342 réponses à ce sujet

[Freckles04]

Dun dun dun DUN! The plot thickens.

[Kulkodar]

This is quite lovely! you've nicely captured personalities. Keep it coming please

[Sisimka]

Okay, I was a bit tired last night and I've decided to rework that last chapter a bit. I've edited the post, adding a couple paragraphs before the break to Aedan's pov. Posted below is the rest of the chapter, complete, I think for the time being. I don't want my story to delve too deeply into politics, but I couldn't resist involving Leliana in some intrigue, which will hopefully resolve itself later on.


As always, thanks for all your comments and your willingness to keep reading.

Modifié par Sisimka, 29 janvier 2010 - 04:44 .

[Sisimka]

The Crow (part 2)



Aedan was not entirely surprised by this announcement, something in Zevran’s manner had indicated such before the two assassins had been taken away. However he felt compelled to ask, “Was?”

Zevran nodded, “Alfeo his name is, and he never returned from his last mission. It is usually assumed when this happens that the Crow is dead.”

“Any idea where that last mission was?” Alistair asked.

Zevran looked extremely disturbed, an expression so out of place on the elf’s face that both Aedan and Alistair sat forward expectantly.

“He went to Orlais,” he said.

The silence was broken by the opening of the door. Leliana entered the room. Her lovely face was even more pale than usual. She immediately stepped across to Aedan, kneeling beside the couch and taking his hands in hers. She looked up at him, her expression remarkably similar to Zevran’s. Aedan pulled her to her feet, standing with her and wrapped his arms about her in a close hug, before stepping back and indicating she should sit next to him.

“Aedan” she said quietly, and all three men looked at her intently, there was something in her voice that commanded attention. “I’ve been to see the two men you captured. One I do not know but the other I recognise!”

Alistair piped up then, “Let me guess, he’s from Orlais?”

Leliana’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and she regarded the king with respect, “Yes, but how did you know?”

Zevran replied to this, “One of the men is also known to me. He was a Crow whose last mission, from which he did not return I might add, was to Orlais.”

The two rogues compared notes then and discovered that they had each identified a different man.

“What does this mean?” Aedan asked, “If the Orlesians wanted me dead, why try here? I’ll be out in the open tomorrow.”

Zevran and Leliana exchanged looks, nodded and Leliana replied. “You were not their target and their intention was not to kill.”

Just then, the door nearly flew off its hinges as Oghren barreled through, startling the four companions.

“What’s this I hear about assassin’s lurking in the palace?” He said loudly, directing his glare first at Zevran, then Leliana.

Zevran rose to his feet and said, “I think I will go see if I can flush any more crows from the rafters,” and slipped quietly from the room.

Leliana rebuked the dwarf, “Oghren, you scared Zevran!”

Oghren took the assassin’s place on the couch and replied, “Nothing scares that elf! Now is someone going to tell me who is gettin’ killed and who is doin’ the killing?”

Aedan quickly filled in the details and then looked to Leliana for the last, his expression confused, “but who were they trying to…?”

“Me,” she said quietly, “and the poison on their daggers and in their pockets is not deadly, it is a sleep potion.”

Stunned silence pervaded the room.

Aedan recovered first, asking the most obvious question, “Why?”

“The Orlesian Commander, I met him Orlais, though he was not a Grey Warden at the time. He was a Chevalier and devoted to the Empress Celene. I know many of this man’s secrets.”

All three men shivered.

There was a knock at the door, a guard with a message for Alistair, “The Arl of Redcliffe awaits you in your study, Your Majesty.”

Alistair looked momentarily surprised, then excused himself, cursing under his breath. He turned at the door, addressing Leliana, “Can we discuss this further tomorrow?” She nodded.

Oghren followed the king out, leaving Aedan and Leliana alone.

