395 réponses à ce sujet

[Miliat]

I'm dying here Freckles, really.

[Freckles04]

I'm working on it, honest! I know where I want to go...it's getting there that is proving difficult.

[Freckles04]

Part 20

Alistair gripped his anger, wrapping it about him like another layer of armor as he ventured further into the Wardens' stronghold. His eyes travelled over tapestries draped along the corridor depicting great battles against the darkspawn, but he didn't really see them. Once, he would have been in awe at the grandeur of Weisshaupt, at the pressure of centuries of tradition, duty, and honor that surrounded him, but no longer.

The heroic sheen the Wardens had once gleamed with, in his eyes, had been tarnished.

Their escort let them into a large room, with empty tables arranged neatly in long rows. At the other end of the room, a table was perched perpendicular to the others and raised on a platform. A fully armored man sat on a large chair behind the table, his elbows resting casually against the smooth planks in front of him as he watched the small party's procession into the room.

The Wardens escorting them waved them to a halt before the platform. Alistair's eyes narrowed at the indignity of being made to look up at the man garbed in the traditional Warden Commander suit of plate. Games, was it? These Wardens of Weisshaupt would soon discover the naïve ex-templar had learned a thing or two about political games.

If he could keep his rage in check. Alistair sucked in a breath. As satisfying as it would be to run his sword through everyone here, that would neither help get Bryn free, nor mend fences with the Wardens after what happened in Amaranthine.

"Alistair, Grey Warden," the man intoned. The corner of his mouth quirked, though no amusement reached his cold eyes. "King of Ferelden. How interesting."

"Interesting, is it?" The King's brows drew down. "I find it interesting that you would resort to kidnapping one of your own. To threatening to start a war with Ferelden."

The man arched an eyebrow. "War? You think my actions were meant to start a war?" He tsked his tongue as he shook his head. "And this is why Wardens should not be tied to any given country. Such loyalties are, ultimately, inconvenient."

Alistair drew a breath to retort angrily, then paused as he felt a light touch on his arm. Leliana. The bard's gentle hand reminded him that he needed to harness his anger, use it, and not let it run rampant. "Perhaps. You may be right. But the fact remains that Bryn is my betrothed, and you removed her from Ferelden against her will. How can I not view that as an act of aggression?"

"And yet you come to Weisshaupt with only two companions, and no army. No elite guards, even. That is what I find interesting." The man steepled his fingers and stared at Alistair over them. His ice-blue eyes were as harsh as the mountains that surrounded the fortress.

The King inclined his head. "I will be honest. I do not wish to go to war with the Wardens, if only to honor Duncan's memory. I come before you as a fellow Warden, first, to ask that you return Bryn. However, do not doubt me," Alistair warned. "Refuse my request and I will bring the might of Ferelden's armies against you."

"I see." The man's eyes didn't leave Alistair's, and the King kept his gaze steady. Darkness brimmed there, along with the ice; this was an old Warden, one nearly ready for his Calling. His taint was more advanced than Duncan's, even, when his mentor had shared that the nightmares had begun again. Alistair wondered how the man had managed to remain in control. Sane.

Though, perhaps, he wasn't sane at all.

"I am Commander-in-Chief Jorn," he said after another moment. "I will confirm that we do indeed have the Warden Commander of Ferelden as our…guest. You know why we have brought her here, yes?"

"Yes," Alistair growled.

"Ah." A flicker of a smile. "Then you know how she survived the archdemon's death. Excellent."

"You should be aware that I have a ship awaiting us," Alistair said, keeping his voice non-threatening. "Should we not arrive as scheduled, the captain has been instructed to inform my armies to begin their march."

Jorn chuckled. "From Ferelden. We have time yet, then."

"No, not from Ferelden." Alistair kept his eyes firmly on the Commander's. "My armies are at the ready just beyond the border of the Anderfels."

The Commander's smile faltered. "You lie."

Alistair shrugged. "Keep me from my ship and you'll discover the truth for yourself."

Jorn regarded him for a moment longer, then his smile returned. "Ferelden isn't known for being a strong country, in a military sense, and with the Blight having decimated your forces--"

"It's interesting how surviving a disaster such as that--on our own--increases civic pride and the desire to serve one's nation. Not to mention that the Hero of Ferelden is something of a legend." Alistair smiled coldly. "We had no trouble in rebuilding our forces, trust me."

One of the Wardens standing beside Jorn leaned down and whispered something in the Commander's ear. He waved him away impatiently. "Your Majesty…"

Alistair ruthlessly stamped down the satisfaction that rose within him at Jorn's usage of his title.

"Your Majesty," Jorn said again, placating, "surely we can come to an arrangement?"

