elegant eyebrow and drawled, “Perhaps now is not the time to interrupt them.”

 

Anders’ mouth quirked, “I should mark this down on my calendar, we agree on something.” He sighed, “Let’s make this quick.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Oghren declared belligerently. The trio arrived at the clinic without incident. Oghren stopped Fenris at the door, “You stay here, elf. I’ll go in with Sparklefingers.”

 

Fenris scowled at him, “I am not going to attack him, dwarf.”

 

“Well, maybe I want a consultation and I don’t want no lit up elf hearing what I got to say,” he scowled back.

 

Fenris sneered and shrugged before stationing himself at the entrance. Truthfully, he didn’t want to go into the abomination’s clinic. However, he couldn’t help hearing some of their conversation; his curiosity was piqued when he realized the dwarf was talking about the girl and not himself. Phrases such as, “first miscarriage . . . Fort Drakon,” “nughumpers hurt her bad,” and “nightmares every time,” made him frown.

 

Alistair was ecstatic as he carried his Janna into their bedroom. “I love you,” he said, “isn’t it about time you made an honest man out of me?”

 

She nuzzled his neck, “Yes,” she said softly.

 

He laid her on the bed as if she were made of the most delicate glass. “You said yes,” he whispered. “No take-backs, you said yes.”

 

“No take-backs, my Ali. I love you, always.” The lovers made plans and talked about everything and nothing until Jannasilane fell asleep. Alistair kissed her forehead and joined the others downstairs.

 

“Change of plans, Carver. We need to head back to Vigil’s Keep sooner than we planned, no time for Cumberland,” Alistair sighed and shook his head. “Where’s Oghren?”

 

“Is anything wrong, boss? Cupcake was looking forward to Nevarra,” Carver frowned.

 

“Well, maybe for the honeymoon,” Alistair answered thoughtfully.

 

Maybe it was Fenris or maybe the dwarf with the large battleaxe, but none of the usual thugs bothered the trio on their way to Darktown and back. Oghren didn’t know whether to be disappointed at the lack of action or not and he was in a sour mood when they entered Hawke’s mansion. “What’d I miss?” he growled when he saw the small celebration. Carver was trying to teach Merrill how to dance the Fereldan Toe Tap and the Commander was dancing what he assumed was the Remigold he always talked about.

 

“It’s so exciting,” Merrill gushed, “we’ve all been invited to the wedding. I’ve never been to a human wedding before.”

 

“Make sense, woman,” Oghren demanded.

 

Alistair grinned, “We’re getting married, that is, I am, to my Janna.”

 

“Catch her in a weak moment, did ya? Good for you, you overgrown pike twirler,” the dwarven warrior replied with a gruff smile.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 116:  It’s Up to Anders

Janna was in her aerie, talking to Ser Pounce-a-lot, “Remember that he did not leave because he wished. He was attacked and scared, so do not make his return too hard on him.” The cat, now bigger than Nugflutter, Pinktara, and their puppies combined, had followed her up the ladder. He stared at her. She buried her hands in his fur and stroked him, gaining as well as giving comfort, “Yes, he made a mistake, a very big mistake. I hope we can fix it but there is a risk to him, to my Ali, to all involved. In Kirkwall, I warned Justice that if he hurt our Anders I would track him to the other side of the Fade but my Ali says he will do this instead. Neither of us wishes to risk the child I carry in the likely event the demon Justice has become attacks. Do not tell him, but I think he may be right to go in my stead because Justice respected him, not me. I was never comfortable that he was in our world, though for selfish reasons. I do not think I saw his descent into demonhood . . . is that even a word?”

 

Alistair found her there with Ser Pounce-a-lot, both of them lost in thought as she automatically stroked the purring feline. He let his worry drain from him, now he knew she was safe and unharmed. He watched, just his head and shoulders visible above the trap door, until she became aware of him. He hauled himself up the rest of the way before admonishing her, “Jannalove, I thought we decided it’s not safe for you to be up here alone, not when you’re pregnant. Remember the difficulty Fergus and Nathaniel had when you went into labor with Martelle?” He carefully didn’t mention that one of her miscarriages was also here in her tower.

 

“I am not without assistance, my Ali,” she glanced down at the large cat in her lap. “I wished to be alone for a few minutes and think before our friends arrive from Kirkwall, he followed me. I talked to Brody and Wynne this morning; all is well my attentive Ali,” she smiled softly at him.

 

“Thanks for watching over her, Pounce,” Alistair said before moving the feline. “I’ve got her now; it’s her turn to be stroked,” he joked as he settled his bride-to-be in his lap.

 

Ser Pounce-a-lot stared at him with baleful eyes before dismissing him and slowly sauntered down the ladder. Jannasilane settled against his chest, “He may make you pay for that, my Ali.”

 

“Probably,” the warrior admitted cheerfully, “You loosened the laces on your undertunic; do you have any idea how crazy you make me when I see all that glorious flesh exposed, teasing me, daring me to touch?” He ran his fingers over her sides, tracing the shapes made by her lacing. She shivered and wriggled against him.

 

“I admit that I worry, my Ali,” she sighed, reveling in his touch.

 

He wrapped his arms snugly around her and kissed the top of her head. “So do I,” he admitted. “I have three choices. I can do nothing and keep my fingers crossed; kill him outright to keep Justice from completely taking over; or try this ritual of Tambra’s which may result in my killing him anyway. I hate the very thought but I won’t let him live as a Tranquil; that much at least I can do for him if the ritual fails. Afterwards, if we’re successful . . .”

 

“He may be angry and leave,” she sighed again. “I asked Wynne why it was different for her, hosting a spirit. She said spirits embody different virtues and some are more, let me think, some are more proactive and susceptible to change than others. She says Faith just is. The Chantry wants to spread the Chant of Light and turn all eyes to the Maker but that is the result of human nature, since no mortal can embody a single element.”

 

“I suppose we are a mish mash of different vices, virtues, intelligence and experiences. And the nature of Justice is to seek justice, it can’t just be,” he said thoughtfully. “I wonder if it would have been different if Justice hadn’t experienced our world for so long without the filter of a living person. Doesn’t really matter now, does it, my love?”

 

“Are you sure about including Fenris in your trip to the Fade, my Ali? He is so very, very angry,” Jannasilane frowned. She felt that rage inside him, even after he apologized. It wasn’t directed at her, or even Anders, specifically. Alistair was also remembering that time in the Champion’s estate.

 

“I am sorry for my actions yesterday, sorry that my suspicions, my groundless suspicions and my temper caused me to attack your lady and cause her and you harm. I do not ask for your forgiveness, because what I did is unforgiveable. I offer you this apology so you know that I heard your words and I do truly regret my rash behavior,” Fenris warily watched Alistair from behind the barrier of his too-long bangs.

 

“I wanted so very much to drop my sword through your throat where you lay on the landing. You should know I won’t stay my hand if there’s a next time,” the large human quietly warned him.

 

“Nor should you.”

 

Jannasilane entered the room and Fenris repeated his apology. She studied him from the comfort of her Ali’s arms and Fenris studied her with equal care. Her eyes and the way the colors slowly swirled, so different from the rapid whirlpools when she was angry, fascinated him. He might not remember everything from his past but he was sure he never saw eyes like hers before. He started when she finally said, “Very well.” It was acknowledgement, not forgiveness.

 

“He’s angry but he’s also a victim. In Kirkwall, Justice was using your connection to feed on his lyrium tattoos. I can’t say if he was manipulating events before you sang, but he definitely took advantage when they were both unconscious. Wynne remembers Anders when he was a young apprentice, Nate and I know them both from before their merge, and Fenris can confront him, them, with their transgressions. We need somebody from his current life who knows what’s happened and, much as I dislike him, I know he won’t be too soft. I won’t ask Hawke to risk both her lover and her brother. And,” it was his turn to sigh, “I’m hoping that the presence of Fenris, or his tattoos, will draw Justice out.”

 

“Devious man,” Jannasilane whispered. Neither spoke for a long time, putting aside their concerns to simply relish each other.

 

On board the Siren’s Song, Tambra was alone at the rail, looking for a glimpse of Ferelden. Anders was in their cabin working on his manifesto again. She sighed, “Maybe the return voyage will be more romantic. If Anders doesn’t hate me, that is. I don’t think I realized just how much I missed Ferelden until now. Fenris is sulking somewhere; he’s like a cat when it comes to water. At least he agreed to help us.” She thought again about the conversation she had with Alistair, when he approached her about Anders.

 

“Freedom for mages is a worthy goal,” Tambra said, “but I’m afraid this spirit is pushing so hard and can only see one path. I say spirit out of respect for Anders but I think Justice is more demon than spirit at this point.” They were alone in Hawke’s study; Janna was at the dressmaker’s for a fitting and Anders was in his clinic, probably working on another version of his manifesto. Carver was with Merrill, trying to convince her to come back to Amaranthine. “I love Anders, the real Anders,” Tambra said after a pause, “not this crusading martyr Justice is turning him into. That has its own attractions, and I know if it didn’t exist in Anders at all then Justice probably couldn’t push it, but it’s not all that Anders is. I won’t see him destroyed because of another creature’s agenda.”

 

She began pacing. “A few years ago we helped a young mage with unusual abilities who was being plagued with nightmares and demons while he slept. Keeper Marethari had a ritual that would allow a small group into the Fade, mage or not, without the assistance of numerous mages or a mountain of lyrium. I think I knew even then that this day would come because I asked her to teach me in secret. Not even Merrill knows; it would hurt her too much if I never had to use it.”

 

“Since the Grey Wardens recruit mages, neither they nor lyrium are in short supply at the Vigil. We can certainly augment whatever you need,” Alistair responded. He was relieved that Hawke also saw the dangers that Anders didn’t; and that she was willing to take the risks. She was appalled to know what Justice had done to, well, all three of them, when Fenris barged into Leandra’s room. They worked out the details for Anders’ intervention.

 

“You’re looking a little green, Varric,” Tambra teased when he joined her.

 

“I won’t be sorry to be on dry land again,” the dwarf responded. “The sea air isn’t good for Bianca. Sandal seems to like it, though.” The young dwarf laughed every time the salt spray hit him in the face. “You’ve been a bit preoccupied, Hawke, something going on?”

 

She shook her head, the fewer who knew what was coming, the better, “Kirkwall is my home now, but I grew up in Ferelden. All the good memories of my family are here, or at least most of them. I didn’t realize just how much I missed it until now.”

 

“Careful or you’ll give Broody a run for the title,” Varric warned with a smile, not completely convinced.

 

“Land ho!” shouted Isabela’s man in the crow’s nest.

 

“Thank the Maker!” Tambra grinned at the vehemence behind Varric’s words. She left to tell Anders they would be landing soon.

 

The day after they arrived at Vigil’s Keep Alistair put his plan in action. Isabela was still onboard the Siren’s Song; she would stay until after her cargo was paid for, though Varric suspected she was too happy with her new ship to leave it yet. The templars, Petra, Kinnon, Merrill, and Varric left for the Wending Wood to see a demonstration of mages and templars working together with Jannasilane leading the way. Alistair wanted to make sure Justice didn’t ‘do an Archdemony thingy.’ Sigrun offered to go with them in case anybody wanted to see some of the oddities the Warden-Commander encountered when he first arrived in Amaranthine. Varric was reluctant to go, at first, “If I want to traipse around the countryside I can do that in Kirkwall.”

 

“Don’t you want to see if the two statues are talking again?” Sigrun tempted him.

 

“They didn’t talk, not really, did they?” Merrill asked intrigued. “Oh Varric, you have to go now. I’m not sure which is stranger, the statues or templars working with mages.”

 

“Alright, Daisy, I’ll go. Hawke is busy with Junior, Broody is brooding somewhere and Blondie is in conference with his fellow healers so I might as well.” Varric shouldered Bianca and went off.

 

Finn was eager to get back to the Avvar relics. Saykor went to act as guard, though it was more to make sure the mage didn’t trip and break a leg. Connor went with them but conveniently forgot his notebook, giving him an excuse to leave the crypt. By that time, Finn was too engrossed in his studies to notice his lack of return.

 

“Young Janna gave me leave to speak to you both,” Wynne then proceeded to detail Jannasilane’s ordeal at Fort Drakon. “ . . . So every time she’s pregnant -”

 

“-it triggers her memories and nightmares,” Anders finished. They were in the private sparring room; Brody said nobody would interrupt them there, unlike the small clinic. “Poor Poppet and poor Alistair.” He took the glass of sherry Wynne handed him, “Oghren told me she had nightmares. Surely between the three of us we can come up with something better than the potion I gave her in Kirkwall.” He swallowed a large portion of his sherry; he didn’t care for it but didn’t want to insult Wynne.

 

“Yes, the stress she suffers isn’t good for her or her baby,” Wynne talked about various herbs while she waited for the drugs in the alcohol to put him under. She didn’t know how long before they wore off so she was ready to act quickly. “It would help if Alistair stopped teasing her. He doesn’t quite realize . . . Anders, are you alright?”

 

“Sorry, feeling woozy,” he muttered.

 

“Lie down, young man,” she quietly commanded. “Let me take a look at you. No, don’t stand up; I’m too old to catch you if you fall.” She sighed in relief when he acquiesced without further struggle. Brody was already motioning the others inside. She watched them take their places, smiling at Alistair when he helped her lie down. “The magebane should be wearing off soon; I only put in enough so he couldn’t counteract the sleeping potion or your ritual, my dear,” Wynne explained. “We must try to draw Justice out, so we can see a separation between the two.”

 

“If Justice doesn’t agree to leave or Anders is unable to completely cast him out you should see a line connecting them,” Connor spoke softly. “According to my research and what I remember, if the spirit or demon doesn’t completely leave the host then you’ll see what I call a spirit line or spirit rope between them. The longer and thinner it’s stretched the better. Sever the line as close to the middle as you can, it’s better to err on the mortal side or you risk leaving too much of the spirit’s essence in the mage. However, if you cut too close to Anders then he won’t come back whole.”

 

“I doubt Justice will let us get too close and you’re probably more accurate with your arrows than we are with blades,” Alistair said to Nathaniel. “We’ll try to draw him as far away as possible.”

 

“It will ultimately be up to Anders,” Wynne said. “He may still be strong enough to completely cast out Justice, or at least fight with us, which will give all of us the best chance for success. Now, we best hurry.” The four of them drank their potions and Tambra began casting while Carver, Connor, Brody and Stroud stayed by each participant. Ser Pounce-a-lot watched from a corner of the room; he’d been avoiding Anders since the mage’s return. Justice’s presence acted as reverse catnip.

 

Alistair opened his eyes. He thought at first he was still in Vigil’s Keep but quickly realized it was a fuzzy Fade version, “You know, Wynne, a nice meadow would be nice. I certainly hope this is better than my last two trips here.”

 

“Would you like rainbows and unicorns as well, Alistair?” the elderly mage asked pleasantly, gentle sarcasm directed at the genial warrior.

 

“Of course not,” he grinned at her, “griffons and rainbows are much better.”

 

Fenris scowled, “Let us hurry and be done. The sooner I can leave this cursed place the happier I will be.”

 

“Good to know you’re capable of happiness,” Alistair retorted. “From all I’ve heard you don’t even smile. Wynne, this is your territory, lead the way.” He bit back a chuckle when he realized they were walking on a rainbow. Fenris brought up the rear.

 

A wisp of Faith guided them to Anders, who was now sitting up and rubbing his temples, Justice standing guard next to him. He stood when he heard them, “You tricked me,” he accused.