Aedan turned to Leliana and gathered her in his arms once more, holding her close, turning his cheek to rest it atop her head. His hands, through habit, slipped from her shoulders and down her back, brushing the soft velvet of her dress. He enjoyed seeing Leliana in dresses, she had a knack for choosing colours and styles that worked best with her complexion and hair, favouring blues of all shades and even producing, on occasion, shirts for Aedan that coordinated with her own outfits. He’d been a bit self conscious the first time he’d acceded to her wishes but the look of admiration in her eyes had been worth the embarrassment of wearing what he considered a slightly frilly shirt.

Nothing compared to the sight of Leliana in her leathers though, the drakeskin armour they’d acquired from Wade’s emporium after their quest for the Sacred Ashes. The way she moved in her armour, the way she moved in general, was something he’d spent a lot of ‘quiet time’ contemplating. And then, of course, there was Leliana with no clothes at all, her lithe form muscled from exercise, but curved exactly where it should be…

“Aedan!”

He blinked. “Huh?”

Leliana had stepped from his embrace and was holding his hands in front of her, “Where were you?”

He grinned, “Thinking about you naked.”

Leliana chuckled softly and leaning forward whispered against his lips, “It’s a good thing they did not send female assassins then.”

Aedan smiled and kissed her before she could move away again, his hands working free of her fingers to slip behind her once more. With a heavy sigh, he finally stepped back again and simply held her. He needed to talk to her and that wouldn’t happen if he continued down this path. He crooked a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his and said, “Leliana, I want you to come with me tomorrow.”

“Aedan, I can’t, we both know Alistair needs me to stay here, I am doing important work for him.”

Aedan scowled and Leliana chuckled, “You look like such a spoilt little boy, Aedan, it does not suit you.”

“I will worry about you every day that I am gone.”

Leliana looked wistful and she attempted to smooth his frown with her fingers, “I know you will, my Warden, but I can take care of myself. I always have.”

[Freckles04]

Nice. I like Aedan's naughty thought processes...so typically male.

[bl00dsh0t]

Hehe typical male indeed ^^ Great couple of chapters, and I repeat my plea: MOOOARRRRRR

[Sisimka]

Thanks Freckles and Bloodshot, working on the next chapter now... close to finishing ME2, then nothing shall stand in my way!

[AdorableAnarchist]

LOL I am loving Aedan tons. He cracks me up. As for ME2, I've barely started. Haven't been able to play -- and am afraid to play this weekend due to pain meds. Don't want to screw up my Shep.

[Sisimka]

Thanks Adorable, Aedan was my favourite PC, hence the story about him.



Take care of your neck, hope you're feeling better soon!

[Kulkodar]

ooh nice twist. Forget ME2... write moar!

[Sisimka]

Amaranthine





The journey to Amaranthine was uneventful, restful even, as they were not racing to or from battle for a change. Zevran was the ideal traveling companion, attuned to Aedan’s moods and requirements – sensing when he wanted to talk or when he needed to just be.

They were accompanied by a contingent of the Denerim city guard, ten men who had all specifically volunteered for what they considered the honour of escorting the King’s chancellor, the Warden Commander and the hero of Ferelden to his destination. It was enough to make a man’s head spin and Aedan had finally convinced most of them to simply call him ‘Warden’, or ‘Commander’ if they must.

The two Orlesian wardens had proved interesting company also. One of the men, Philippe, was cut from the same cloth as the Orlesian commander. He spent the one and only night at camp watching everything Aedan and Zevran did with a calculating expression, prompting many barbs and jests from the elf. The other warden, Jean, was a surprisingly easy going man and after attempting to ignore him that first morning, Aedan eventually warmed to him. He was the younger of the two, perhaps around the same age as Aedan himself, and he was obviously excited by the travel, the experience of a new country and the mission ahead. Aedan had found himself reminiscing on his own journey just over a year ago, the tragedy that had set him on this path, and prayed to the Maker that the young warden may never experience what he had.

As the warmth of the sun began to fade their second day of travel, the travelers crested the final hill and Aedan caught his first glimpse of the former arling of Amaranthine. He caught his breath. He’d been here many times as a child, his family and Howe’s having been so close, and was unprepared for the emotional impact of seeing the estate once again. He felt a seething rage building inside him and his head pounded with it. He barked orders at the guard that he wanted to make the estate by sunset and led them down that last slope with his jaw set, his teeth ground together. He could sense Zevran at his side and silently thanked the elf for knowing that now was not the right time to talk.