"Alistair."

The King turned at the distinctive voice, his heart in his throat. If Zev were here, without Bryn…

Oh, Maker, please…

"I found her," the elf said quietly.

His throat tightened. "Alive?"

"Si. But surrounded by magic, the likes of which I've never seen. And, my friend, you know I have seen a lot."

Alistair's lips pressed into a thin line. "Take me to her."

"Wait." Jorn rose and stepped away from the table, the plates of his armor scraping as he moved. "You may be a king, Alistair, but I am still the ruler of this fortress, and we have yet to reach an arrangement." He moved to the front of the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest. "I have no desire to fight you or your armies. But Bryn has information I need, and I will not release her until I have it." His eyes glittered. "Unless, of course, you know of someone else who can tell me what I need to know."

Alistair nodded. "Release Bryn. Let me see for myself that she is well."

"And?" Jorn prompted.

The King's eyes narrowed. "And I will share my secret."

[Treason1]

Very nice to see how Alistair's matured.



I was expecting his anger to run away from him a little, but you've crafted the telling nicely.

[Miliat]

Excellent as always.

[nos_astra]

Hmmm, the army is a bluff. And I have a feeling that Jorn won't just listen to the little tale and let them march off. With Bryn in this state I thought they knew about the ritual by now.



Oh, my curiosity kills me! Freckles, you are so mean.

[Freckles04]

Treason1 wrote...

Very nice to see how Alistair's matured.

I was expecting his anger to run away from him a little, but you've crafted the telling nicely.

Thanks, Treason. I thought the same as well, but it didn't fit. His anger got away from him in Amaranthine, because he was being physically threatened. In this case, there is no immediate threat...and it's not just him against 4-5 Wardens, it's him (and his companions) against an entire fortress.

He might be emotional and volatile when provoked, but Alistair is not a stupid man...as much as he'd like people to think he is.

[Freckles04]

klarabella wrote...

Hmmm, the army is a bluff. And I have a feeling that Jorn won't just listen to the little tale and let them march off. With Bryn in this state I thought they knew about the ritual by now.

Oh, my curiosity kills me! Freckles, you are so mean.

But Jorn doesn't know that.

Alistair has learned to play the game, just a little. Bryn is a cunning rogue, after all.

[Sisimka]

I was also surprised to learn Jorn hadn't 'broken' Bryn. Good on her! Poor her...

[master-fluff]

Great writing, I can picture the scene so well. I'm really enjoying your story, the characters fit in well with how I've seen them. Thanks!

[Sialater]

Augh, don't tell him!

[Treason1]

Freckles04 wrote...

Treason1 wrote...

Very nice to see how Alistair's matured.

I was expecting his anger to run away from him a little, but you've crafted the telling nicely.

Thanks, Treason. I thought the same as well, but it didn't fit. His anger got away from him in Amaranthine, because he was being physically threatened. In this case, there is no immediate threat...and it's not just him against 4-5 Wardens, it's him (and his companions) against an entire fortress.

He might be emotional and volatile when provoked, but Alistair is not a stupid man...as much as he'd like people to think he is.

  And I think you portrayed this very well.  Alistair was never stupid, but he was.."sheltered."  Not very worldly.  Which is why I'm happy to see how you're showing that with some extra experience, much of it painful unfortunately, he's turning into a formidable opponent, and not just on a battlefield where swords and shields rule the day.

  Personally, I've always thought of Alistair as a man who likes the "easy" path because it's easier, and all throughout his life, few have entrusted him with responsability and given him a chance to develope a higher sense of his own worth and capabilities.  Not because he was never suited for the "higher" path in life.

  I'm a strait man, but I can definately see the appeal that so many women have expressed for Alistair on the forums.  He's a good man.  Glad he's coming into his own.

[Freckles04]

Thanks, Treason! You made my day. That's exactly the direction I've envisioned for our favourite ex-templar. As I see it, Alistair has two options after you make him King: he can continue to run away from it (like he does when he's unhardened), or he can do his best to do a good job by figuring out how to play the game (which is what the hardened epilogue hints at). Obviously, I'm writing this from the latter perspective.



I really feel that in the months following the coronation, particularly with his love as Queen, he would come into his own and show just how much of his father's son he is.

[odiedragon]

Freckles04 wrote...
"Be that as it may, it changes nothing. You have a duty as King, as Maric's son. I had hoped that after the last time we'd spoken, you'd changed your mind."

"You think it's so terribly easy to just turn away, do you?" Alistair crossed his arms and his glare deepened. "Could you do the same? What if you'd known Isolde would produce a mage child? Would you have been able to turn off your love for her so you could marry someone else who'd give you a clear heir?"