 

“For your own good, Anders,” Wynne answered mildly. “This parasitic merge with Justice has gone on for too long and hurt too many, including you.” She was taking the lead for now, first appealing to Anders reason and better nature. “Alistair told me about your ambush, I am so sorry for what happened. What they did was inexcusable.” She smiled sadly, “For what it’s worth, those templars did not come from Greagoir’s command; he and Irving were glad you found a home with the Grey Wardens. They never believed you a maleficar or that you had ill intentions.”

 

“Those bastards hated me!” he yelled back at her.

 

“Young man, such language is unnecessary and do I need to remind you I am not deaf?” Wynne was every bit the schoolmarm Blake sometimes called her during the Blight. Alistair bit back a grin, remembering the number of times he was the recipient of the tone. Anders blinked and felt like a young apprentice once more. “You should remember enough of Circle life to know that the fraternities rarely agree. You disagreed with First Enchanter Irving’s decisions and policies more than once. You were not the only one. Others, however, are quite happy to live in the Circle. Should they lose their home because others are unhappy? That, however, is a debate that can wait. The First Enchanter walks a fine line, trying to keep all the mages under his care safe and pushing for change when he can. The Knight-Commander also walks a fine line, or should, trying to balance the needs of the mages for a safe environment, protecting them, and protecting the other citizens of Thedas from magic run amok. The Circle in Ferelden has changed since you were last there. I doubt you would like it,” the corners of her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled gently, “but it is better. They serve a purpose, unless you think demons and abominations should roam freely like birds in the sky.”

 

She watched him carefully, he was resentful, but he was listening, “Which is why we’re here. You’re a good man and a good mage, Anders. Many people care about you and are worried on your behalf. You made, or were coerced into making, a very bad decision which is slowly destroying you.”

 

“It’s too late,” Anders voice was a raspy whisper, “I can’t undo what’s been done. We’re too entwined.”

 

Wynne stared at him for a full minute, searching for something. She tilted her head as if listening to someone and then answered him, “That is not true. You may believe it, but it is a lie. Justice can leave any time he wants,” the spirit stirred restlessly, “or any time you commit to casting him out. If he will not leave on his own then you need to use all of your will to cast him out, we will help you. But you can regain control of your life once again.”

 

Alistair deemed it was time for him to step in, “Justice stepped over the line from spirit to demon when he first suggested you two join together so you could fight for your fellow mages.”

 

Anders rubbed his forehead, “No, that’s not right. I needed his help to fight, to fight the templars who were waiting to take me away. They were surely going to kill me.”

 

“You are a Grey Warden and my brother, Anders,” Nathaniel spoke softly. “You are also my friend. Justice was also once my friend. However, I heard him several times offer to share his power with you in exchange for hosting his spirit to enable you to fight for mage freedom. You always turned him down.”

 

“He took advantage of your desperation when you were attacked. He waited for his moment, then BOOM, you were joined. If he were truly a spirit, when they cut down Kristoff’s body he could have attached himself to one of the dead templars. With your skills I’m quite sure there were some available,” Alistair added, pushing against Anders’ denial.

 

Fenris surprised them all when he spoke, “Mage, I have learned much about you since I arrived here, including the details of your ambush. The story you told Hawke was a lie. You told her you thought you were helping a friend. I thought you were a fool and a weakling. Did you believe the lie? Or could you not stomach the truth?”

 

Anders rubbed harder, “I’m trying to remember . . . I don’t know.”

 

Justice finally spoke, “I helped him when he needed help. None of you was there. The actions of those templars and the two Wardens with Anders were not just.”

 

Fenris curled his lips at the spirit but directed his comments to Anders, “When I was in the Fade to help Feynriel, I listened to the demon and turned against Hawke. I turned against the only true friend I had. I, I cannot fault you for accepting the help of Justice when you were fighting for your life when I was not stronger. I will fault you if you do not now cast out this demon.”

 

Anders stared at Fenris’ admission. Justice, however, finally lost his temper and stepped forward, away from Anders. “I am no demon!” he thundered, lyrium blue pulsing through his veins. “I am helping him achieve justice for his fellows. You,” he spoke to Wynne, “are a mage and should understand the injustices committed by these templars. The mages in Kirkwall need Justice.”

 

“Don’t presume to lecture me, demon,” Wynne retorted acerbically. “Not all Circles are like Kirkwall. The leaders of the other Circles, mages and templars alike, are worried about what we hear from Kirkwall and are taking steps to prevent those very same excesses from occurring elsewhere. Anders does not need you to help him. Nor does he see the injustice you are committing against him, sucking the life from him. You have willfully blinded him to the fact that he can be free of you if he wills it, unlike most mages who become abominations. Anders was against the Libertarians voting to free themselves from Chantry rule and the Circles. His manifesto preaches differently. Is that Anders or is that you, demon? How many gaps do you have in your memory, Anders? Times when Justice was in control but you have no idea what he did.”

 

“I don’t know,” Anders finally admitted, pulling his hair in an effort to think.

 

“You wanted more freedom, Justice wanted to fight.”

 

“Justice wanted to join forces but you always resisted.”

 

“You have friends and a woman who loves you but Justice keeps pulling you away.”

 

“You want mages to have the freedom to live their lives but Justice won’t allow you to be free to live yours.”

 

“You’re a healer, a good healer, but Justice nearly killed a young mage girl trapped by Ser Alrik. You saved her and then he tried to annihilate her. If it hadn’t been for Hawke bringing you back she’d be dead now.”

 

“You care about people but now Justice only lets you care about his cause.”

 

“Enough!” Justice bellowed, moving further away from Anders. He pulled his sword halfway out of its sheath. Alistair looked sideways at Nathaniel, who nodded. They could both see the spirit line between mage and spirit.

 

Anders was struggling to think, to act, but Justice was still interfering. Alistair saw he had no choice but to play his last card and hope it was enough. He also hoped Fenris continued to stay his hand; he could feel the elf’s impatience. He stalked towards the angry spirit, backing him farther away from Anders. “You asked me if you could fight the darkspawn because that was a good and righteous cause,” the Warden-Commander spoke softly. “You agreed to follow my orders. I allowed you into the Vigil and accepted you as one of my Wardens. And how did you repay me?” he thundered. His voice echoed and crashed through the Fade, “You violated the woman I love! In Kirkwall, when Fenris confronted them, you took advantage of my Janna’s condition. When she stunned them into unconsciousness, you used her as a bridge to get to those lyrium tattoos. You didn’t care if you hurt my child, you didn’t care that if Fenris woke he might very well kill Anders and her, and you didn’t care that Anders himself would never allow you to feed on another. You were nothing but a selfish, hungry demon seeking what you had no right to.”

 

Fenris stood rigid with anger, too full of rage to speak. He looked at Anders, the source of the trouble. The mage looked ill, as devastated and violated as he felt inside. Then, almost too fast to comprehend Anders shot something at the demon and shouted, “No! I’ve been a blind fool, whether due to your manipulation or my own foolishness, but I will not allow you to continue to use me. Begone demon!” He punctuated his melodramatic outburst with a bolt of lightning. The line between him and Justice broke, the recoil knocking him unconscious.

 

Wynne quickly cast a barrier around him while Alistair gave the signal to fight. Once battle took Justice's attention, Wynne sent Anders back to the Vigil. Now, they just had to keep the battle going long enough for Justice to be unable to repair the broken connection.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 117:  Amends

Stroud kept watch over the fire and the surrounding area while Anders bathed. Tending the flames gave him something to do and he thought the mage would appreciate the comfort. They were in the same small grove where he and the little girl parted years ago when she left to rescue Alistair. He smiled a little, she never brought Alistair here and he could admit to himself that he was pleased she thought enough of their past relationship to keep a small part of it sacrosanct. Until now, he had only shared it with their daughter and her little dog. This was the only place he allowed himself to think of Martelle as his daughter.

 

“I don’t remember this place,” Anders finally joined him, wearing cotton shirt and trousers while his robe dried. “It’s nice.”

 

“Yes, it is most pleasant. It is too close to the Vigil and too small to be of much use to bandits. I like to come here when I feel the need to be alone. After all those years recruiting by myself throughout the Free Marches sometimes the Vigil feels a bit confining,” Stroud answered politely.

 

Anders grinned, “I bet the Commander and Poppet like a little outdoor alone time, too.” He wasn’t ready to talk about the ritual and his glaring stupidity.

 

Stroud tried not to stiffen, “If so I believe they go elsewhere, which is fortunate since I sometimes bring Martelle here for a little picnic. I do not think they are ready to have that particular discussion with her.”

 

“No, no, I suppose not. I can only imagine them turning fifty shades of red when they do,” Anders forced a chuckle. He stared into the fire and absent-mindedly ate some of the provisions they grabbed on the way out of the fortress. “I can’t believe I was so blindingly stupid. I’ve always thought mages who turned to blood magic and demons were tremendously idiotic, and what do I do? I allowed Justice to use me, which hurt Tambra whose love I definitely do not deserve, and others. How do I make up for that?”

 

Now Stroud stared into the fire, “Sometimes you can’t. You apologize. You do not repeat your mistakes and strive to be a better man. Hope you can give her what she needs. This you do for yourself as much as for her.”

 

Anders waited, eyebrows raised, but Stroud said no more. He finally broke the silence, “You sound like you have personal experience. Not that I mean to pry,” he hastily added when the senior Warden looked at him stonily.

 

“Forgive me, Anders,” Stroud stopped glaring at the mage. “I should not be angry at you when it is my own words which bring forward unpleasant memories of past behavior. Yes, because of certain misunderstandings I was deliberately cruel, in word and deed, to someone who did not deserve it. That I was forgiven does not mean I do not cringe when I think of what I did, and I marvel at the gift of her friendship.” He studied the other man, “I owe you an apology. I should have been more aware of Woolsey’s duplicity. I might not have agreed with the Commander about your fitness to be a Grey Warden, but you are my brother and never would I have turned you over to the templars. I should have prevented it. By not doing my duty I failed you, a failure which I deeply regret.”

 

Anders couldn’t speak for several minutes he was so surprised. Finally, eyebrows raised, he shook his head slowly, and “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much at one time, unless you were giving orders. I blamed you for making me give away my cat, but never for that. I don’t think anybody could have foreseen that. Is that why you helped me?”

 

“Not entirely, no. And the little girl suspected something was amiss even before Riordan informed us about the ambush.”

 

“Poppet is quite attuned to anything affecting her Ali,” Anders grinned. Something in the other man’s expression caught his attention and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “She’s who you were talking about before, the woman you hurt, the woman-” He stopped himself from finishing, “the woman you love.” He did some swift calculations, “And I thought it was Nate who fathered Martelle, but I’m a darkspawn’s granny if her father isn’t sitting right in front of me.” He marveled at the vagaries of fate.

 

“Yes, she is the one I hurt. Fortunately the little girl has a generous nature,” Stroud growled.

 

Anders got up and began to pace. He finally stopped and looked at his companion, “Thank you. Whatever your reasons for helping me, I appreciate it. I see now that Justice would have consumed me until there was nothing left. I think, I think if it weren’t for Tambra he might have already succeeded.”

 

“Eat and gather your strength, Anders. We will return once you have sufficiently recovered. By then the others should have returned from the Fade,” Stroud directed.

 

“Justice is completely gone, there are gaps where he used to be,” Anders assured him.

 

“Good.” Stroud didn’t bother mentioning that others would verify the truth of that statement.

 

Ser Pounce-a-lot, who quietly trailed them, chose that moment to plop into Anders’ lap. The mage grinned, “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me? I’m sorry, kitty. I missed you,” he stroked the feline as he used to do. Pounce’s purrs grew louder in contentment. The two men didn’t speak further; there was no need.

 

Before they left Anders looked up at the night sky, “I’m glad it’s a clear night and we can see the stars. Even in the best circumstances they’re hard to see in Kirkwall, not that Justice ever cared to look.”

 

When they saw the gates of the Vigil a figure ran forward; it was Jannasilane. Merrill followed more slowly. Jannasilane slowed briefly then embraced Anders, “I am so glad you returned, my Anders. Tambra was worried you might be angry but it worked. You are all you and nobody else, I can feel this.”

 

Anders hugged her back, “I’m just me, Poppet, thank you and thank the Maker. I’m sorry, Poppet. I’m sorry I worried you, sorry I failed you, sorry I hurt you, and sorry I put you and Alistair to so much trouble. Since you’re here, I am guessing everybody else returned safely. Where is he, anyway?”

 

“Eating,” she shrugged. “He makes puppy dog eyes at Orana and that poor girl makes more cinnamon buns.”

 

“Jealous?” Anders grinned.

 

“Perhaps I would be, but they are very good buns,” she grinned back at him. She released her hold on the mage and embraced Stroud, “Thank you, Jean-Marc, for helping.”

 

He kissed the top of her head and released her, “Anders is not the only one who wishes to make amends, little girl. I am glad to have the opportunity. Since you mentioned cinnamon buns, I suddenly find myself hungry again. I shall go see if the Arl-Commander has left any for the rest of us. Merrill, I hope you enjoyed your outing to the Wending Wood,” he nodded politely and left.

 

“Ooh, that sounds good,” Jannasilane murmured. “Anders, Tambra is in the chapel if you wish to speak with her,” she followed Stroud to the dining room.

 

Merrill studied Anders through hurt eyes, “I do not sense any spirits or demons, Anders. I’m glad you’re whole again.”

 

“I’m sorry it was necessary, Merrill. I want to apologize to you for all the hateful things I said over the years. I was a blind fool not to realize I should have been talking to myself. I still think blood magic is wrong, but I was equally wrong to treat you the way I did. I hope in time you can forgive me.”

 

“No, no, you were right. We were both wrong, both made mistakes that hurt people; you can just ask my clan about that. I appreciate the words, though, really I do,” the Dalish mage answered earnestly. “Perhaps we can, I don’t know, start over? Or is that too daft?”

 

Anders smiled gently, “No, Merrill, I think I’d like that.” He bowed gallantly, “In light, or in spite, of our recent acquaintance, may I escort you inside this fine fortress? Surely it is getting too dark for a fine lady to be outside by herself.”

 

Merrill giggled, “I think I am going to like this Anders much better than the last one.”

 

“I hope Hawke feels the same,” Anders smiled, only a trace of concern showing in his warm brown eyes.

 

Once inside, Anders stood alone in the courtyard thinking. He could go to Tambra in the chapel; he wasn’t quite sure what he could say, not yet. He could find the Commander; Alistair would probably be in his office or the dining hall, but that conversation could wait until tomorrow. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but that wasn’t the trickiest apology he had to make. He sighed, “I need to find Fenris. Maybe he won’t kill me if I tell him I haven’t talked to Hawke yet,” he thought optimistically.

 

He found the taciturn elf on the ramparts. He kept his distance while Fenris paced and brooded. Finally the elf faced the mage, arms crossed, “I can feel you watching me, mage. What do you want?”

 

Anders sighed, “I didn’t want you to think I was sneaking up on you. I hear that’s a very bad thing to do to dangerous creatures.”

 

Fenris’ tattoos pulsed, briefly lighting the darkness, “You think I’m dangerous or a creature?”

 

“Well, both, really. We’re all creatures and you’re more dangerous than Ser Pounce-a-lot in a really, really bad mood,” Anders tried to be calm. He could sense Fenris glaring at him so spoke quickly, “Fenris, I’m sorry. Maybe I wasn’t quite an abomination but I can see now that in time I would become one. That really isn’t an apology, more of a ‘you’re right and I was wrong.’  I know what I’m about to say will shock you: we don’t get along,” he smiled weakly. “I doubt we’ll ever be friends but I am sorry about what Justice did. I never would have allowed him to do that if I knew, for far too many reasons for me to count. The very idea makes me sick. Nothing I say or do can make up for it. If you decide you don’t want me to continue to heal you, I totally understand. I just . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry that because of one stupid mistake I was even in a position to do something so, so monstrous. And, thank you for helping with my, with my intervention.”