As the sky began to colour, they made the gates and Aedan was relieved to see that preparations had been made for them. Staff were gathered to meet the travelers, see to their needs and direct everyone to their various accommodations. As soon as he’d finished overseeing arrangements, Aedan turned at a light touch on his arm. Zevran was there, his expression neutral but for one raised brow.

“Perhaps you’d like to work out some of your tension, Warden.” He said. Aedan nodded shortly and they excused themselves to the area designated as the practice yard and worked together with and without weapons till they both dripped sweat. Aedan sat heavily on a wooden bench, Zevran flopping only slightly less heavily beside him. He turned and studied the elf before saying quietly, “Thank you, Zev.”

Aedan enjoyed his training with Zevran, the assassin had taught him to fight without a sword and dagger and those skills had saved his life more than once. But this evening hadn’t been about enjoyment or perfection of form. He’d needed an outlet for his rage and pain, and Zevran had understood that.

Night had deepened as they trained and the companions paused only to wash their hands and faces before joining the rest of the men for dinner.

That first night at Amaranthine Aedan dreamed.

He was in a familiar room, reclined by a warm fire. He could hear the wild wind of a storm pounding the walls, but felt a sense of security in this small place. He knew where he was, he was with Morrigan, though he could barely ‘feel’ her. All he could feel was an overwhelming sense of tiredness, and so he slept.

Aedan remembered the dream upon waking and took a moment to think about it. He’d not really remembered dreaming of Morrigan in recent weeks, but felt a vague sense of unease. There’d been a dream the night before Alistair’s coronation, of that he was sure, but the details were sketchy. He remembered only the hut, the small hearth, the warmth of the fire.

He met Zevran and Jean while scouting out breakfast and the three men spent a convivial half hour in one another’s company. They were all eager to start the day, though each for their own reasons. Aedan could sense Zevran’s desire to scout the estate, get to know his environment, and Jean’s eagerness to get on with Grey Warden business. This was a desire Aedan shared. Philippe was nowhere to be seen, though Jean mentioned the older warden had been awake with the dawn. His whereabouts soon became apparent however, as the sound of a single raised voice wielded with the authority of one used to leading rang out from the courtyard below.

Aedan stepped to the low windows and looked out. The dining room looked out over the central courtyard which was filled with people. Philippe was standing at the centre of the courtyard, his hands held up as he called for order.

Aedan muttered a string of curses and fled the room, followed closely by Zevran and Jean.

Entering the courtyard, he gently elbowed his way through the crowd until he reached the centre. He nodded to Philippe, who scarcely seemed to acknowledge his presence before returning his attention to the crowd and calling again for quiet. He then gestured to Aedan and announced, “The Warden Commander has seen fit to join us.” Philippe turned to Aedan and said, loudly enough that most in the courtyard would hear, “Tell us Commander, what are you plans for all these aspiring Grey Wardens?”

Aiming a tense smile at Philippe, Aedan quickly stepped forward, unconsciously mimicking the man’s gesture as he held his hands up for silence. Though his mind reeled with the news that all these men and women had come to be Grey Wardens – he’d expected to find the estate nearly deserted and that his time would be spend devising recruitment strategies and training regimens – he’d had just enough time leading the combined armies of Ferelden that instinct kicked in. He called again for order and addressed the assembled crowd.

“Gentleman,” he began, adding, “and ladies” as he noticed a group of three young women dressed in matching leather armor, a short handled axe and dagger affixed to each back, near the front of the crowd. The centre one, a willowy blonde with pale grey eyes was smiling directly at him and Aedan froze as he recognised the face, Delilah Howe. Time stood still as Aedan’s mind immediately returned to the night he and Delilah had…he could not think about that now. Tearing his eyes from her face Aedan cleared his throat and continued.