Alistair calls Eamon out on his hypocracy!  LOVE.  IT.  And you wonder why I want to chain you to a desk and make you keep writing 

[Freckles04]

odiedragon wrote...

Freckles04 wrote...
"Be that as it may, it changes nothing. You have a duty as King, as Maric's son. I had hoped that after the last time we'd spoken, you'd changed your mind."

"You think it's so terribly easy to just turn away, do you?" Alistair crossed his arms and his glare deepened. "Could you do the same? What if you'd known Isolde would produce a mage child? Would you have been able to turn off your love for her so you could marry someone else who'd give you a clear heir?"

Alistair calls Eamon out on his hypocracy!  LOVE.  IT.  And you wonder why I want to chain you to a desk and make you keep writing 

Wow, that's digging back awhile. Hehe...though, after seeing your post on the We Alistair boards, I'm not surprised you picked up on this! LOL.

Just. You. Wait.

[AndrastesKnickers]

More please!

[Jannamarie]

I have to have my Freckle04 fanfic everyday along with my wheaties

[odiedragon]

Freckles04 wrote...
“Thank you,” Morrigan said, her voice soft. She cleared her throat. “Seek out Fiona of the Grey Wardens.”

Bryn’s brows drew down. “What? Why?”

“If you wish the union between yourself and Alistair to produce an heir, you will do so.”

OMG!  Fiona!  And Morrigan says she can help!  I would have squeed if I wasn't sitting next to a sleeping person. 

I love how you write Morrigan by the way.  Very believable. 

I'm so down with any story that has Fiona in it.

[EnchantedEyes1]

Have enjoyed reading your fanfic even though I don't necessarily believe in some of the same things you do. I also do love how Alistair just handled Jorn, I'm so proud of him! Please continue, I can't wait to read more!

[odiedragon]

Freckles04 wrote...

I think the difference is that the Wardens in Weisshaupt aren't the rulers in name; the people look to them to rule, however, since the actual king is weak. So they can try to argue that they're neutral...even though they're not.

In Ferelden's case (in my story anyway), the two native Grey Wardens ARE the ruling nobility. They cannot claim to be neutral or pretend they are. The rest of the Grey Wardens aren't happy about this, but it's a unique situation. I don't think they'll condemn Bryn and Alistair's actions because of that (for other things, maybe, but probably not that).

This.  Very much this.  I'm plotting a post-game-epic-sequel right now that deals with this fact... it's one thing to "advise" a ruler, and wholly another to sit on a throne.

[odiedragon]

Freckles04 wrote...

Wow, that's digging back awhile. Hehe...though, after seeing your post on the We Alistair boards, I'm not surprised you picked up on this! LOL.

Just. You. Wait.

I've got truckloads of Eamon hate to go 'round.  Yes.
I just found this thread yesterday, at the end of my work day... so I'm still getting through it.   

[odiedragon]

tallon1982 wrote...
*plants her flag in Camp Fiona is Alistair's Mum* Keep on writing girl. *offers tea and cake with badges to other believers*

Sign me up as well!!  Maric + Fiona = Alistair forever! 

[Lord Deshwitat]

Exellent story...Still here and enjoying it^^

[Osaria]

More More! You've got yourself another fan Freckles04!

[Freckles04]

Part 21

Fiona couldn’t suppress the chill that raced through her at the King's words. His secret. Her son's. Maker--what had Bryn and Alistair wrought?

She tried to hold onto the horror as she watched him speak with Jorn, to keep the other volatile emotions at bay, but it slipped through her fingers. He was so much like Maric. His hair was darker and much shorter, but he had his father's nose, his father's build. When the elf had entered and spoken to him so quietly she couldn’t hear his words, Alistair’s brows had drawn low and his expression had hardened--much like Maric’s when he’d been faced with an insurmountable threat. Part of her wanted to pinch herself to see if she was in the Fade unknowingly, living a dream of twenty years ago. But no. He was here. He was really here!

And he had no idea who she was.

He hadn't even seen her, hidden as she was near the entrance to the room. She'd known, intellectually, that he wouldn't recognize her--he thought his mother human and dead, after all--but an irrational fear dwelled within her chest that he would look upon her and demand to know why she abandoned him. Why she'd let him believe he was unloved. Her arms ached from the strain of holding back, of sticking to the shadows, but this was neither the time nor the place for introductions or, Maker, explanations. Maybe there never would be a good time.

He was King. He certainly didn’t need the complication the truth about his parentage would bring. Perhaps she could just speak to him, though. That wouldn’t be too much to ask, would it?