 

“You are correct, we don’t get along. If I thought you knew what that demon did, I would tear your heart out right now,” the elf growled. “I find you exceedingly irritating and do not understand how Hawke can stand your foolish chatter. It is her choice to do so, however. I warn you, I will watch you. If I see any signs of renewed possession I will cut you down.”

 

“Don’t worry,” muttered Anders, “I don’t make the same mistake twice. That is, if I know about it. Well, I guess I better find Hawke. I have a lot of groveling to do there.”

 

Fenris’ face lit up with dark amusement, “Mage, we are once again in agreement. Somebody told me that flowers are a nice touch.”

 

Anders was horrified, “I thought you weren’t going to kill me now. Do you really think I’m going to risk Poppet’s anger this close to her wedding? I’m not about to exchange one angry woman for another, thank you very much for the suggestion.” He stalked off snarling about insane elves.

 

“And my work is done,” Fenris said to no one at all. After the revelations in the Fade, he didn’t feel like talking to anybody, he felt soiled and used. He hadn’t felt that way since he left Danarius and didn’t like the reminders. He also felt out of place, now that the Warden-Commander no longer needed his assistance. He regretted his actions; he admired the Hero of Ferelden and now he had no hope of claiming friendship. Too few humans were willing to accept dwarves and elves as equals, measuring them by their character rather than their race and he’d managed to earn the enmity of one. “Perhaps I should stay on Isabela’s ship until we return to Kirkwall,” he said to himself, rounding a corner only to see the bride-to-be sitting against the wall and looking pensive. “I apologize, I do not mean to intrude,” Fenris said gravely.

 

“You’re not intruding, Fenris,” Jannasilane said softly. “You can join me, if you like. I thought I was hungry, but realized I wanted some quiet time. My Ali has ‘forbidden’ me from going to my tower until after our child is born.”

 

Fenris snorted, “I have not known you long but I cannot see anybody successfully forbidding you from any place you wish to go.”

 

Jannasilane grinned at him, “This is truth. It is also truth that there is merit in my Ali’s instructions. If something were to happen in my tower, nobody would know. Here, many people are near. Thank you for helping us, helping Anders.”

 

“I pay my debts,” he sat down near her, careful not to touch her again. “If you no longer wish me to stay I will leave. I am sure Isabela will not mind if I remain on her ship.”

 

She looked at him in surprise, “Of course you can stay. Do you really think we would ask you to come and help us if we were just going to shoo you away when we were finished? Do not be foolish or I shall become angry.” She smiled and turned her attention back to the stars.

 

He stared at her for several long moments, “I have heard your anger is a terrible and fierce thing. I will not risk it.” He leaned against the stone and studied the skies, wondering if he would find answers to some of his questions. His lips quirked slightly when she snorted at his answer, glad she did not move away. The silence between them wasn’t exactly friendly but it was surprisingly comfortable. He remained long after she left.

 

Tambra had a headache not even the cool shadows of the chapel relieved. She could still see Merrill’s kicked puppy look when she realized Keeper Marethari taught a human, even though that human helped them greatly with Feynriel, magic of the ancient elves, magic that she withheld from her First.

 

“Merrill,” Hawke tried to explain, “She probably didn’t know it then. It was just bits and pieces she put on the shelf and forgot about until Feynriel started having nightmares. Then she remembered and studied them. You yourself told me she collected all kinds of information and what she didn’t understand she put aside until another piece came into her hands.”

 

“But she didn’t even tell me she had those bits and pieces,” Merrill wailed. “I was her First; it was my job to catalog every artifact, every scrap of information we came across. Even if I wasn’t her First anymore she knew how important our history is to me; and why did she teach you?” she accused.

 

“Because I asked,” Hawke replied bluntly. “I was afraid I might need it for Anders. I didn’t tell her that, but I think she knew. I decided not to tell you because I wanted to avoid this very scene if I never had to use the ritual. I knew you would be upset and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

 

“Everybody thinks I’m so delicate, but I’m not. You could have told me,” the Dalish accused.

 

Hawke had enough, she was tired and she lost her temper, “And yet here you are, crying because we didn’t tell you everything about everything. Forgive me for not wanting to hurt your feelings if I didn’t have to.”

 

Anders found her staring up at the statue of Andraste. “She looks so tired,” he thought guiltily. He could feel her headache and sent some healing magic in her direction. He knelt in front of her while she studied him, “Rough day? I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry I put you through this, sorry that my misguided actions so many years ago caused you any pain or difficulty. I hurt so many people because of that stupid, stupid decision. Can you ever forgive me?”

 

She smiled and he thought she’d never looked so beautiful, “There’s nothing to forgive, Anders. You warned me about Justice in the beginning. I’m a big girl; I’m only sorry that I lied to you. Although, speaking of lying, I think you could have told me the truth about your merger.”

 

“You are a better friend, a better lover, than I ever deserved,” he responded fervently. “I vow I will make it up to you,” he sat down next to her so she could rest her head on his shoulders. “You were right not to tell me, I’m sure Justice would have found a way to stop you. You were right not to confide in Merrill, you know. She’s upset, but she’ll come around in time. The only way she could keep a secret is to sew her lips together or take away her voice. When they were handing out discretion she forgot to get in line.”

 

Tambra gave a tired laugh and then buried her face in his shoulder, “I was so worried I would lose you. You couldn’t see how he was consuming everything about you; sometimes I didn’t even recognize you.”

 

“Looking back, especially the last three or four years, I don’t always recognize myself. Maker forgive me for being such an idiot.”

 

“You’re better now, that’s the important thing. You are better now?” she sat up to search his expression for any trace of anything.

 

“Yes, love, what you see is all Anders. Wynne checked me, after giving me an incredibly long lecture. That woman made me feel like a first year apprentice,” he shook his head. “Poppet and Merrill can confirm that I am Justice-free. And I promise, I am all yours for as long as you’ll have me,” he said. “Fenris suggested I come bearing flowers.”

 

She snorted, “Then it is a very good thing you didn’t take his advice. I was willing to protect you from Justice but I am not going to protect you from Jannasilane if you steal any of her flowers days before her wedding.”

 

“Coward,” Anders teased.

 

Alistair was too busy the next couple of days to speak to Anders. Instead, Anders and Tambra had a ceremonial ‘burning of the feathery pauldrons.’ Carver, Oghren, Sigrun, Nathaniel and Saykor joined the visitors from Kirkwall at the site of Anders' ambush. “Friends and interested observers,” Anders began with a twinkle, “five years ago I was ambushed at this very spot. Two Grey, no, two thugs wearing the colors of the Grey Wardens, working against our esteemed Arl-Commander, also known as the Hero of Ferelden, -”

 

“Get on with it you long-winded man skirt,” Oghren grumbled, “there’s ale waiting.”

 

“Then don’t interrupt and it won’t take as long,” Anders sniffed. “This is where events took place that led to the worst decision of my life, though to tell the truth, I thought I was going to die anyway and wanted to take out as many templars as I could. Now, thanks to my love and my friends, I am completely myself without an extra person to get in the way of my sparkling personality. I never wore these things before that day. I have no desire to wear them again. Merrill, since you said I reminded you of molting ravens I am going to give you the honor of lighting the fire to symbolize the beginning of my new life.”

 

“I think I liked him better before,” Fenris muttered.

 

Sigrun slapped him on the back, “Cheer up, Broody, you can’t sulk in dark corners all the time.”

 

“Now, time to get naked and dance around the flames,” Anders cried. Nobody moved, though a few grinned. “No? How about we hold hands and sing a song about new beginnings?” More people were grinning but nobody looked like they wanted to sing. Anders pouted, “Fine, everybody clap politely or heartily, yell hurrah if you want to, and we’ll go get drunk. First round is on me.”

 

“You mean Hawke, don’t you?” Varric called out, causing everybody to laugh. The Crown and Lion in Amaranthine profited handsomely.

 

When Alistair entered his office the next morning, Anders was waiting for him. Alistair studied the mage and grinned; Anders looked terrible, pale and shaky, head down, eyes closed, hair mussed; “He must have the mother of all hangovers.” Still grinning he slammed the door shut; eliciting a painful groan from the other man, slapped Anders on the shoulders and, in an overly loud and cheerful voice greeted him.

 

Anders slowly opened one bloodshot eye, “I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate you right now.”

 

“I thought you had a cure for hangovers,” Alistair spoke more quietly, trying not to laugh.

 

“I do, but I’m enjoying my misery,” Anders shot back, then winced at the sound of his own voice. “Maybe not quite as much as I thought I would,” he moaned. 

 

Alistair almost regretted what was coming but it was too late, he could hear the servants and Sigrun coming closer. He opened the door with a flourish, “Thank you! Anders, breakfast is here.” He then stepped behind his desk while the Vigil servants brought in small tables and loaded them with coffee, hot tea, plain bread and butter, eggs, bacon, cinnamon buns, ham, oatmeal and a few other tidbits for a full Warden breakfast. Anders got greener as each platter was set down and covers removed.

 

Sigrun clapped the mage on the back, “Enjoying your hangover yet? I don’t think Nate’s enjoying his at all. He cursed me and practically kicked me out of bed, my bed.” Her cheerful voice didn’t make Anders feel any better. Alistair quietly scooted his wastebasket closer to the other Warden, just in case.

 

“I didn’t realize you had such a mean streak in you, sir,” the steward whispered.

 

“I have to have my fun and Janna won’t let me get drunk. ‘If I cannot carouse, you cannot carouse,’ she told me. If I’ve learned one thing, Mel, it’s that some battles aren’t worth fighting,” Alistair whispered back.

 

“Maker bless your good lady and all women,” Mel answered fervently. Winking at the Arl-Commander he hurried the rest of the servants away and banged the door closed behind him. Sigrun cheerfully and loudly followed suit.

 

“I was wrong. Now I hate you, really, really hate you,” Anders held his head in his hands. “You are mean and vicious.”

 

Alistair snorted, “If I were really mean I would have done a mana cleanse so you couldn’t cure yourself.” He poured coffee for himself and a cup of strong tea for Anders. He nearly laughed at the look of alarm on the other man’s face.

 

Anders glared at him then sighed. He finally healed himself of the worst effects and drank his tea. He closed his eyes and savored the hot beverage for a moment. When he opened them, Alistair had already piled his plate high with food and was sitting back behind his desk. He decided to risk eating, settling for bread and butter with a little bacon. “I think I’ve enjoyed my hangover long enough,” he answered his Commander’s unspoken query. “I suppose you think it’s silly, but it’s been years since I’ve enjoyed more than a single ale or glass of wine, and even then only rarely. Justice didn’t approve, you see. Imagine your worst hangover ever then add a booming voice inside your head. Not your voice, the inner voice we don’t always listen to, but somebody else’s voice yelling at you, the echoes bouncing around inside your skull. Spirits, demons, whatever, they don’t get tired. Justice could go on for hours, or days even.”

 

“Ouch,” Alistair winced in sympathy and shook his head. “All right, I can see why even a hangover might have its attractions. Take your time, when you’re ready we can discuss your situation.” The room was silent except for the sounds of eating and the occasional paper rustling as the Arl-Commander read some of the reports on his desk.

 

After a time Anders sighed, “Commander,” he waited until he had Alistair’s full attention. “Commander, you’ve been a better friend and a better leader than I deserve. Thank you for taking the trouble to save me, more than once. I’ve been running for as long as I can remember and it’s time to stop. I’m ready to fully commit to being a Grey Warden in any capacity you’ll have me. Well, after I take care of some things in Kirkwall.”

 

“Oh? I don’t suppose you mean a pretty mage who also happens to be the Champion of Kirkwall?” Alistair drawled with a knowing twinkle. He bit back a laugh when Anders blushed. He’d never seen the man blush; Anders usually caused others to blush.

 

“Well, no, not exactly,” Anders was flustered. “Commander, Alistair, I’m fully recovered from my, um, separation and I’m concerned. I have gaps in my memory, not the typical things somebody might not remember, I mean whole blocks of time I can’t account for. I read my ‘manifesto’ about mage freedom and frankly, it scares me. The rhetoric, the tone, is all very . . . aggressive. I can’t help thinking Justice did something he wanted to hide from me. I hope his endeavors are only in the planning stages and can be stopped but I’m going to need some time.”

 

“Bad?” Alistair frowned, drumming his fingers on the table.

 

“Maybe Arishok-bad,” Anders admitted unhappily.

 

Alistair’s jaw dropped in alarm. “Maker!” he finally exclaimed. The two men talked into the middle of the afternoon about Anders’ future, both immediate and long-term. When Anders left, he was thoroughly chastened and subdued. He also felt lighter than he had in years. The Commander insisted he give as detailed an account as possible of his activities since he left Ferelden; Alistair wanted to know about everything from the primeval thaig to the state of the refugees in Kirkwall to the Circle of Mages and the templars. The telling, putting his thoughts in order and knowing they were only his thoughts helped the mage regain his mental footing.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 118:  A Beautiful Day for a Wedding

Jannasilane fretted at the window. After building for the past two days, grey clouds now promised to deliver rain for her wedding. She and Alistair wanted to be married on the roof, under the open sky, a symbolic distance from the Deep Roads. “I suppose it’s the ballroom after all,” she sighed.

 

“Not so fast young lady,” Wynne and Leliana entered her bedroom. Earlier the women banished Alistair to a guest room until after the ceremony. “I think you are forgetting the number of mages on the premises. We’ve already constructed a barrier to keep the roof and the courtyard dry until nightfall. Rain may sluice down the sides but you can still be married under the sky and your guests won’t get wet. Consider it a wedding gift.”

 

“I shall help you get ready and keep you entertained until it’s time,” the bard smile prettily. “Zevran is already checking your security to make sure he’s the only assassin present. Anders and Varric are keeping Martelle and Strake occupied until they need to dress. She is going to be an adorable flower girl. And Strake, well, he is so serious, is he not? He is very determined to do you and Alistair proud; it is almost hard to believe that he is Oghren’s son. First, you need a massage to relax you and then a warm bath with special oils to make your skin soft and dewy. Alistair is going to ache to touch you.”

 

“I suppose you think you’ve thought of everything, General Charming,” Janna teased her friend with Nathaniel’s nickname for her. When Leliana arrived, she took control of all the wedding planning, to Alistair’s complete delight. The bard was ruthless and relentless; she charmingly dragooned every one into helping including Fenris.

 

“Hmm,” Leliana prettily tilted her head and pretended to think, “we know people will eat and drink too much; Anders and Brody made dozens of potions. Your guests enjoyed the archery contest, I think even more when they saw Alistair’s face when he was forced to give away some of his prized cheese.” They all laughed because in spite of his gracious speech the cheese-loving templar did look like he was sucking on a lemon. Leliana continued, “The children enjoyed their picnics and are happy they contributed to the big event. Did you know they examine all the floral arrangements to see if they can find the exact flowers they picked? And, biggest task of all, I convinced your daughter that she really didn’t want to wear pink and that the dogs would be much happier watching from behind the Revered Mother. So I think I will congratulate myself, thank you.”

 

“Don’t forget the hunting parties you organized to keep our guests busy and add to our food supply. Our cook told me she didn’t have to worry about supplies for some time, and since she feeds Grey Wardens that is really saying something,” Jannasilane added.