“I thank you all for your willingness to defend Ferelden from the darkspawn. It is a noble calling. But know this, despite your eagerness for battle, only the best of you will become Grey Wardens. I encourage you all to train with us and demonstrate your skill. I invite you all to seek out myself, or the wardens Philippe and Jean, that we may come to know your minds.” He paused here, looking out over a more somber crowd, “It takes more than skill with a blade to defeat the darkspawn and I would recruit no one who was not prepared to do whatever it takes to end a Blight.”

The crowded courtyard erupted into cheers and Aedan noticed perhaps the smallest glint of respect in Philippe’s eyes. He nodded to the warden and quickly stepped back through the crowd, having to pause and grasp the hand or arm of this man or that, accepting thanks and congratulations as he made his way back across the courtyard. His guard of ten men were assembled near the open gates and Aedan immediately caught the captain’s attention. “Keep order here, Jacob, while I figure out what I’m going to do with all these people.”

Aedan spent the day with Philippe drafting training schedules and talking strategy. Although he seemed unable to keep a tinge of disdain from his voice, Philippe was decidedly helpful, pointing out the occasional error in Aedan’s thinking and helping him refine his strategies for dealing with so many recruits. It was obvious he was as surprised by the jostling crowd as Aedan had been, and both men barely had time to consider their mutual dislike of one another as they worked.

The guard was set to dividing the recruits into teams and the estate staff was set to overseeing accommodations. Jean didn’t seem to mind being used as a messenger boy and was run from one end of the grounds to the other coordinating their efforts. Zevran did what Zevran does. He watched, he listened, and he melted into shadows, combing every inch of the property.

As Aedan finally sat down for a meal at the end of the day, he sighed with weariness. He was in his own room, having felt the need for solitude and quiet. He had so much to think about he did not know where to begin. There was a quiet knock at the door and Zevran slipped into the room, nodding to Aedan before sitting opposite him, letting his head drop against the back of the chair in uncharacteristic lassitude. Aedan grinned at the elf and commented drily, “A day like this, it is only fitting you actually look as tired as I feel for a change.”

Zevran returned the smile, “I think I prefer killing darkspawn.”

Aedan sighed and rubbed his eyes, then simply rested his head in his hands a moment. When he looked up, Zevran was regarding him curiously. Aedan frowned and said, “This is going to take longer than three weeks, isn’t it?”

Zevran simply nodded, as if this was a fact he’d always understood and replied, “They have come for you, Warden, to bask in your glory in the hope it might rub off on them.”

Aedan did not respond right away. He’d known this, deep down, though it warred with his natural humility. His thoughts turned to Alistair and he replied quietly to the elf, “If Alistair can be King, I can rebuild the Wardens.”

He leaned back in his chair and changed the subject, “So tell me about your day, anything interesting or unusual to report?”

Zevran shrugged lightly, “The estate is a security nightmare, of course, but I have mapped the weakest points and will attempt to rectify this, with your permission of course.”

Aedan waved a hand, “Do whatever you think is necessary, Zevran, I trust your judgment.”

Zevran nodded thoughtfully, then his expression then turned sly, “So Aedan, who is…or was…this woman, the tall blonde who nearly derailed your fine speech this morning. Remarkable recovery by the way, I am fairly certain only a few people noticed your mouth gaping open like a dying fish!” He was grinning now, his tone banter like.

Aedan felt the familiar flush come to his face and thanked the Maker his rooms were dimly lit. It would not do to show too much embarrassment in front of the elf, though he seriously doubted Zevran had missed it. He cleared his throat and replied, “Delilah Howe.”

It was Zevran’s turn to look surprised, an expression that did not often cross that face. He recovered his composure more swiftly than Aedan however, and remarked somewhat wistfully, “Ah…a man never truly forgets his first love.”