Alistair and his companions turned and marched back toward the entrance, accompanied by Jorn and the other Wardens. Fiona fell into step behind them as they passed. The first stirrings of relief awoke within her chest. She’d never liked Jorn’s course of action, for more reasons than just the fact that it had the potential to hurt her son. Her Commander was obsessed with the cause of Bryn’s survival, and Fiona had seen what horrors obsession could produce first-hand. She was spared the darkspawn dreams the rest of the Grey Wardens suffered, but that wasn’t to say she didn’t dream of them; or, more specifically, of that foray into the Deep Roads twenty years ago.

The lightness in her chest flickered and died as Jorn led the party away from the stairs that would lead to the upper chambers, to Bryn’s quarters, and toward the dank lower level instead. Son of a-- She held her tongue, though. She’d wait to see what Jorn had done. Then she would act.

The dungeons. Maker, she hated them. At the stench, the oppressive dampness, memories poked at the edge of her consciousness, demanding acknowledgement. She refused. The past had no hold over her, not anymore.

A hand flew to her mouth as they approached the last cell. A glistening red mark surrounded the young woman as she slumped on the floor, her arms wrenched above her head. Her blank eyes stared at nothing.

Jorn had lied. He’d told her she had a day to learn Bryn’s secret, and gave her only hours instead.

“Bryn!” Fiona’s heart twisted at the anguish in Alistair’s voice. He stepped forward, but his elven companion’s hand on his arm halted his progress. He glanced down at the blonde elf, who gave a slight shake of his head.

“A trap, Alistair,” he murmured.

The King turned his attention to Jorn. “Release her. Immediately.”

“No.” The Commander-in-Chief crossed his arms over his chest and met Alistair’s furious stare with his own icy gaze. “Reveal what you know, and I will do so.”

Alistair’s jaw tightened. “I can cleanse all of the magic in this room.”

“But not before I toss a knife into her throat.” Jorn produced a throwing blade and hefted in his hand casually.

Fiona tensed. She saw something in Jorn’s expression she recognized after being under his command for twenty years: resolution. He had chosen his course of action, and he would follow through. Her breath caught in her throat. Even if Alistair revealed the truth--whatever it was--Bryn would die. Insubordination, which Bryn and Alistair had committed more than once, would not be tolerated.

For all his seeming acquiescence earlier, Jorn would indeed risk war with Ferelden. All for a secret that would help no one for another four hundred years?

Fiona gritted her teeth. No. He went too far.

She called forth a blast of frigid air, aiming it so it caught Jorn and the other Wardens but left Alistair and his companions free. The Commander-in-Chief froze in place, but it would not last long.

“Cleanse the area!” she shouted at Alistair.

The King glanced at her, but didn’t hesitate. A force like a cool spring breeze swept out from him, washing away the glyph surrounding Bryn. Instantly, her eyes closed and her trembling stopped. The red-haired woman at Alistair’s side darted forward and made quick work of the locked chains.

The ice covering the other Wardens cracked. “Hurry,” she said, running through her other spells. Ah, yes. That one would be helpful. “Get to the stairs!”

She began channelling the spell, praying she could launch it before the Wardens freed themselves, and hoping the delay in casting it would give Alistair enough time to get out of the room. With a triumphant shout, she swept her hands outward, like she was throwing the spell at her opponents. Instantly a blizzard filled the space; howling winds, glacial temperatures, and treacherous footing all combined to pin the Wardens in place.

Fiona turned and pushed through the winds, only to find herself flat on the floor, shivering. Damn it. Her thin mage robes did little to protect her. It didn’t matter--Alistair and the others would escape. That’s what was important.

An arm wrapped around her and lifted. She struggled, thinking it was Jorn or one of his men. But then she saw the silver of his armor, so unlike the Commander’s black plate.

Alistair. He’d come back for her.

“You had to cast Blizzard,” he fumed over the wind. “Maker, I hate this spell.”

“Would you p-prefer Fireball?” she said, her teeth chattering.

“Maybe later.” They’d reached the stairs. Alistair set Fiona on her feet, then retrieved Bryn from the elf’s arms. He glanced down at his betrothed, and Fiona’s chest clenched at the worry in his expression. When his eyes met hers again, they were hard, but not unkind. “We could use a mage’s help to get out of here.”

“I agree,” Fiona said.

Alistair’s eyes flicked to the darkness behind her. “You won’t be able to come back.”

No, she wouldn’t, would she? She hadn’t really let herself consider that when she’d acted in the dungeons, though at the back of her mind she’d known what her actions would mean. Really, her loyalties had shifted when she’d stood up for Bryn against Jorn and Yanic. There was no going back now.

“I hear the Ferelden Wardens have some openings.” She shrugged. “I kind of miss the smell of wet dog.”