 

Wynne finished preparing a rich, soothing tea for the bride while Leliana prepared her for her massage, “I’m surprised that Fenris is so talented with flowers. He is such a surly and private young man I don’t know how you discovered his skill,” the mage handed each of them a cup. It was true; Fenris was an artist of floral arranging and created strikingly lovely displays for the wedding.

 

Down the hall, Alistair was pacing in his room while Blake and General Lee watched in amusement. “793,” Blake said.

 

Alistair stopped and stared at his friend. “What are you talking about? 793 what?” he asked.

 

“That’s the number of steps you’ve taken since you started pacing. Why are you so nervous? You’ve wanted to marry Package for years. Leliana took charge of all the arrangements, and for a noble wedding this is practically a private ceremony.”

 

“I don’t know,” the big warrior ruefully admitted. “Maybe that’s why? I’ve wanted it for so long it doesn’t seem quite real?” Alistair flopped onto the bed only to spring up and begin pacing again.

 

Blake looked at General Lee and shook his head, “Maybe Zevran’s massage will get him to relax.”

 

This time Alistair stumbled to a stop, “M-massage?” His voice practically squeaked the last syllable. He began shaking his head, “No, no, not necessary.” He turned around and almost bumped into the assassin who had quietly entered the room.

 

“Tsk, tsk, Alistair,” Zevran admonished the templar, “I promised not to try and seduce you. And do you really think I would hurt the most beauteous Pocket Goddess on the day of her wedding? I have already given her one of my special, platonic massages and she is much better for it. As you will. Now, off with your clothes, or at least your shirt.” In spite of the Antivan’s powers of persuasion, Alistair refused. His fellow Warden’s testimonials on the enjoyment he could receive only reinforced his refusal.

 

After dressing for her role as bridesmaid, Leliana put the final touches to Jannasilane’s ensemble. “Orana is so talented with hair, the Champion is lucky to have her. How fortunate that she was able to incorporate this lovely gift from the Couslands so you could wear both it and Isolde’s pearls,” she double-checked the fastenings.

 

“Isolde was so sure I would reject her pearls in favor of the sapphire. Did you know it belonged to their mother? It was supposed to go to their sister Elissa,” Jannasilane sighed over their loss. Earlier that day, Fergus and Blake gave her the necklace, declaring their parents would approve. The sapphire was stunning, a deep blue, perfect oval on a deceptively simple chain comprised of silver and gold links.

 

“They care for you very much; you are indeed their sister, a sister of the heart. It is a beautiful sapphire but it would not do against your dress. Against your lace mantilla, it looks stunning and carries the blue upward. Lady Isolde’s pearls are the perfect complement around your neck. I can understand why it is an heirloom piece; it takes a long time to find such beautifully matched pearls. And this centerpiece of teardrop pearls? Exquisite. They are a perfect match to your lace. She must think highly of you to lend you such a valuable piece of jewelry.”

 

“She did say it was a local custom from her home in Orlais, the bride wearing something borrowed. She is grateful that Connor is here. And our daughters are best friends; I think young Janice Lynette Guerrin has her heart set on one of Pinktara’s puppies,” Jannasilane spoke lightly.

 

“I admit that I hoped we would find homes for all her adorable babies,” Leliana responded. She refrained from mentioning that Wynne was worried about Eamon’s wife. The birth of their daughter was a difficult one, especially for an older woman such as Isolde. The Arlessa never completely recovered. “It occurs to me,” the bard chuckled, “that thanks to Lady Isolde you now have ‘something old, something new, and something borrowed, something blue’. You can start your own tradition.”

 

Somebody knocked at the door. Leliana opened it cautiously to make sure it wasn’t the groom. Stroud spoke, “My lady bard, might I have a brief private word with the bride?”

 

Leliana was curious but agreed, “I need to make sure Martelle hasn’t snuck something pink into her hair or on her dress, anyway. She can be quite devious for somebody with two such un-sneaky parents.” She shut the door behind her.

 

Jean-Marc stared at the vision in front of him. A simple, dark blue underskirt of rich velvet was only the beginning. Over it was a loose, high-necked silk dress of Grey Warden blue, embroidered with the famed griffons in thread of the same blue and occasionally twisted with either silver or gold. The bottom of the dress was fringe, the line between fringed and solid silk higher in the front, just above her knees, than the back. The top layer was an unusual tunic of warm white lace panels and velvet latticework. Thin velvet ribbons, the same material as the underskirt, connected the lace panels and easily adjustable. The total length was above her ankles, but as with the dress, became fringe, following the fringe line of the dress but a few inches higher. At the bottom corner of every lace panel, the dressmaker attached a velvet bow and tassel, adding a flirty fillip. When Janna walked, the fringe flounced around her and created changing patterns. The lace tunic scooped very low and wide, leaving the entire upper slope of her bosom free to display the dress underneath. Instead of velvet lacings, more than a dozen individual velvet bows fastened the front together. The pearl necklace complemented the dress perfectly.

 

To give Jannasilane some extra height, some of her hair was, thanks to Orana, twined with velvet ribbons on top of her head. A band of lace around her head, the Cousland sapphire centered over her forehead, and a lace mantilla attached to the small tier of hair and ribbon completed her attire. Leliana’s artful hand subtly highlighted Jannasilane’s eyes and lips, but nothing could compete with the glow of happiness emanating from the small woman. “You have never looked lovelier, little girl,” he said hoarsely. “I hope the Commander knows just how fortunate he is.” Rare mischief caused him to say, “The minute he sees you he is going to want to untie every bow. If you ever need to seduce him, just wear the lace.”

 

Jannasilane blushed, and then she laughed, “I’ll have to remember.”

 

“I did not come here to tell you how beautiful you are; others can do so far better than I. Little girl,” he sighed, “over the years there are sometimes whispers about you and I, and Martelle. The love between you and Alistair does more to quiet the rumors than any denial. However, I think we can stop them from recurring if the gossips see me in a more paternal role. I spoke to Fergus, and he agrees, but the decision is yours. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you down the aisle?”

 

“Are you sure, Jean-Marc?” she studied him, a slight frown on her face. She knew he still loved her, and didn’t want to cause him any pain.

 

“I want your happiness, little girl. Anything I can do to ensure this happiness is truly my pleasure. You have my word as a Grey Warden and former chevalier.” He bowed over her hand.

 

“Then I would like that very much,” she admitted with a smile.

 

The guests gathered on the roof, some of them watching the sky warily. When the first drops fell, Isolde turned to Eamon, “Husband, we could have used such a barrier when we married.”

 

In a rare display of gallantry, the Arl of Denerim lifted her hand to his lips, “I remember nothing but sunshine and rainbows, my dear.” Behind them Teagan raised his eyebrows, Eamon was generally quite reserved. Isolde’s blush of pleasure surprised him as well. When Ginetta discreetly elbowed him, he looked into her face, and understood exactly what his brother meant.

 

Soft music from lutes and harps filled the air as Alistair stepped on the dais and moved to the altar with Blake and Strake. Felsi and Oghren beamed with pride to see their son standing with the Arl-Commander. All present agreed that the Hero of Ferelden looked especially handsome in his wedding suit of indigo blue trimmed with bronze and gold. He eclipsed even the king’s dark good looks. When the men were in place Leliana gently directed Martelle to begin her walk.

 

Alistair smiled when he saw his ‘Martypants’ walking down the aisle strewing white, pink, and red flower petals as her godmother taught her. “She looks so serious,” he thought, “and like a pixie princess in her blue dress. I bet she gave Leliana a demon of a time about not wearing pink. My frilly little girl must be pleased about the gold lace stockings, though.” Leliana began singing, her voice blending beautifully with the stringed instruments, when Martelle was halfway to the altar. The rain merely added a note of poignancy to the event.

 

As soon as she reached her father, Martelle looked up at Alistair, “Did I do a good job, Daddy?” She asked in a loud whisper heard by several of the guests, who smiled indulgently.

 

“Absolutely perfect, princess,” Alistair responded and she rewarded him with a beaming smile of pleasure. They watched Leliana approaching, still singing softly while she walked down the aisle. Her dress was similar to Martelle’s, a sleeker version that accented her beauty and made her eyes seem bigger and bluer. Her song didn’t end until she was standing next to Martelle.

 

A beat of silence and then the musicians changed to a joyful and romantic ballad, one the Arl and his lady particularly enjoyed. Jannasilane began walking down the aisle, Jean-Marc accompanying her. The guests smiled at her but she didn’t see them, she only saw her warrior and her daughter. Alistair gazed at her as if she were a waking dream. Martelle slipped her small hand into his much larger one, “Oh, Daddy, Mommy looks so pretty.”

 

“Thank you Maker, I am a lucky, lucky man,” Alistair thought.

 

A roaring started to fill his head as he focused on his love, a roaring that got louder the closer she came until he felt a light thump in the middle of his back, “Breathe, big guy,” murmured Blake sotto voce. Alistair let out his breath in a whoosh and began to breathe normally again, to his daughter’s amusement. She giggled; Strake frowned at her in disapproval; she stuck her tongue out at him. Alistair didn’t notice any of it. Blake winked at Leliana who bit her lip to keep from laughing.

 

Alistair moved forward when she and Stroud approached the dais. Jean-Marc placed her hand in his, “Your bride, Commander. Keep her, treasure her, and guard her well.” He put the slightest emphasis on the word ‘your’.

 

“I will,” Alistair promised. “Thank you, Jean-Marc.”

 

Stroud spoke to Jannasilane, “Be happy with your warrior, little girl, you and he deserve this.”

 

“Thank you, Jean-Marc,” she echoed.

 

Before he took her to the altar, Alistair trailed one finger down the side of her face, “Just when I think you can’t be any more beautiful, you prove me wrong. I am a lucky, lucky man.”

 

She smiled up at him, no longer nervous, “I am the lucky one, my Ali. You are the most handsome of men, this is truth.”

 

Hand in hand, they moved to the altar where the Revered Mother waited with a smile on her face. “Friends, this is a day of joy as we prepare for the joining of Alistair Theirin and Jannasilane Alenahaella in blessed matrimony. Before we begin the ceremony, the bride and groom wish to say a few words. Alistair, you may begin.”

 

He faced her and brought her hands to his lips, “Janna, my love, when we met on the road to Lothering I knew duty. You gave me purpose. I was alive but you showed me how to live. I thought I was content but I realized my life was grey and bland. You showed me joy and passion and, most of all, love. You made me whole and filled my days with all the colors of the rainbow. I am the man I am today because of you. I love you, and am yours, always.”

 

“My beautiful Ali,” she said softly but clearly, “after the death of my parents I was scared, tired, and alone and so very, very cold both inside and out. Then I met two Grey Wardens and I thought I was dreaming. Your smile warmed me, and for the first time I felt safe and no longer tired or lonely. You drew me, with your warmth and kindness, as the sun draws the face of a flower. You stole my heart that day. On this, the day of our wedding, I give it to you freely. I love you, and am yours, always.”

 

When they faced the Revered Mother, she was blinking back tears, as were many of their friends, “It almost seems superfluous in light of your declarations, but let us proceed with the official ceremony. The love shared between two people is a reflection of the love between the Maker and Andraste, and the love he feels for his children. As you begin your lives together, I find the following verse from the Chant of Light particularly appropriate:

 

‘I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.’”

 

She reached the end of the ceremony, “You have chosen to give rings to each other symbolizing the eternal circle of love. Alistair, you may now place your ring on Jannasilane’s finger.” Strake stepped forward soberly. Alistair winked at him and the young dwarf relaxed a little. The warrior picked up two bands, one ironbark for her to wear always, and one traditional band of gold. Both engraved with ‘Always, Alistair’ on the inside. The Revered Mother barely raised an eyebrow; she had come to expect the unusual from these two. “Jannasilane, you may now place your ring on Alistair’s finger.” Janna picked up the remaining ring, a thick gold band engraved with griffons on the outside and ‘Always, Jannasilane’ inside. She carefully slipped it onto his finger. The Revered Mother placed her hands on top of their joined ones, “Now, let us bow our heads in silence and give thanks to our Maker for the gifts he has bestowed.” After a moment, she raised her head and removed her hands from theirs, “From this day forward you are husband and wife, let no man rend asunder. Alistair, this is one tradition you may choose to follow, you may now kiss your bride.” She couldn’t help chuckling slightly at his alacrity in doing so.

 

Alistair framed Jannasilane’s face with his hands. Before he kissed her he whispered, “Bows, you would have to wear bows.” They both flushed when they broke apart to cheers and laughter. They grinned at each other and quickly moved down the aisle, holding hands. The two children followed, leaving Blake and Leliana to bring up the rear.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 119:  The Next Chapter

“What happens now?” Tambra finally asked the question that had been simmering under the wedding festivities. She looked out at the sea, “It looks so calm right now, but there are lots of dangers below the surface just waiting for one mistake. I feel a little like that now.”

 

Anders turned his gaze from the deceptively placid waters to the beautiful woman next to him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m sorry love, I haven’t been the best company, have I? I love you. I would like nothing better than to be by your side every day and every hour.”

 

“But?”

 

“But I’m done running from my responsibilities. The Commander is giving me a chance to fix my mistakes and to be a proper Warden, Fereldan-style. He’s given me leave to stay in Kirkwall for a bit. Tambra, I need to find out what Justice was doing. There are gaps in my memory and I can only guess it’s because Justice didn’t want me to know what he planned. I won’t neglect my Grey Warden duties; I can’t exactly ignore darkspawn, but we both agree it’s better for me to investigate, well, myself, I suppose.”

 

Tambra tilted her head, “And then? What happens after you finish your investigation?”

 

“That partly depends on what I find,” he shrugged unhappily. “I’ll have to return to Ferelden, eventually. You have a life here; you’re the Champion, after all. I don’t want to lose you but I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other. I understand if that’s not enough. Maker knows you deserve more.”

 

“Anders, I love you. Kirkwall is my home now only because of Mother. In my heart, I am Fereldan and will always be Fereldan. I won’t be giving up anything important if I return. I’m sure I can find something to do in Amaranthine. I was talking to Felsi; she wants to expand her business. I think she has some good ideas.” She smiled, “What matters to me is we find some way to be together. And if I’m going to be honest, I respect you for your decision.  I think, in time, if you didn’t step up, we’d lose each other. That would hurt so much more than . . .”

 

“Seen anything of the happy couple?” Varric interrupted. He joined Anders and Hawke at the railing. They looked at each other and smiled ruefully. Fenris was with Sandal while Bodahn recuperated from a rare overindulgence. Isabela’s colorful curses at their speed and any sailor unfortunate enough to move too slowly for her liking filled the air in counterpoint to the calm sea and sky.

 

Leliana stopped practicing her lute, “Varric,” she answered playfully, “you should count yourself fortunate if they show up for your dinner party after we land in Kirkwall. Although, I do recall seeing figures late last night heading for the galley. Their size was right to be our favorite newlyweds. At least she hasn’t broken his nose again.” The two storytellers had been outdoing each other with stories of their companions during and since the Blight. Anders turned around, grinning. He’d wanted to hear this particular story for a long time. Merrill stopped trying to make friends with the ship’s cat and Tambra and Varric gaped at the pretty redhead.

 

“She didn’t, not really. Did she?” Merrill’s eyes were as big as Alistair’s prized cheese wheel. “There’s nothing wrong with his nose, I’m sure it works very well. Did it get in the way?”

 

“Hmm, no, that was the second time she broke it,” Leliana’s eyes twinkled at her listeners’ expressions.