Aedan could only nod absently as his mind stretched back. Delilah Howe, the former Arl of Amaranthine’s daughter. Only three years his junior, the two had grown up together, the friendship a natural occurrence – their families had been very close. She had been an awkward girl, always tall, nearly matching him in height in fact, and she’d chafed at her mother’s coddling. Eschewing fine dresses and shoes she had favoured the leather armor her father had indulgently had made throughout her adolescence. She and Aedan had become inseparable as children, and though his close friendship with a girl had prompted much teasing from Fergus, he’d defended her honour by saying she was just as good as a boy. Delilah had been, and probably still was, a talented rogue, deft with her two weapons and cunning in strategy.

Then suddenly she’d not been a boy anymore, her long limbs became graceful and her agile figure had acquired curves and Aedan would find himself distracted at odd times by the smell of her wheat coloured hair. He’d begun to flinch when their arms brushed together as they walked and every time they sparred Aedan would find himself pulling blows for fear of hurting her. Delilah had been hurt by his attitude, he could see it in those light grey eyes of hers, and their changing friendship had confused him. They had begun to avoid one another, until that night.

The Couslands were celebrating Oren’s fifth birthday and the castle had been full of guests and merriment. The Howes had attended, of course, and the arl’s son, Thomas, had escorted Delilah through the gates. Aedan had been greeting guests with his mother when he first caught sight of her. She’d been in a gown of the softest pink, the colour of seashells rather than flowers, embroidered and embellished with hints of pale blue and a creamy white. Her hair was up, away from her face, and her face…she had looked like a young woman, she had looked…beautiful. Aedan’s breath had been taken away and he’d instantly fallen in love.

Aedan had followed her attentively all that evening and she had teased him mercilessly, even cruelly at times, over the awkwardness of the previous year. But she had not left his company and this alone had let him know that she was at least willing to forgive him, even perhaps renew their friendship. They’d shared their first kiss that night, as sweet and shy as a first kiss was supposed to be, and in the months that followed they’d shared much more.

Aedan felt tears ****** the corner of his eyes as his mind came forward another year, to the night Howe had betrayed his family, then forward once more to the night he’d killed Howe. He had no idea what, if any, part Delilah had played in her father’s plans, though he could not bring himself to believe she would willingly betray him. He’d not had the time to fully consider her fate, even as he’d killed her father. His thoughts paused here…he had killed Delilah’s father. Aedan groaned and turned his face away from Zevran, flicking a hand in the elf’s direction.

“I need to be alone,” he whispered.

[Freckles04]

Very nice. I really like how you've introduced/included Delilah in the story. Always eager for more!!

[Sisimka]

Thanks, I always wondered what happened to the rest of Howe's family.



I've been trying to tie up some of the loose ends that I thought might occur, though I keep wondering how long I should let Anora rot in the tower, lol. Gonna have to have Al deal with her at some point too.

[Jaredor]

Hi my name is Jaredor and I'm addicted to this thread. Keep up the good work!

[Sisimka]

Welcome Jaredor - I'm sorry I can't offer a twelve step program as I am currently addicted to writing this thread.



Thanks for stopping by!

[AdorableAnarchist]

Sisimka, this is fantastic! Love how you brought Delilah in. Need moar please!

[Kulkodar]

Nicely done Sis, nicely done! and you left us hanging, waiting for more... wicked

[bl00dsh0t]

Interesting twist with howe's daughter, and again: MOOAARR

[Sisimka]

Thanks so much for the encouragement folks, I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot. I'm working on another one for tomorrow.

[Sisimka]

Another day, another chapter. This one isn't as long as I keep being pulled away from my laptop to socialise with real people instead of my imaginary playmates. There is also the matter of the Collectors to attend to.



I have finally organised posting my story concurrently on FF net, for those of you who prefer that format. I will continue to publish chapters here (with appropriate links) for as long as I am allowed or encouraged.



Here's hoping you are enjoying your weekend!