 

“That explains his habit of holding the bridge of his nose when he’s stressed,” Anders laughed. “He’s making sure it’s still there. Please, pretty please, tell us the story.”

 

When she was done, Varric bowed to her, “Nightingale, you got me. I thought I told stories but I can’t compete. I can even hear the crunch of broken bones. I thought I saw weird **** traveling with Hawke, and I did, but you and the Wardens?”

 

When Alistair and Jannasilane finally emerged from their cabin cheers, whistles, and catcalls greeted them. The blushing couple joined their friends. One particular suggestion made Alistair pinch his nose, causing the others to roar with laughter. He glared at them suspiciously, “What? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

 

After they landed, Aveline and Donnic joined them in Varric’s rooms for dinner. “Congratulations to you both. I wish we could have gone, but we’re still catching up after we took leave for our own wedding,” Aveline said as she presented them with a selection of wines. She handed a smaller package to Jannasilane, “My father once told me that Mother favored candied nuts and ginger when she was pregnant. I thought you might like them as well.”

 

“Ooh,” Jannasilane’s eyes lit up, “I love candied nuts. I’ve never had candied ginger before. My Ali bought me some candied nuts the first time we were in Denerim, do you remember?” she smiled at her warrior.

 

“I remember,” he replied with a husky voice. He cleared his throat, “I also remember how you described savoring them.” He grinned at the memory, causing her to blush.

 

Isabela saw an opportunity. “So, Kitcat, tell us how you ‘savor your nuts’,” she purred. Varric choked, Donnic mumbled something to Aveline that caused the no-nonsense warrior to blush, and Anders laughed outright. Fenris smirked and reached for more wine while Merrill sighed. She just knew she missed something dirty again. Leliana whispered something about crevices and Hawke doubled over with laughter.

 

Dinner was a very merry affair, full of laughter, ribald comments, and ‘advice’ for the newlyweds. Isabela warned them her ship was leaving on the early morning tide so if they wanted time to savor nuts or anything else they better get a move on. She winked at Leliana, and grinned when the pretty bard winked back.

 

Early the next morning, when Jannasilane and Alistair dragged themselves on board the Siren’s Song, Leliana was waiting to greet them, “This will be so much fun; I cannot wait to show you the Grand Cathedral. Do not worry; I will take very little of your time. I will show you around the first day and then leave you alone to explore . . . whatever you wish to explore.”

 

Jannasilane studied her friend through bleary eyes, “You are remarkably chipper this morning, Leli.”

 

“Well, a good night’s sleep does have that effect,” Leliana replied innocently.

 

“Uh huh,” Jannasilane didn’t believe her friend for a moment but was too sleepy to pry. By tacit consent, she and Alistair watched Kirkwall fade from view before retiring to their cabin for a nap.

 

Alistair woke first. He smiled to himself; his wife was sprawled on top of him in the gently swaying hammock. “My wife, I like the sound of that,” he gently caressed her back and savored the moment. It was so rare for them to have no duties or people waiting for them. Stroud, Nathaniel and Varel were perfectly able to take care of the Wardens and the Arling while he was away. Petra should be back at the Circle but Finn, Connor, and Kinnon were staying with some of the templars. Finn, of course, was studying the Avvar relics. “He’s already making plans to return. Says he has to check some things out in the library before he can finish. Maybe he can help decipher some of the older entries in Janna’s mother’s journal. It’s nice to know that some of the templars are willing to work with mages on battle strategy. Ha, bet Greagoir will be surprised.” Janna stirred and re-settled. “Isolde and I get along better, but we will never be friends; can’t say I’m sorry to be gone while she spends a few more days at the Vigil. Her daughter is cute as a button . . . who decided buttons were cute, anyway? I know Martelle is thrilled her friend will be taking one of Pinktara’s puppies. Let’s see, Fergus is taking one, Teagan is giving one to Ginetta . . . that just leaves one puppy. Lanaya seemed interested; maybe we should give it to her.”

 

“You are thinking awfully hard, my Ali,” Jannasilane murmured lazily.

 

“Just thinking about how happy I am with my new wife,” he kissed her hair. “I like this hammock, it is surprisingly comfortable. Think we should get one for home?”

 

Janna lifted her head and smirked, “So you can fall out again? Certainly.”

 

“I only fell out twice,” he answered pouting. She raised an eyebrow, “Ok, three times,” he corrected, “but that one doesn’t count because my sexy new wife distracted me.”

 

“How many times are you going to refer to me as your new wife? You don’t have an old one in a closet somewhere, do you?” she teased.

 

“I don’t know, and no. I don’t think I do. Hmm, some of those templar watches were really, really boring. Could I be married and don’t realize it? Umm, huh-uh, nope, you’re my only ball and chain, a Warden’s warden,” he laughed until she tangled her fingers in his chest hair. “He-ey, unfair advantage,” he protested.

 

“I love your chest hair, my Ali, my husband,” she purred. “It is thick and crinkly and sensitive. I can curl my fingers in it or barely brush over it,” she lifted her hand and slowly skimmed her palm over the tips. Then she blew a slow puff of air across his chest. His nipples were hard buds, demanding attention and he tightened his arms around her.

 

He moved his hands to hold and knead her rear, “I am a lucky man.” He started to move only to topple them both out of the hammock. Fortunately, he was quick enough to protect her and take the brunt of the fall.

 

Jannasilane disentangled herself, laughing, “Four,” she gasped. He moaned in disgust and stood up, rubbing his elbow. They got dressed and headed topside where Leliana was watching the dance of sailors doing their job to music provided by creaking timbers, wind in the sails, and the commanding voice of their captain.

 

“I’m thinking of a sea chantey, but I’ve never composed one before,” Leliana commented. “They have a certain rhythm of their own and the sailors, they are so adept at moving around each other; it is quite marvelous to watch.” She turned around, “I believe we shall be in Val Royeaux the day after tomorrow, whether early or late will depend on the wind. She is in her element, isn’t she? On the sea, barking orders, bracing against the roll of the deck; Isabela is more herself than she is on land.”

 

Isabela left the wheel to stride towards the newlyweds. “You two,” she stared sternly at them, legs braced and arms akimbo, “I’ve had complaints from my men about all the thumping coming from your cabin.” A total lie, one man’s jest prompted several ribald and improbable scenarios that would cause the former templar and his bride to turn into pillars of flame.

 

Jannasilane and Alistair blushed, mortified, then Jannasilane started to giggle. The captain arched one lovely, studded eyebrow and the younger woman giggled even harder. Finally, she answered the unspoken question, “My husband keeps falling out of the hammock he likes so much.” The bard laughed.

 

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he muttered sheepishly.

 

Captain Isabela smiled slyly, “Sweeting, I’ll be glad to ‘show you the ropes’ later.” She sauntered off, pleased with herself.

 

“Maker,” Alistair mumbled when they all heard laughter coming from the pirate’s direction.

 

Val Royeaux was as wonderful as Leliana promised. They stayed in the Oasis of Four Silks, a humble reference to the eight silk ‘scarves’ adorning the Belle Marché. 

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 120:  Home Again

Martelle snuggled on her father’s lap, stroking the golden lion her parents bought her in Orlais. “Orlais has a lot of statues,” Alistair remarked. Dinner was over and now that they were relaxed, unpacked and refreshed, Alistair and Jannasilane were telling stories from their visit. “Well, Val Royeaux, anyway,” he qualified. “And all those masks, creepy. I don’t know how you stood it, Stroud, I really don’t.”

 

“It is easy when you grow up there, for you put on your mask just as you put on your shirt. However, I have been away long enough that I would not be comfortable doing so today,” he admitted with a smile.

 

“Val Royeaux is very beautiful,” Jannasilane added. “Very blue and gold and white, I can understand why Leliana feels Fereldan fashion-sense is lacking in comparison. Everything was so fancy, the clothes, the hats, the masks . . .”

 

“The shoes,” Alistair interrupted. The adults laughed, they were all aware of Leliana’s shoe fetish. “Even the guard uniforms were fancy. We seemed quite barbaric in their eyes I’m sure. We went into one store and the owner only had one thing to sell.”

 

Seneschal Varel shook his head, “That doesn’t make sense. How can he expect to make a profit from one item? What was it?”

 

Jannasilane shrugged, “We do not know. He said it was irrelevant, that the value was in purchasing the item, not the item itself. He, Deraboam, claimed the buyer would gain notoriety from the act of purchasing the item and not from owning the item. I do not understand,” she shook her head.

 

“For the inconsequential amount of 10,000 gold you can have the distinction of being the richest idiot in Thedas,” Alistair rolled his eyes.

 

“Ten thousand . . . every casteless in Dust Town could start a new life on the surface,” not much shocked Sigrun, but this did.

 

Oghren snorted, “With plenty left over. I knew you humans were odd, but that’s positively sky-touched.”

 

“He sniffed and looked down his nose at me when I told him it seemed silly to me.”

 

“Everybody looked down on you, my love; if they don’t look down they don’t see you,” Alistair teased his wife.

 

Before she could respond, Stroud spoke up, “In the Grand Game, even such extravagance has hidden meanings, though I fail to see any at the moment. I would think, however, that intelligent and accomplished players could find other ways to make their moves. I never liked the Game; I prefer the Free Marches and Ferelden.”

 

Martelle fell asleep listening to stories of silk scarves, theatre, and the Grand Cathedral. Her parents put her to bed and returned to the library. Captain Garevel and others wandered in. They all respected Stroud and Nathaniel, but neither of them was the Warden-Commander. Alistair would have been surprised how much his people missed his presence, and Jannasilane’s. Janna curled into Alistair’s side and one of the Wardens handed him a brandy. He sighed happily, “Val Royeaux was beautiful, we even met Divine Justinia, and Cumberland was fascinating, but I am glad to be home.” He stroked his wife’s hair.

 

“What was she like? I know Leliana knew her before but that is all I know,” Varel asked.

 

Jannasilane snickered, “She wished to meet the man with such bizarre ideas on how to cook food.” Her listeners grinned, some of them had experienced Alistair’s ‘cooking’ and had no desire to do so again. “She was kind and thanked us for ending the Blight. She sees much when she looks at you; I think she has much wisdom and experience.” She remembered how awed she felt when they got closer to the Divine.

 

Jannasilane did not expect to be either moved or awed when they entered the Grand Cathedral, she was not as devout as her Ali was. Alistair might jest a lot and be more open-minded than many, but he was still a Chantry boy. Leliana understated how beautiful the Chant was as performed by four Chanters with very distinct voices blending in a lovely and unforgettable harmony. Though 'performed' might be too theatrical a word. She reached for her new husband’s hand, unable to find the right words.

 

Alistair squeezed the smaller hand in his; he was just as moved. “They really don’t need force or Exalted Marches to spread the word,” he whispered to his beloved, “They just need to let these guys travel Thedas.” She stifled a snicker; somehow, snickers just seemed wrong. They waited for Leliana to conduct them into the audience chamber where the Divine waited for them on the Sunburst Throne. The closer they came the straighter he stood. He knelt before her when Leliana introduced them, “Your Perfection, I am honored.”

 

“Stand young Alistair. There is no need to kneel before me, though such respect is as welcome as it is increasingly rare. Sister Nightingale tells me this is your first visit to Val Royeaux. She speaks highly of you both and I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such dear friends. Come, let us adjourn to my small salon and we shall partake of a late breakfast and pleasant conversation.” She stood and Alistair automatically offered her his arm then blushed, wondering if he was being impertinent. The Divine seemed not to notice and graciously took the proffered limb. She motioned for Jannasilane to walk on her other side while Leliana led the way. Justinia looked down at Jannasilane’s feet, “Child, I see Leliana was not exaggerating. If you do not mind an old woman’s curiosity, why do you choose not to wear shoes?”

 

Jannasilane looked into her eyes. The moment she saw the Divine she felt the woman was a Presence. She could not define it any other way; with the full attention of her gaze, she blurted out what she had only told Alistair, “Shoes make it harder to feel the, um, the s-soul of a place, Your Perfection. When my bare feet are touching the ground, I feel more connected; this is truth. Also, shoes make me feel most awkward.”

 

“Fascinating. I trust the two of you will indulge an old woman and tell me about some of your adventures,” she smiled and Jannasilane breathed more easily. Alistair and Jannasilane enjoyed the next two hours. The four of them spoke of many things including the Wardens’ adventures, opinions on the Chantry, the Chant of Light, elves, and Kirkwall.”

 

“Her Most Holy is a remarkable woman. She speaks softly and kindly, but she is no fool. And definitely not a pushover. She barely lifted an eyebrow when I told her we taught basic templar skills to some of our warriors to combat darkspawn emissaries. Instead, she asked how well they worked with our mages. I think she was pleased to know we incorporated both efforts into our fighting, said it gave her something to think about,” Alistair said thoughtfully.

 

“Sounds like she is more progressive than her predecessor, that she doesn’t think mages and magic are automatically evil,” Zeke spoke up. The former apostate was happy to be a Warden, but if the Chantry made things easier for other mages, then even better.

 

“She isn’t going to have an easy time,” Alistair frowned into his brandy. “A lot of people in the Chantry hold to the notion that magic is a curse. In addition, powerful templars like Knight-Commander Meredith are not going to agree or change just because they have a new Divine. That woman raked me over the calls when I met her, said I was a disgrace for leaving the templar order and a weak and disruptive leader for allowing mages so much autonomy under my rule. I get the impression Wardens are pretty far down on her list favorite people.”

 

Jannasilane scowled and sat up, the glint of battle in her eye when she stared at her husband, “When was this, my Ali? You did not say anything.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow, “It certainly wasn’t on our honeymoon,” he drawled. “You know where I was every second,” he smiled when she blushed. “No, Jannalove, this was the last time. Remember I talked to Cullen? I was unfortunate enough to still be in the Gallows when she made one of her increasingly rare walks outside. I think somebody told her a stranger was talking to her Knight-Captain and she wanted to know more. She was pleasant enough until I mentioned I was a Grey Warden. Ending the Blight obviously wasn’t as important to her as my ‘lax’ stance on mages. I probably didn’t help her mood when I told her that we used templar ‘tricks’ against the darkspawn.”

 

“You smooth-talking diplomat you,” Sigrun quipped.

 

“If you ask me, she’s a bigger threat to Kirkwall than the Arishok was. She’s not letting the nobles pick a new Viscount; nobody meets her standards, such as letting the templars do whatever they (she) want. A lot of tranquil in the Gallows, and a lot more tension. I’ll tell you one thing; I’m not sending any of our mages to that area, not as long as she’s in charge. One is enough, and he has the additional protection of the Champion of Kirkwall.”

 

Stroud was shocked, “Do you think she would lock up one of our Wardens? That is not her province.”

 

Alistair shrugged, “Let’s just say I’m not willing to risk it. Maybe more templars are like Greagoir than Meredith; he is practically a rebel compared to her.”

 

“Dare you to say that to his face,” Zeke smiled. He remembered the Knight-Commander of Ferelden, progressive was not a term he would have used. “You’ve told us about the beauty of Val Royeaux, what was Cumberland like?”

 

“Cool,” Jannasilane replied and then clarified, “Their magic felt cool to me. We met many of their Mortalitasi, they are much like necromancers, I think. It was not a bad cool, such as an arcane horror demon, more like the cool, still water of a deep pond.”

 

“Where’s Carver?” Alistair looked around, realizing he hadn’t seen the younger man at all. “He was looking forward to visiting Nevarra; I think he’d want to hear about it.”

 

Stroud sighed, “I did not wish to tarnish your first night home, Commander. While you and the little girl were away, some of the Carta tried to get inside the Vigil. They were, of course, unable to do so. Instead, they began striking at our patrols, but only the ones that included young Carver. After these attacks began, we received word from Anders that his sister had suffered repeated attacks. What is more, kidnapping was the goal, not killing. The younger Hawke seemed as confused as the rest of us. I gave him leave to go to Kirkwall, by now that dwarf, Varric, will have some leads. I sent a couple of the Cousins and Harami to accompany him to Kirkwall. They will return after he reaches his sister; I did not think it wise to let him go alone. As soon as he left, the Carta’s actions against our men stopped as if they never occurred.”

 

“Harami?” As far as Alistair knew, the two did not get along. The brash, sarcastic human and the reserved, courteous elf, each with a chip on their shoulder, grated on each other’s nerves. As a result, they rarely patrolled together.

 

“He volunteered,” Zeke explained, his voice full of amusement. “I think a certain cinnamon girl might be the reason. He was very attentive to Orana before the wedding in a quiet, unobtrusive fashion.” He didn’t add what Harami told him once, that sometimes Orana reminded him of his wife. At least his friend and Joining brother was healing.

 

“They weren’t like any Carta I’ve ever seen,” Sigrun scowled. “I’ve known a number of dwarves in the Carta, used to be one, but these acted strange. I was on patrol with Carver a couple of times, they were intent on Hawke; they practically chanted his last name. I won’t say the Carta have never kidnapped anyone before, but it’s not like them to go after a high-risk target. Believe me; they don’t mess with Grey Wardens unless they have to. And their eyes, their eyes were weird. I contacted some people I know in the Legion; they might have heard or noticed something when they resupplied in Orzammar.”

 

“Huh,” Alistair absorbed the information.

 

“I do not like this, my Ali,” Jannasilane chewed her bottom lip.

 

“Me neither, but it sounds personal rather than Warden-related. With Anders and all of Tambra’s friends to help them, my money is on the Hawke brother and sister. We’ll just have to wait.”

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 121:  Legacy

Two months later Carver returned with Anders. Nathaniel was in the Commander’s office reading some of the reports from the Warden taverns. He looked up when Carver entered, “Glad to see you safely returned. How –Anders? What are you doing here? The Champion, is she -?”

 

“She’s fine, thank the Maker. Where’s the Commander? We have a lot to tell him.”

 

“He’s in Denerim at the moment. He plans to take any new recruits to Stroud at Soldier’s Peak before returning,” Nate replied.

 

Carver and Anders looked at each other then shook their heads at Nathaniel, “I think you better send him a message telling him to come here instead,” Anders suggested.

 

“He’s gonna want Stroud here, too,” Carver added.

 

Nathaniel looked at them, “Are you just going to be cryptic or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

 

Neither of the other men looked particularly happy. Anders finally replied, “Nate, it’s big, it’s complicated, and I really don’t want to talk about it more than we have to. The Commander will have to inform Weisshaupt, I suspect.”

 

“He’ll love that,” Warden-Constable Howe frowned. Then he shrugged, “Fine, I’ll send messages to Alistair and Stroud. Go find Mouse. She was rather annoyed that the Carta bothered one of ‘her’ Wardens. Let her know she doesn’t need to hunt them down.” The three men exchanged grins; they knew how protective she could be.

 

“When I got to Kirkwall I had to wait for some of Varric’s contacts to return,” Carver began a few days later. They were in a small, comfortable sitting room near the Commander’s office. “He wanted to triple-check his information before we started to track down this group. We needed to head into a remote area of the Vimmark Mountains and we didn’t want to get lost.”

 

“What is this place?” Carver scowled and wiped sweat and dust from his brow.

 

 “I only know it shouldn’t be here, here shouldn’t be here. It’s not on any map I or my contacts have found. Whatever they’re doing, they’re not acting like Carta. See those caravans lying in the dust? The Carta doesn’t usually mess with the Merchants' Guild; it’s bad for business. Their normal business, anyway,” Varric was worried and confused, which only made him more worried.

 

Anders smiled grimly, “They’re fools for coming after you, love, no matter what they want.”

 

“I want to know why they attacked me and I want them to stop. I’ll even bake the crumpets for tea,” Tambra huffed.

 

“Good thing I’ll be back in Ferelden by then,” Carver quipped.

 

“Trust me, anything is better than Alistair’s cooking,” Anders responded with a grin. “I’ve never seen anybody who managed to burn rabbit to a crisp and yet have parts still raw.”

 

“I feel so flattered,” Tambra said sarcastically. Carver laughed and Anders looked sheepish.

 

Carver looked around, “Some of us should stay here to keep a lookout and protect our backs.”

 

“I’ll stay,” Aveline volunteered. “At least I can call on the guard if you run into more trouble than you can handle.”

 

“Merrill and Isabela, stay with her. I don’t like the idea of anybody being alone out here. Well, brother, shall we find the leader of these dwarves?”

 

“I’m with you, sister.”

 

“They’ve seen us,” Fenris spoke for the first time. He had a bad feeling about this place but he couldn’t stand by and let the Carta continue to attack Hawke. In the distance, they saw a couple of dwarves scurrying away, yelling about . . .

 

“Did they just say something about wanting my blood? That’s not too creepy,” Tambra grimaced.

 

“I should have known there’d be something special about your blood, Hawke,” Fenris indulged in a rare display of humor.

 

Carver scowled after the retreating dwarves, “Why does the Carta want our blood?”

 

Varric just shook his head. He didn’t like where this was going but knew neither Hawke would back away from a confrontation. He couldn’t blame them; damned ghoulish dwarves.

 

“It wasn’t just remote; if you didn’t know something was there you’d have no reason to stop. You could look around and see a lot of sand, sky, and apparent emptiness. I suppose the caravans were either taking a shortcut or simply got lost and then killed. The further in we went, the more ominous the place became. The dwarves trapped one thing generations ago and the Wardens created a prison for something else,” Anders wished Pounce was with them. He could use the comfort.

 

“Getting ahead of yourself magey,” Carver warned, but without the heat or the bitterness he used to put into the word. “We followed the dwarves. Straight into an ambush. One of their leaders said something about the children of Malcolm Hawke. Father never had dealings with the Carta that I knew of and Sis didn’t either. We dealt with those dwarves and chased down more. A rabbit warren is more straightforward. Another thing, their eyes, their eyes were all wrong. One weird thing, well, one of many, they acted like religious zealots and wanted to take us for their god or high priest or something.”

 

Anders took up the narrative, “We went down their rat hole. We picked up some clues, a name, Corypheus, and even some Warden gear, but nothing that answered our questions.”

 

“We accidentally let loose a demon,” Carver added helpfully.

 

“How do you ‘accidentally’ let a demon loose?” Nathaniel asked incredulously.

 

“I bet it was surprisingly easy,” Alistair muttered. Stroud repressed a sigh.

 

“It was more than a demon, a lot more. Maybe not a demon at all. Dwarves may not use magic or be accustomed to it, but they can kill demons. They called this thing Malvernis, the Pestilent One, bringer of death, decay and pestilence, and they would have gleefully chopped it into tiny pieces and then burned the bits in a thousand different fires if they could. Commander, it ate thaigs. Malvernis may predate the First Blight, certainly the second one. Every generation Orzammar chooses a warrior to watch over its prison and make sure it doesn’t escape. The Carta probably killed the warrior, which enabled us to trip over the key. I mean that almost literally,” Anders added.

 

“Wish I could say Malvernis was the strangest or worst thing we encountered. We ended up in a Warden prison, thanks to following the Carta breadcrumbs,” the junior Warden shook his head. “All those little ambushes? Lures designed to make us follow them where they wanted us to go, which we did. I don’t think they planned on Malvernis, or even bothered to learn about it. If we died fighting that creature we would certainly have put a kink in their plans. I think they needed us alive a little bit longer for the Great One, their master. They needed the ‘blood of the Hawke’ and it had to be ‘pure’. I think that means fresh, but we didn’t leave anybody alive long enough to question them on the details. They wouldn’t have answered us anyway they were under some sort of compulsion and never would have surrendered.”

 

“I sensed the taint in them, Commander. Not like Grey Wardens or darkspawn, but . . .”

 

“You think they were ghouls, like Adria was,” Nathaniel spoke calmly but it was obvious the memory troubled him.

 

Alistair and Jannasilane both shook their heads doubtfully but Anders answered, “No, ghouls are generally as mindless as darkspawn. These people had a purpose and were intelligent enough to plan the ambushes and understand orders. In time, maybe they would be nothing but ghouls, I don’t know. Now, I can only tell you they had the taint in them.”

 

“This is bad, really bad. If somebody has found out how to infect people with the taint in order to control them,” the blond warrior drummed his fingers on the table and frowned. “Maybe we should ask Avernus . . .”

 

“Not someone, exactly,” Anders commented. “I don’t think we have to worry about this becoming common knowledge. You’ll understand. We followed the few dwarves that managed to flee down some steps and below the surface. That’s when we realized we were exactly where they wanted us to be. Wards, undetectable from above, blocked our retreat. Even if Justice were still around, we couldn’t get through. Somebody with serious magical or enchanting skills, maybe both, created that blockade. We weren’t in a building we were in a complex. A very old complex.”

 

“It was a prison,” Carver continued. “A very old prison created by the Grey Wardens to contain one particular prisoner. Since we couldn’t go back, we went down, hoping to find another way out. Someone summoned and then caged demons to strengthen the perimeter. Each level had a different demon trapped in a magical cell.”

 

Anders glanced at him briefly. Apparently, Carver wasn’t ready to talk about his father’s involvement. “And of course there were lots of darkspawn trapped with us. We were underground, after all.  Vicious brutes; I really hate the darkspawn. I also hate the Deep Roads, have I told you that? I thought I could hear voices, or some sort of humming.”

 

“By the time we reached the bottom, we could all hear something.”

 

“Reaching the bottom wasn’t easy. We met an old Warden, Larius; he was a former Commander of the Grey of the Free Marches.”

 

“Larius?” Stroud frowned, “He left for his calling over twenty years ago, shortly before I underwent the Joining. How is it possible he is still alive?”

 

Anders shuddered, “I don’t know, but seeing what might happen to us if we don’t die fast enough . . . ugh. We met him at the top, he told us about Corypheus, and that down was our only option. The wards aren’t designed to keep people out, just in. We killed the Carta leader before going through the wards and Tambra found a staff keyed to her father’s blood. That staff is the key, the key we needed to get out. First we were going to have to use it to break the seals on every level.”

 

“And defeat the pride demons held in place,” Carver added with a scowl. “Along with the darkspawn and other Carta crazies hanging around.”

 

“The Grey Wardens needed Malcolm Hawke to strengthen the seals. He was a strong mage, an honorable man, and not a Warden. Larius stressed how important that was, that a non-Warden mage reinforce the binding every few decades. He said Corypheus was more than just a darkspawn, that even though he slept he called out to all with the taint, darkspawn and Grey Wardens alike. He could influence them. Our only way out was to break the seals and kill Corypheus.”

 

“And what, pray tell, is Corypheus? Why didn’t the Wardens just kill it?”

 

“We’re getting to that, Commander. Larius was jumpy, he didn’t like us even to whisper Corypheus’ name. He could hear Corypheus; when we broke a seal, he said Corypheus was beginning to waken and that we must hurry. Easy for him to say, he wasn’t there every time we had to fight darkspawn or spiders or deepstalkers,” Carver rolled his eyes.

 

“I hate spiders,” Jannasilane muttered at the same time Anders huffed, “I hate the Deep Roads.”

 

The mage shrugged, “I don’t think there is a simple answer for Corypheus. I want to make sure you understand the magnitude of what we found and the best way for me to do that is telling you about the place, setting up for the reveal, so to speak.”

 

“You always liked a little showmanship, my Anders,” Jannasilane grinned at her old friend.

 

“Of course, if it helps keep the attention of a beautiful woman such as you,” he retorted with a chuckle for Alistair’s elaborate eye roll.

 

“You do like to live dangerously, don’t you Anders,” Nathaniel quietly chuckled. “Three men in this room can drain your mana; one is married to the woman with whom you are flirting and one is the brother of the woman with whom you live.”

 

Anders shrugged again, “What can I say?”

 

“How about what happened?” Alistair suggested drily.

 

“Fine, fine. We reached the bottom and it was wet and squishy and smelled worse than the Blackmarsh. We made our way to the center and another tower where we met another Warden, Janeka. Larius want Corypheus dead; she wanted to free him and ally with him to end the Blights. She sent the Carta after the Hawkes. We agreed with Larius that she wasn’t thinking straight and we had to kill her and those with her before we could get to Corypheus.”

 

“That bastard threatened to kill Mother if Father didn’t perform the blood magic necessary to strengthen the seals!” Carver burst out angrily. “I know Grey Wardens have to make tough decisions, but murdering innocents?”

 

“Larius said he wouldn’t have done it. We’ll never know because Malcolm Hawke did exactly what Larius wanted and years later we broke the last seal,” Anders frowned as he spoke.

 

“Commander,” Carver spoke with awe, “Corypheus said he was a High Priest of Dumat and that when he entered the Golden City it was black. He was one of the magisters.”

 

“He was something; more than human, more than darkspawn and more powerful than any other mage I’ve encountered. If that’s what he was like after waking from a 1000-year slumber, I’m glad we didn’t have to fight him when he was at full strength. Killing him was tough enough.”

 

“Hmmm,” Alistair was thinking, “Are you sure it’s dead?”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        “Hof, dozens of stab wounds, tons of blood, and no movement of any kind tell me it’s dead, dead, dead,” Carver answered.

 

“And what of Larius?” Stroud asked.

 

Anders frowned slightly, “He said he was going back to inform the Wardens what happened. His return will certainly stir things up. We aren’t supposed to come back,” he smirked.

 

“At least he sounded more coherent without having to fight off Corypheus,” Carver added.

 

“Hmmm,” Alistair repeated. He drummed his fingers on the table, then pinched the bridge of his nose. The others waited for him to speak. In the silence, Carver sank into his own thoughts and memories; his father’s words played themselves over and over in his head. Finally, the Arl-Commander made a decision, “I want each of you to write up your own report of what happened. Include any odd or tiny thing you noticed, any ideas you had, no matter how ridiculous they seem now. I’ll go over them before writing a compiled report for Weisshaupt with copies for Commanders of the Grey Clarel and Kevain. Since Larius was Commander of the Free Marches, I want the two of you to go directly to Ansburg after you give me your written reports. Larius may need your confirmation. I would also like to know that he got there. Meanwhile, I’ll send Harami and Gabriel to Kirkwall with a message for Hawke. They’ll wait until you both arrive and travel back with Carver.”

 

“Could there be a connection to the Malvernis creature, my Ali?” Jannasilane finally ventured to ask. The coincidence of two ancient beings imprisoned at the same location bothered her. “Do you think they could have an influence on Kirkwall?”

 

Carver and Anders blinked at her in surprise; Anders answered, “As remote as the location was, it really isn’t that far if you draw a straight line on a map. I’m not an expert on demonology . . . so, maybe? If so, it’s probably going to be years, maybe generations, before Kirkwall will see a difference.”

 

“I’ll add it to my report, just in case,” Alistair decided. “It may not matter, but then again, if the dwarves or somebody managed to imprison another such being Weisshaupt may have the answer in their archives, which are pretty vast. I’ll send a request to the Shaper of Memories, though I doubt he’ll tell us anything. As long as somebody in a position to do the research starts thinking, I’ll be happy. We’re not equipped to follow up. Go rest, write your reports, blah, blah, blah,” he waved them off.