__________________________________________________________________________________

http://www.fanfictio...t/s/5701751/11/



Training



The rest of that first week past very quickly, the upside being Aedan had too little time to brood, though every flash of blonde hair gave him pause, the downside being the amount of time he had to spend in the company of Philippe. Aedan found he could not turn around without discovering the Orlesian at his heels. Of course, it seemed Philippe could not turn around without finding Zevran at his own back and he once scowled at the rogue, before asking Aedan testily to assign his ‘pet elf’ to more interesting duties. Jean appeared shocked at the older warden’s lack of tact. Zevran seemed not to take it personally and his observation of the man became more discreet. Only Aedan understood Zevran’s deliberate bating of the Philippe, his companion had never lacked subtlety when necessary.

Time was spent equally by Aedan, Philippe and Jean watching the potential recruits sparring and competing in war games devised by Jacob, Aedan’s guard captain. When the men and women were not fighting, they eagerly sought the company of all three wardens, peppering them with questions and in some cases relentlessly pursuing the issue of joining the Grey Wardens.

Although he enjoyed the company of Zevran, his guard and to a certain extent the younger Orlesian warden, Aedan felt the absence of Alistair and Leliana. There was plenty to keep his mind engaged but he missed the witty banter that passed the days between the king and himself as they’d debated the finer points of policy and worked to decipher the sometimes archaic language of treaties and trade documents. He knew Alistair was perfectly able to cope without him, the man never forgot a single thing he read and possessed keen deductive reasoning, but he missed the sense of camaraderie they’d shared in working together – first in gathering an army, then in defeating the Blight and most recently in piecing Ferelden back together.

He missed Leliana more ardently. Though his bed was cold at night, he found he missed more than her body against his. He missed her companionship. Leliana lit up a room with her presence, her musical voice able to render the most mundane events interesting. She always had a tale to spin or news to share, her work for Alistair allowing her access to nearly every noteworthy happening in Denerim. Though the bard could find the humour, the tragedy or the romance in every story, she also had an uncanny knack for seeing the heart of a matter, a talent Alistair valued. Aedan worried for her safety, but knew that a swift courier was only a day’s ride from Amaranthine. As the days slipped by with no news, he began to rest more easily, though his bed was still cold.

It was on the fourth day that Delilah finally found him alone on the practice field. Philippe and Jean were refereeing another match and Zevran was…wherever Zevran was. There were a few ‘teams’ of people scattered about the field, practicing drills or sparring amongst themselves as they awaited the opportunity to compete. Aedan was applying himself to his least favourite task, paperwork. It was amazing how much paperwork an army, even one that was not official yet, created. He was poring over lists of names when he heard her approach. He looked up, his ready smile faltering only a little as he saw who stood before him.

He stood, habit causing him to bow slightly toward her, greeting her as “My Lady”. Her own tentative smile faded and a shadow passed her eyes as she responded quietly, “Er…not anymore. It’s just Delilah now.”

Of course, he cursed inwardly, this was not a good start. But try as he might, from that first day onward, he’d not been able to think of a tactful way in which to approach her. Now the matter had been taken from his hands and he found he could only stand dumbly before the girl, the woman, who’d first stolen his heart. Was there any good way to start a conversation with someone whose father he had killed?

He hesitated a moment longer before trying again. “Delilah” he said, and sent thanks to the Maker that his voice didn’t crack.

An uncomfortable silence unfolded between the two of them and Aedan suspected that she knew as little how to start as he did. He tried, “I’m sorry…”

At the same time she blurted, “I didn’t…”

They both stopped and Aedan put out a hand, “Please, ladies first.”

Delilah nodded, her head staying bowed a moment as she studied her feet. When she looked up, her lovely face carried an expression of deep remorse. “Aedan…Commander, I mean…or...”

He was unable to help her as she stumbled on and simply gestured her to continue.

She pressed on, “Aedan, I swear to you I did not know of my father’s plans. Thomas did, I think even my mother did, but they knew how I felt about you, I thought we would…” and here she trailed off, her eyes shining with moisture, her smile now gone.

Aedan nodded stiffly as Delilah continued, “When we heard you were alive, father was so furious, he ranted and raved…he was mad, Aedan, like a man possessed! I tried to leave Denerim, to find you. I was caught and confined to my rooms. He imprisoned so many people. The dungeons were filled and not even the stone of the floors and walls could keep the screams at bay.”