 

Carver quickly left. Anders watched him, “Um, before I go, Malcolm Hawke spoke.”

 

“Pardon?” Alistair lifted one eyebrow in query.

 

“He must have been a very skilled mage,” Anders answered. “He managed to leave some of his thoughts behind, though I doubt he imagined his children would hear him. Hearing his voice so many years after he died . . . it shook them both.”

 

“Poor Carver,” Jannasilane murmured as the mage left them. “It is like Blake ‘seeing’ his father on our way to the Urn.”

 

“Go to him, my love. Carver won’t talk to any of us but he will talk to you if he talks to anybody.” Alistair watched her go and then turned to his Constables to get their thoughts.

 

Carver was waiting for her in her garden, “I knew Anders would tell you, little Mother.” His voice broke when she hugged him, “Oh Maker, I used to be so jealous of the time he spent with my sisters. Nobody would have guessed he regretted his daughters' magic and considered it a curse. I understand so much more now and only wish I could talk to him.”

 

“Tell me about him,” she said softly. She sat down on her workbench and he sat on the ground at her feet. Eventually, he leaned his head against her legs and she brushed his hair back, just as she did Martelle’s when her daughter was upset.  Carver talked for hours and if sometimes a tear ran down his face, nobody could see it.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 122:  Eamon Pays a Visit 

Alistair was debating what he should tell Blake about Corypheus, or if he should say anything at all. They were in Denerim early for the Landsmeet. In the past, he glossed over details but never completely withheld information from His Majesty. The difference was that all those past events either occurred in, or directly affected, Ferelden. He decided Blake didn’t need the details; just the general nature of a possible threat and that somebody was handling it. Most Grey Wardens knew nothing of Corypheus; even Stroud didn’t really know anything during his time in the Free Marches, he just happened to hear the odd snippet. However, most Grey Wardens were not the leader of a nation. If some being could use the taint to influence Wardens then it might be treason not to say anything. “I suppose I could say we came across something, and that Avernus confirmed it was possible. I don’t like the fact that Larius disappeared. My fellow Warden-Commander was surprised when Anders and Carver showed up. Larius was probably killed, maybe even by Wardens if they mistook him for a ghoul or darkspawn.”

 

He rubbed his nose and looked up in relief when his Denerim Seneschal, former city guard Markel, knocked on his office door and poked his head in, “My lord, Arl Eamon is here to see you.”

 

“You know you don’t have to call me ‘my lord.’ It always makes me feel strange,” Alistair grumbled. In the years since hiring the former city guardsman they’d become comfortable with each other. In private, Markel usually just called him by name.

 

Officer Markel smirked, he admired Alistair and Jannasilane, and respected Alistair for not going ‘all lordly’ when he got the title, “Don’t they call you ‘my lord’ at Vigil’s Keep?”

 

“Actually, they usually just call me Commander or Arl-Commander.”

 

“Hmm, I like Arl-Commander, descriptive, respectful and no toffee-nosed airs about it. Arl-Commander, Arl Eamon is here to see you. I took the liberty of asking cook to prepare a mid-morning snack suitable for callers. Do you want it in here,” Markel looked doubtfully at the small office, “or the salon?”

 

“Salon? Oh, you mean what used to be the study, that sounds good,” Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jannasilane was expanding their house in Denerim. Almost as soon as they returned from their honeymoon, she was in contact with Soris and his mentor. Markel quickly left to retrieve the refreshments.

 

Alistair grasped the older man’s arm in a friendly gesture, “Arl Eamon, a pleasure to see you again. You know, you missed Janna and Marty; they’re at your place. Janna, Ginetta and Lady Isolde are planning some sort of party together.”

 

“Please Alistair, you can call me Eamon, you know,” Eamon reproved gently. “And yes, I know about the soiree. You’ll be amused to know that Teagan calls them the Arlessa Armada.

 

“Old habits and stuff,” Alistair grinned. “Join me in the study, I mean the salon, though it still looks like a study to me. We can have a snack. I like that Arlessa Armada bit.”

 

Eamon smiled back, “I know you’re busy, Alistair, but I wanted a private word.” His smile faded, “I have a favor to ask of you, you and your good lady. It is a large request I’m making, my boy.”

 

Alistair studied the Arl of Denerim, a slight frown forming on his brow, “We can talk here as well as anywhere. I’ll shut the door and nobody will interrupt us.” He suited action to word, “Do you want some tea or, I think we have some of that sherry you like, if you prefer?”

 

“Sherry, please,” Eamon turned the glass around in his hands before gulping it down, to the young warrior’s surprise. He sighed, “Alistair, I want you to know that yours and Jannasilane’s acceptance mean a lot to Isolde and me. These last few years she’s been happier than she was for a long time. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated her,” the old Arl smiled slightly when his former charge shifted uncomfortably, “but you got past the wrongs we did to you. You are a fine young man and a good leader to your Wardens and the people of Amaranthine. Your father, any man, would be proud to call you ‘son.’”

 

“Um, thank you,” Alistair stuttered, worried and confused.

 

“Alistair, Isolde is dying. I don’t know if you noticed she wasn’t her best at your wedding. Our daughter’s birth was difficult for her and she never fully recovered. The best healers, including your friend Wynne, have examined her. She might live another year or two, but most probably only another few months, even weeks.” Eamon closed his eyes, this was even harder than he had imagined.

 

“Eamon, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine,” Alistair spoke softly, compassion and sympathy in every word. He remembered what it was like when he thought his Janna was dead, “What can we do?”

 

“I love Janice Lynette very much and she will be devastated when Isolde passes. I want her to come and live with you when that time comes. I’m old, Alistair, and my duties won’t allow me to spend all my time with my daughter. I don’t want her to be alone with just servants, no matter how devoted they are. She’s very attached to Martelle and the rest of your family. Isolde agrees with me. I’ve spoken to Her Majesty; she will allow me time to organize everything I need to.”

 

Alistair was stunned, “W-what about Teagan and Ginetta?”

 

Eamon shook his head, “I love my brother and I’m very happy with his choice of bride, but I have to consider the real possibility that Janice will be a mage like Connor. I won’t inflict an untrained mage child on my brother again. You, on the other hand, have mages and people with templar training at Vigil’s Keep. You know what to look for and how to keep her safe while, well, you will be able to keep her safe. I don’t want to fail her as I failed Connor.”

 

“Connor loves you and Isolde very much,” Alistair said softly. “I can’t promise anything until I speak to Janna.”

 

“Fair enough, all I ask is that you consider the matter thoroughly and if possible give me an answer before you return to Amaranthine so I can begin to make any preparations. Thank you, Alistair. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave now. I have some things to do at the Palace before returning home.” He walked out of the room and Alistair noticed how much slower he was than even a few months ago. He wouldn’t put it past the wily old man to be putting on a slight show, but he had no doubts Isolde was as sick as he said.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

That was several months ago. Now the Arl-Commander stared at the unopened letter on his desk and remembered. The Landsmeet went well, the soiree jointly hosted by the Arlessa Armada went well. He’d have to trust Eamon that that was important. “I really wonder sometimes why some people can be so, so whatever they are. Bet if I wasn’t a bastard I wouldn’t have to worry about whether any perceived lack of social graces might prompt somebody to move against me,” he snorted. He wasn’t really concerned; he didn’t want to be an ambassador or any sort of political appointment. “And I’m just delaying the inevitable,” he muttered to the empty room. He knew what was in the letter. There was only one reason for Eamon to send a special courier. He scanned the contents and then left his office in order to tell his wife.

 

He knew exactly where to find her. He stood in the area of the old stables designated for her gardening and watched her feeding Duncan Jerad Theirin. She sat in the dappled shade of the small arbor his Wardens built for her to celebrate her last name day. Young DJ’s delivery was a lot less stressful than Martelle’s though Janna still cursed her husband in Orlesian. She was so tired and Alistair thought she looked more beautiful than ever. Love rooted him to the spot until he could once again catch his breath.

 

Before she could acknowledge his presence, he moved quickly to scoop her up without disturbing the baby too much and sat down with the two of them cuddled in his arms. “At times like this I am so glad I’m such a big guy. I feel sorry for any man who can’t cuddle his wife and child at the same time. How is our bottomless pit doing?” he smiled at DJ who was looking at him warily, as if wondering if his father was going to disrupt his feeding again. Alistair kissed his wife and nuzzled her hair, “With his appetite he’s probably going to be ten feet tall. You need to find a wet nurse, Jannalove. You’re going to wear yourself down to nothing if you keep nursing him every two hours.”

 

“I know,” she yawned. “It would not be so bad if he slowed down at night. I will be talking to some women next week, but you did not come out here to tell me this, my Ali.”

 

“No, doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of the opportunity to hold you both. Is Martelle still at Felsi’s with Strake?” she nodded. “The garden’s looking good. What project are you working on now?”

 

Jannasilane sighed and rubbed her head against his chest, “You are stalling.”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, “I know. I have a letter from Eamon.” He started reading,

 

“Alistair, Jannasilane,

 

My friends, Isolde died in her sleep last night. My poor wife is finally at peace but Janice Lynette and I miss her terribly. Your kindness and acceptance these last few years meant a great deal to Isolde and me. In truth, I think she would have passed sooner under the weight of disappointment and loneliness she bore. Thank you for giving me a few more years with my dear wife.

 

I will be taking leave from court to be with my daughter during this difficult time; approximately three months as per Jannasilane’s suggestion.”

 

“Ha, command is more like it,” Alistair interrupted himself.

 

Jannasilane sniffed, “He needs to make sure his daughter does not feel abandoned when she comes to live with us, my Ali. I have never been so afraid as when our daughters sneaked out of the estate to find something to make Janice’s mother feel better. Nobody explained to the poor child that her mother was sick; she heard just enough to be afraid her mother was leaving her forever.”

 

“I hear the owner of the store where you found them felt the same when you confronted him about his intentions,” he teased, though he shuddered to think of what could have happened to his beloved Martypants.

 

“Read on,” Jannasilane commanded imperiously.

 

“Yes ma-am,” drawled her husband. “Where was I . . . oh, here . . .”

 

“. . . difficult time . . . Jannasilane’s suggestion. I took the additional step of permanently procuring a small suite of rooms at Madam Felsi’s inn. I can come and go as my schedule permits without having to impose on your hospitality. It will be our little family retreat.

 

Per Isolde’s wishes, we will have only a private family ceremony for her funeral a week from the date of this letter. Personally, I have no desire to hear false declarations of sympathy from those who had no time for her when she was alive. I consider you family, my boy, you and young Jannasilane. Your presence would mean a great deal to me though I understand if Jannasilane will be unable to attend, since your son is only weeks old.

 

Gratefully,

Eamon”

 

Neither spoke for several minutes. Baby Duncan finished eating and Alistair watched as Jannasilane burped him then settled him in the large basket she used as a bassinet when she was in her garden. “No,” he said when she started to straighten her clothing.

 

She looked at him with wide eyes and recognized his desire. She felt her own, ever answering his. “We c-can’t,” she stammered.

 

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but I can give you pleasure. I need to give you pleasure,” he gently grabbed the front of her tunic and pulled her closer. “Please my love let me do this for you,” he whispered in her ear and then gently bit the lobe. She shivered and whimpered consent. Deftly, he finished unfastening her tunic as he moved to her mouth, full lips parted in invitation. He helped her shrug out of the garment and pushed her breast band further down to her waist. “You are so beautiful,” he cupped her full breasts and leaned forward to barely kiss them, respecting how sensitive they were while she was nursing his son.

 

“Please, my Ali,” she held onto his shoulders for stability. As if he’d been waiting for his cue he traced patterns on her ankles with his fingers, stroking and caressing her skin as his hands moved upwards under her skirt. She gasped when he removed her smalls so he could knead her rear, skin on skin.

 

He dug his fingers into her wonderful curves, “If I lost you . . . I don’t know what I’d do. I only know I’d lose the best piece of me.”

 

Tears threatened to flow, “It is the same for me, my Ali. This is truth.” She squirmed when he slipped one hand between her legs, welcome fingers skillfully dancing around her nub until she was wet and panting. He teased her entrance and worked her harder until she flew apart in his arms and sagged against him, sighing softly. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his head buried in her shoulder and breathed in her scent.

 

They went to Denerim the next day.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

In the dining hall Oghren grumbled something and looked around for some ale. His beard was starting to sprout a few gray hairs but his thirst and his fighting were fierce as ever. “Gonna spar with me today, Cherryplum?”

 

“After I finish with DJ I will meet you in the ring,” she replied. “I should warn you, I have been practicing.”

 

“Ha! Dummies ain’t the same thing and you know it,” Oghren’s eyes lit up at the challenge.

 

“My Ali is no dummy,” Jannasilane sniffed indignantly.

 

“He-ey,” the Arl-Commander complained.

 

Young Duncan had no idea what was going on but chortled merrily with the others and waved his plump arms in the air.

 

Eamon walked with Strake and Brownie to the Vigil. They found Alistair and the two girls watching the match between Jannasilane and Oghren. Martelle was holding her daddy’s hand and squeezing every time her mother fell. J-Lynn held Crumpet in her arms and buried her face in his fur. Alistair glanced down and frowned, he hoped seeing Janna fight didn’t bring back their nightmares. The first month Eamon’s daughter lived with them was a bit rocky but she was settling in now. He looked back at the ring and winced in sympathy when the dwarf landed a good blow on his wife’s side.

 

Oghren yelled at her, “Come on you bosomy nughumper. Either fight back or show some skin, I’m good either way,” he leered.

 

Eamon coughed discreetly to get Alistair’s attention, “I venture to guess he never says that to a darkspawn.” Janice Lynette was staring with her mouth open.

 

“You never know,” Alistair muttered good-naturedly.

 

When she heard her father Janice Lynette turned around and hurried to his side, beaming, “Father, you came back early. I’m glad.”

 

“So am I, my dear, so am I,” he leaned down to kiss her upturned face. “I found an artist in Denerim. He had some nice sketches of the city I thought you might like. If you don’t, I shall hang them in my rooms at Felsi’s.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them myself,” Alistair smiled. “It’s good to see you Arl Eamon and you’re in luck. Connor and Finn are here. I think one reason Connor accompanies Finn on these excursions is to make sure he remembers to eat. How can anybody forget to eat? Speaking of eating, I’m getting hungry. Shall we go inside for a snack and some tea? Come on, Marty, I hear food calling.”

 

Martelle looked back at the ring, “But what about Mommy?”

 

“She’ll be fine. Sore, maybe, because she’s out of practice but I’ll make her feel better later. Any soldier knows it isn’t a good sparring session if you don’t feel any pain at all. Mommy knows how to find us.” He changed the subject, “Cook made cinnamon buns again, she keeps trying to match Orana’s. I’m certainly not complaining about that.”

 

Eamon smiled, remembering how quickly the elf girl’s buns were devoured, “Orana, Mistress Hawke’s servant? They were very good buns. How is the Champion of Kirkwall?” he asked politely. While they talked, he kept a covert eye on his daughter. He breathed a mental sigh of relief that she appeared to have settled in and was happier. Difficult as it was, he felt her being here was the right decision.

 

Oghren and Jannasilane joined them a surprising short time later. She looked cross and he sported a grin and an eye-patch. “Dare I ask?” Alistair stared. She ignored him and greeted Arl Eamon with a smile before sitting down.

 

“She blinded me with her bouncing bos- er, bodaciousness, heh-heh-heh,” Oghren corrected himself when he saw the children. Eamon raised his eyebrows and hid a smile; he did not wish to encourage the dwarf.