She shook her head and went on, “and then he locked away the queen, Aedan, the queen! He dared too much. Had I not been confined myself, so many guards…” her hands shook with her fury. She looked up at him, “You were there, that last day, I heard your voice in the main hall when Cauthrien confronted you, when she accused you of…”

Aedan had been changed forever the day he killed Howe. Despite the months of battle, the bandits, blood mages, and darkspawn he had slain, nothing had compared to the cold rage with which he had taken the former arl’s life. It had taken all three of his companions – Alistair, Wynne and Zevran to pull him from Howe’s prone form, the dead man’s axe gripped in his bloody hands. Wynne had looked shocked, Alistair had been very quiet and even the former assassin had looked disturbed. Something inside him had broken, and when Ser Cauthrien had confronted him at the gates he’d simply laid down his weapons, much to the surprise and consternation of Alistair. The two wardens had been imprisoned in Fort Drakon. There he had lain in a stupor of self loathing and remorse for two days before Alistair had finally resorted to knocking sense into him.

Aedan looked up to find Delilah still standing before him. He knew it would never make up for all that had passed between them, but he tried anyway, “Delilah…it’s true, I was there that day. I killed your father.”

Although her eyes widened, just a little, it was more at his confession than his words, he realized. She already knew the truth and quickly confirmed it, “I know.”

She continued, “I’m not here to cause trouble, Aedan, my mother does not know where I am. I came to fight…the darkspawn. I came to fight for Ferelden, to atone for what my father…did.” She nearly spat the last word.

He believed her, and as he watched her tremble with her grief and fury he ached to hold her. It would take just two steps. Even in her dusty leathers, her hair pulled back and her face streaked with tears she was still beautiful and he found it hard to focus on her face as it was here, now, without remembering it as it had been the night he’d first fallen for her.

He offered a quiet, “Thank you,” and hesitated, before adding, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Her brows rose in surprise, and she opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She closed it, and then tried again. “As am I, Aedan, more than you may ever know.”

He took a step forward then and she met him with a step of her own and they held one another. She was as tall as he’d remembered, tall enough to put her cheek on his shoulder and he pulled her close, his arms wrapping completely around her slender form as she proceeded to sob into his shirt.

Over her shoulder he saw Philippe walking toward him across the field and he cursed inwardly. He put his hands on Delilah’s shoulders and stepped back to put some distance between them, and said quietly. “We will talk more later, alright?”

She wiped her face with her hands, spun on her heel, left in the opposite direction and Aedan turned to greet Philippe.

The older warden’s face carried a look of contempt as he said, “Some recruits are taking the training a little harder than others I see.”

As Aedan fold his arms across his chest and uttered a resigned sigh, Philippe pressed on, “Will you comforting every recruit in such a manner, or simply the pretty ones?”

Aedan ground his teeth together a moment before choosing to simply ignore the man, asking, “Did you need something Philippe?”

As usual, Philippe wanted to check over Aedan’s paperwork, nit-picking Aedan’s methods and organization. Aedan resigned himself to another long afternoon of mental battle with the man.

By the end of the week, the pace of each day had become measured and regulated by schedule of sorts. A few recruits had given up on their dreams, being either consistently out-maneuvered in training or cowed by a warden’s description of an actual darkspawn. Another handful had sustained injuries, sometimes stupidly, and were sent away to recover or simply weigh their options. The teams had been reshuffled with temporary ranks and began to function as recognizable units in the mock battles and games devised for them.

Aedan had had the opportunity to talk with Delilah a number of times and they had taken up a cautious friendship, one marked by a familiar banter and the occasional furtive look, none of which was lost on Zevran. He approached Aedan one afternoon ostensibly to hear his side of the story, but Aedan could feel the unspoken warning and respected the elf’s concerns. He resolved to keep his distance from Delilah, but often found himself watching for that flash of blonde hair when her team took to the field.