 

Jannasilane glared at the leering warrior. “That is not what happened,” she snapped. “Not exactly,” she admitted, blushing. She sighed and reached for a bun, “This is your fault, my Ali,” she accused. “The buckle I added to my chestpiece broke, flew in the air and struck Oghren in the eye. I shall have to wear a quilted jerkin until I can wear my armor again.”

 

“That’s your story, Cherryplum. I like mine better.”

 

“How was your trip, Arl Eamon,” she ignored Oghren.

 

“Blessedly uneventful,” he replied with a smile. He lowered his voice, “How is my daughter adjusting? I know the first few weeks were difficult, but she seems happier now.”

 

Under the table Jannasilane took hold of Alistair’s hand, “She has not had any nightmares since your last visit. I think the music box and knowing this is what her mother wanted as well helped. Every night, when we tuck her in, we wind it up for her. It soothes her. Sometimes I read sections of Lady Isolde’s letters, the parts where she describes her daughter’s favorite things so we could get her room ready. Her nanny-tutor Tina has also been a great help. Martelle and Strake join her for lessons and she joins them for dog training. Tina suggested it gave little Janice less time to brood.”

 

“You love being able to call somebody else little, don’t you,” Alistair lovingly teased. He added, “We gave her the same chores that Martelle has: cleaning her room and playroom every day, and straightening up the small room in the library they use for lessons. Nugflutter and Poorfella keep an eye on her when she wanders off by herself, to make sure she’s all right. We and Tina agreed that she should have the same rules, restrictions, responsibilities and routine as Martelle in order to feel more at home.”

 

“I knew this was the right decision but I still worried. Thank you, you have greatly relieved my mind. I miss her when I’m in Denerim, but I can stop second-guessing myself. I received a letter from her last week; I was tickled and proud,” Eamon smiled.

 

Jannasilane chuckled, “She positively jumped up and down in excitement when she got your reply. Martelle was quite jealous because she’s never received any letters. Tina suggested she practice so she could send a letter to Jean-Marc at Soldier’s Peak.”

 

“Ah, yes, her godfather,” recalled Eamon. None of them had any idea that Kirkwall would explode in a few months and the aftermath would change all of their lives.

[QueenPurpleScrap]

Chapter 123:  Justice Happened in Kirkwall

Alistair and Jannasilane woke up in the middle of the night when somebody knocked on their bedroom door. Jannasilane shrugged into a robe, “It’s been months since J-Lyn’s had any nightmares,” she yawned. “Oh, Varel,” she blinked in surprise.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you and the Commander, my lady, but Anders just arrived. He and his friends are quite agitated and anxious to speak to you,” the Seneschal explained quickly and quietly. “I told Anders to take them to the dining hall where they can get something to eat and drink.” The kitchen staff learned a long time ago to keep some food available around the clock for hungry Wardens. None of them wanted to face cook’s wrath again after the first time one of the Wardens raided her larder some years ago.

 

Alistair rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “I have a terrible feeling this means something bad happened in Kirkwall. Eamon said the Crown and Chantry both were concerned. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything about how peaceful it’s been.”

 

“Yes, sir. Since Carver recently returned from his patrol, I took the liberty of waking him. He has been understandably anxious about his sister’s welfare. I will let your Warden and guests know you will be joining them shortly,” Varel left.

 

The Arl-Commander and his wife dressed in silence, neither wanting to voice their worries and upset the other. Alistair held his arm for Jannasilane, “Well, Jannalove, shall we go see what new disaster-I-mean-adventure waits for us?”

 

She smiled slightly, “Whatever it is, we shall face it together, my Ali. This is truth.” As soon as she saw Orana, she sent the nearest guard to wake Harami. The poor girl was shaking like the proverbial leaf; Jannasilane didn't think she’d ever seen anybody who looked as lost and frightened. “I am most glad to see none of you are injured. Of course, with such a skilled healer with you I expected no less. Orana, would you mind assisting me with the tea? I am almost as bad a cook as my Ali is, wonderful as he is in most things, and am sure to burn the water. Do not roll your eyes at me, my husband,” she added without turning around.

 

“Ha, and I thought you were kidding when you said you had eyes in the back of your head,” Alistair teased. Then he sighed in mock resignation, “I suppose that means no more kissing other women.”

 

Anders couldn’t help grinning; it was so like the two of them to speak lightly when they knew disaster was coming. He could feel his love and Merrill relaxing; Orana stopped shaking while performing the small domestic task.

 

Harami hurried in before they finished making the tea, “Orana?”

 

“Oh, Harami,” she breathed and leant into his embrace when he gently put his hands on her shoulders.

 

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at Janna, but she ignored him. “Harami, the poor girl is cold and tired but the small library is warm and comfortable; perhaps you should talk to her there,” she suggested. The ‘former’ Dalish elf looked at her gratefully.

 

“You old softie,” her husband whispered when she sat next to him. She elbowed him in the side. “I take that back,” he snorted. He rolled his head and popped his shoulders, “Let me guess, all hell broke loose in Kirkwall. Between your reports and what we’ve heard from the Fereldan Circle and Arl Eamon we know things have not been going well in the City of Chains.”

 

“Not going well? Not. Going. Well,” Anders gasped and then laughed bitterly. “No. It has not been going well. Meredith finally went completely insane and Justice blew up the Chantry with Grand Cleric Elthina and dozens of others inside.”

 

“Maker,” Alistair breathed, shocked at the magnitude of events. Beside him, Jannasilane squeezed his hand, her eyes wide with concern.

 

“You tried to warn them, Anders,” Tambra said quietly.

 

“For all the good it did.” The mage closed his eyes and took a breath, “You know that, since I returned to Kirkwall after my separation, I’ve been trying to find out what Justice did when he blocked me out. It hasn’t been easy since some of my, our, contacts were killed by Meredith’s death squads.”

 

“Death squads? Templars don’t have death squads,” Alistair frowned.

 

“Meredith did,” answered Hawke. “Some people were interested in breaking Meredith’s tyranny and supporting me as Viscount and told me things. We met one of her special groups in Lowtown. They were going to kill some poor woman merely because she helped her sister, a mage, who was half-starved and beaten. All she did was give the girl food and a bed for the night. ‘Harboring’ or ‘succoring’ a mage is a crime punishable only by death.”

 

“Maker’s breath, I knew she was extreme but this is insane,” the former templar frowned.

 

Carver tightened his grip on Merrill’s hand, “I’m glad you and Merrill got out safely, sister. You too, magey,” he added.

 

“Finally I got enough bits and pieces to begin recreating his steps. Justice didn’t approve of the Grand Cleric’s inaction. Well, he was right about that,” Anders said thoughtfully. “Elthina was a good woman, but she had too much faith in the willingness of Meredith and Orsino to come to some sort of agreement.”

 

“‘The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves.' ¹ She told me that once when I asked her why she didn’t step in and actually do something,” Tambra explained. “Mother liked her but certainly would have told her that sometimes children need a firm hand and loving discipline in order to find their way.”

 

“Not always gentle, either,” Carver grinned at his sister.

 

Anders looked at his Commander, “The Grand Cleric did the Chantry equivalent of crossing your fingers and hoping for the best. With no one to gainsay her, Meredith had free reign to impose further restrictions on the mages and prevent the nobles from selecting a Viscount. I can only guess that Justice saw no hope for compromise between templars and mages or no hope for the mages to receive proper justice, at least, not in Kirkwall. Whatever his reasoning, he decided to blow up the Chantry; I presume he meant for Elthina and anybody with her to die in the explosion. It was massive.”

 

“I’m surprised it didn’t tear a hole in the sky,” Merrill entered the conversation for the first time. “I didn’t know it was even possible to create such a thing. I think the spirits in the Beyond could touch it.”

 

“Andraste’s breath, mages and templars fought together when the Arishok went on his rampage. You’d think that would be an excellent opportunity for a discussion between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter,” the Champion scowled. “Instead, Meredith tightened her grip until it reached the point that the mages would have been crazy not to rebel.”

 

“I’ll never know if I could have found a way to dismantle Justice’s special bomb. I had to research dozens of tomes just to discover what his actions meant and I still don’t know how he managed to set it to go off when it did. After all, it’s been more than a year since we separated, thank you again for that.” Anders tilted his head, “He must have somehow tied it to something specific happening, some sort of magical signal, but I don’t know what. I’m not really sure I want to know, if I’m going to be honest. It had to be something not likely.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Alistair asked.

 

“Because I believe that, in his particular twisted view, he saw it as a last resort; it was something only to be used after all other possibilities were exhausted or ignored. Obviously, he meant to be there, but it doesn’t make sense for it to happen randomly. Neither Justice nor Vengeance would be satisfied in that case. So I went to the Chantry to warn the Grand Cleric but-”

 

Tambra interrupted her lover, “but Orsino and Meredith were arguing again. Not only did she lock mages in their rooms and not allow them to leave the premises, she was determined to do a massive and comprehensive search for blood mages without any evidence to warrant such an intrusion. Who knows how many mages her templars would kill or make tranquil as a result? She regarded the Rite of Tranquility as merely a tool she had the right to use whenever she wanted, whether the mage passed their Harrowing or not. The First Enchanter requested my help and went to the Chantry to make Elthina really listen to him. She was the only person Meredith even pretended to respect. We were on the Chantry steps when Anders arrived.” She carefully didn’t tell her lover she thought it likely that his presence was part of the bomb’s trigger. Anders never went near the Chantry, not since he, Justice really, asked her to distract the Grand Cleric. She very much feared that knowing his efforts to save people actually caused the blast would destroy him.

 

“This stops now,” Anders shouted to make himself heard over the ranting. “Your bickering is tearing the city apart because you refuse to work together. I came to warn the Grand Cleric she’s in danger from . . . a former associate. I am convinced he planted explosives to destroy the Chantry and the Grand Cleric. Help me or get out of the way,” he moved forward but Meredith’s templars blocked him. The irritated and worried mage stamped his staff on the ground for emphasis, “Didn’t you hear what I said? There’s a”

 

Rumbling beneath their feet interrupted him and they all struggled to maintain their balance. 

 

B-BOOOOOMMMMmmmm.

 

The thundering noise created a shockwave of air that flung them all backwards and down to the ground. They could only watch in horror as a giant column of sparkly pink smoke and debris reached for the Fade itself.

 

“Elthina! N-o-o-o!” Sebastian cried out.

 

Meredith was grim. Eyes on the gaping hole where the Chantry once stood, she spoke, “I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment against Kirkwall’s Circle.”

 

“You can’t do that!” Orsino was aghast. “Punish the guilty but don’t kill every mage in the Circle for a crime that wasn’t ours.” He turned to Anders and demanded, “Where is this friend of yours? Who is he?”

 

“Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when we have the culprit right here?” Sebastian never believed that Justice was gone and knew ‘former associate’ was just a code word. Everybody ignored him.

 

“I don’t think he was ever anybody’s friend, least of all mine,” Anders answered wearily. “He was never part of any Circle and detested the entire system as no better than slavery or jail. As for where he is . . . he’s beyond the reach of us mortals.”

 

Meredith sneered, “How convenient that this ‘friend’ of yours is dead and can’t be brought to justice. The Grand Cleric killed by a mage . . . The people will demand answers for this outrage. Champion, you must stand with us.”

 

Tambra briefly closed her eyes, thoughts of everything she worked so hard to build flashing before her eyes. She stared at the Knight-Commander and answered her clearly, “No, Meredith, you go too far. I will not let you destroy innocent lives because of another’s crime.”

 

“Then you share their fate,” Meredith stalked off, followed by her templars.

 

“Go ahead, kill me. This is all my fault,” Anders sat on a crate as if his legs wouldn’t support him. His bowed head exposed the back of his neck, waiting for the blade.

 

“You heard him,” Sebastian snarled at Hawke. “I’m warning you, Hawke. Destroy this abomination or so help me I will return to Starkhaven and return with an army against Kirkwall. This city will be razed to the ground.”

 

The Champion snarled right back, “Don’t order me as if I was one of your vassals, Sebastian. Anders tried to prevent this catastrophe; or are you conveniently ignoring the fact that Meredith blocked him from going inside? Go play with your toy soldiers, if any will follow you after years of waffling.”

 

“When you said that, his face looked like an angry plum. Not his best look, I think,” Merrill interrupted.

 

“Sebastian?” Jannasilane tilted her head. She was still trying to process the fact that Justice blew up the Chantry.

 

Alistair remembered him with dislike, “He stared at your chest whenever he thought no one was looking. Shiny armor, thought a lot of himself, always wore a faint odor of disapproval.”

 

“I stare at her chest too. It’s a beautiful chest,” Merrill shrugged and caused the men to cough. Jannasilane blinked and Tambra hid a smile.

 

“Yeah, but he was sly about it. As far as I’m concerned you can’t preach piety while leering at other men’s wives,” Alistair snorted.

 

They listened carefully as Tambra and Anders, sometimes Merrill, described their fight through the city after a brief stop to warn Bodahn and Orana to pack up anything valuable they could carry and go to the Siren’s Song. Isabela had gone ahead to tell her men to get her ship ready to sail. Fighting in the streets, Meredith’s refusal to listen to reason even when Orsino offered to help her search, Orsino’s ultimate despair and their final confrontation with the Knight-Commander.

 

“By the time we fought our way out of the Circle at least as many more people were dead as the victims of the initial explosion. Mages, templars, and people simply caught in the middle. We were tired and Meredith was standing in the Gallows waiting, dozens more of her templars behind her. She planned to kill us where we stood,” Tambra was grim and Carver glared at the very idea of somebody murdering his sister.

 

“Cullen stopped her,” the former blood mage piped up.

 

Anders nodded his head, “He thought they were only going to arrest the Champion.” He held his love’s hand, “I almost felt sorry for him when he said he’d defended Meredith, disdained the rumors, but she was going too far. She looked at him sorrowfully, said how sad it was that her own Knight-Captain fell prey to blood magic.”

 

“Then she took out her sword, a giant, glowing red lyrium sword,” Tambra added. “She looked at it the way you look at a lover.”

 

“The idol? Didn’t you say just keeping a sliver of it drove Bartrand mad? He sold it to Meredith?” Carver couldn’t believe it.

 

“Carver, she was so scary,” Merrill whispered. “Somehow she used it to fly up into the sky and back down, piercing the very stones.”

 

“It gave her powers I’ve never seen, Commander. All those statues in the Gallows? She made them come alive and attack us. With that sword, she could control them as if they were golems. Normal golems I mean, not Shale golems,” Anders couldn’t help adding.

 

“Maker’s breath, I remember those statues. They were awful, people twisted in despair, and other things,” Alistair recalled.

 

Jannasilane was pale, “Maybe they used to be people and that’s how she could call to them. Just like golems used to be living people.”

 

“Oh, ick,” Tambra grimaced. “That is a really, really terrible thought and I hope you’re wrong.”

 

“Obviously you won,” Alistair noted. “What happened to Meredith?”

 

Tambra shook her head, “I don’t think I won, not really. The sword . . . I swear it consumed her. She called to the Maker to help her and then let out this terrible, blood-curdling shriek.”

 

“It was horrible,” Merrill shuddered.

 

“She’s still there in the Gallows,” Anders looked sick. “She’s fused to the stones . . . a horrible, terrible statue. One of the templars tried to touch it, her, it, but it was too hot. Cullen decided not to stop us from leaving, but I’m sure some of her inner circle followed us, at least as far as the docks.”

 

Nobody said anything for a long time.

¹ Quote from Dragon Age II: Rise of the Champion