The end of the first week also brought a courier from Denerim. This was by prior arrangement, however, and after an overnight rest, the man was dispatched back to the city with a pouch full of letters and reports from Aedan and his men. Aedan retired early that night, a letter from Leliana held reverently in one hand as though it were a treasured artifact. Zevran left him in peace.

--=0=--

Alistair found himself seeking Oghren’s company the day after Aedan left. The dwarf was no fool, however, and after entertaining the king for a while would send him off with a gruff, “Go mope somewhere else for a while, I got an army to command.”

Alistair was restless after that and wandered the palace surprising staff and the occasional guard as he sought to walk out his mood. His meeting with Eamon had been…interesting. He understood the arl’s reasoning – he was only expected to live perhaps another twenty eight years and in order to preserve the Theirin bloodline he required an heir. A legitimate one would be highly preferable. He did not care for the task of merely choosing a suitable candidate, however, it was too…cold. If the rest of his life was to be given to duty he asked of Eamon a simple boon: Give him a year, just one year to find his place, without being hounded to reproduce. After some persuasion, the arl had agreed, but not before commenting that throughout that year Alistair would have plenty of opportunities to mingle with the nobility of Ferelden, and that he should always keep his eyes open.

Alistair had rolled his eyes at that and taken a distinct pleasure in being able to dismiss the older man from his company, a gesture Eamon took in good humour.

As his wanderings finally led him back to his study, he nearly walked into Leliana, who had been leaving a message for him. He invited her in, indicated a chair to her and sat down behind his desk.

He launched straight in to business, “What do you have for me?”

“The Orlesian Commander and the remaining two wardens left for Orlais this morning, as we expected. I have come to talk to you about this man, this Damien Fournier.”

Alistair nodded, eager for information about the man, “You said you met him before?”

Leliana continued, “Yes, he has not been a Grey Warden for long, Alistair, and yet he is Commander in Orlais. This disturbs me.”

The commander had met with Alistair alone the day before and had pressed him again on the issue of Aedan’s miraculous survival. Alistair had taken distinct offense at the man’s insinuation that he would betray a fellow warden and reveal a ‘secret’. He’d repeated Aedan’s tactic, the simple shrug and denial, not caring what the Orlesian thought of his apparent naiveté.

“There is a lot about Damien Fournier that disturbs me…he was a chevalier before?”

Leliana went on, “Yes, talented in battle and from a prominent family much in favour with the Empress, I think it is no mere coincidence that he now controls a veritable army, one that does not necessarily answer to any country.”

Alistair was thoughtful a moment before he replied, “I agree, but the Wardens of Orlais were prepared to help us defend against the Blight, if only the word had been sent. Now that the arch demon is slain, however, and Ferelden finds itself with only two Grey Wardens…” he paused here as he considered the various implications, “let us hope Aedan is successful in his recruitment efforts.”

A shadow passed Leliana’s face at the mention of her beloved warden and Alistair waited patiently for her to continue. She composed herself instantly and briskly reported on other matters he’d had her investigating. The woman was an asset – though she may succeed in fooling strangers and the noble circles he had her moving through that she was merely a talented minstrel and companion to the Chancellor – both he and Aedan appreciated her quick mind and her cunning ear. Alistair never ceased to be amazed at the information she gathered or the truth she was able to distill from rumour and gossip.

They finished their meeting and Alistair returned his attention to the business of being king, which today, included more documents to peruse.

[Freckles04]

Very nice. I like how the story is developing. You have a good sense for pacing.

[Kulkodar]

Yah, what Freckles said I wonder what Fournier is really up to ^^

[bl00dsh0t]

Intriguing chapter, the story just keeps evolving Very well written and again.... MOAR

[Palentor]

I really like your story, and the way it is told and developing.

Thank you for writing it. Keep it up please.

I can't wait how it unfolds further.

[Sisimka]

Thanks so much Palentor, and as always, Bloodshot, Freckles and Kulkodar. I *do* have a plan here...



Will be posting another chapter later today.