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[Maximus741000]

First of all, I'd liket to thank Bioware for the creation of Dragon Age origins, truly it's a gift to us as a community, as a beacon of imagination in an otherwise bleak world. Secondly, I'd like to thank the Bioware team for permitting us to go beyond the game's boundaries, and thirdly to Sisimka for her beautifully inspiring fanfic; 'The Hero of Ferelden', which has ingited the fires of imagination within my mind. Thank You.

Introduction:

It has been a year since Ferelden’s triumph over the Blight and the death of the Archdemon, and the newly appointed king-consort to Queen Anora, Aldanon Cousland has had his fame spread like wildfire across Thedas, and even the kingdom of Orlais was impressed. So much so, that empress Celene of Orlais has invited King Aldanon and Queen Anora to Val Royeaux, to celebrate in the flamboyance and splendour of Olesian celebrations, and offer the newly appointed monarchs cannot deny, and for Aldanon to receive the title of Honorary Knight of Orlais, but other reasons lie in store for the royal couple.

Meanwhile, the orlesian bard, Leliana continues her hunt for her bard mistress Marjolaine, who recently left Ferelden. Now her path mirrors Aldanon’s, back into her old homeland. However, she is harbouring feelings for the young Grey Warden that were abated during the war; when Aldanon fell for the wild sorceress, Morrigan, who had recently disappeared from Ferelden. Now she is truly less certain of what she feels for her former
companion. But events are taking place in the shadow of Val Royeaux, and an old enemy, insane with vengeance lusts for death, and plots schemes like the Dragon Age has never seen.

Farewells

Denerim's Royal Palace was the jewel in the royal crown Ferelden, or so the saying went. It was a city of surprising urban diversity, from the slums and elven alienage to the Royal Palace district and Fort Drakon, magnificence was always to be found, but you had to know where to look for it. The city could be as quiet as a sleeping Mabari and as loud as an enraged one. But it was the Maker's blessing that the castle was the quietest part of the city. But there were always exceptions to such fragile principles, one such exception was the king's best friend, Warden Commander Alistair.

“NO! Absolutely not!” exclaimed Alistair, his voice high with shock and surprise at his friend’s notion, so loudly most of the castle heard him. He had been arguing with his warden friend in his guest chamber in Denerim’s royal palace for the past five minutes. He was wearing his silverite Warden Commander Armour emblazoned with griffons, and his friend donned his dragonbone Royal Golden Armour. His friend, a debonair gentleman with dark, smart hair a trimmed moustache sitting in a red velvet armchair shook his head and sighed off the disagreement.
“Oh, don’t start that way now of all times, Alistair. It’s only temporary, at very most a week.” assured Aldanon Cousland, his rich, cultured voice however did little to calm Alistair’s evident apprehension, leadership was certainly not his forte. But Aldanon had little time for reluctance, one of the many lessons Alistair learned from him.
“I don’t if it’s only for the next five seconds; you’re not appointing me as temporary chancellor!” retorted Alistair, his voice firming “You already made me Arl of Amaranthine, and Maker knows I’m worse than useless at leadership. I’m also Warden Commander, and why isn’t Fergus appointed Chancellor?” Aldanon sat up straight and looked his friend directly in the eye, Alistair recognised this look and stopped tensing. Whenever Aldanon gave him that particular look, it meant that he was about to have some sense knocked into him.

“You know as well as the next person does that that was because the Wardens are returning to Amaranthine and are in need of both a Warden Commander and a lord of the region to receive direct instructions from. Besides, nothing changes the fact that you’re still Maric’s son and of noble ancestry” said Aldanon. For a moment it seemed Alistair was about to leave, he paced around the quarters, rapt in thought. His face screwed up in disagreement, which soon gave way to thought and sighed in acceptance and agreement.
“All right, all right, point taken. Wait, why are you leaving again?” he asked, confusion written on his face. Aldanon had told him, but he kept forgetting, the reasons were, after all, too many to number.

“Fine, I’ll remind you” Aldanon sighed impatiently “Empress Celene has invited Anora to discuss post-Blight political relations between Ferelden and Orlais, and I’m to be named Honorary Chevalier for ‘preventing the spread of the Blight into Orlesian lands’ in the Empress’s words. But it’s more like a gesture to silence distrust. The orlesian wardens also want to discuss the situation with me now that the Blight unofficially ended.”
“Still, if this invite came from Empress Celene herself, it means that she wants you to fall for her the way Cailan did,” Alistair murmured “and in front of Anora.” he added. Aldanon paused, folded his arms and frowned in incredulity “You, my friend, are absurd. You honestly think Celene would try to lull me into her influence?”
“Sure; ‘Bonjour monsieur Aldanon; care to join me in my bedroom?’” he mimicked in an Orlesian accent with a toned up voice, to which Aldanon rolled his eyes grimaced in mock disgust, hiding his amusement. As much as he found Alistair annoying, the war had after all cemented their brotherhood, and he was used to it.

                                                                                           ++++++++

“When you two are quite finished making fun of yourselves with Orlesian mock-ups, we must depart at once.” Anora’s even voice chimed in, a smug smirk across her face. She was dressed in a royal purple dress with gold linings, her hair allowed to run neatly down her body, a rare occurrence. Aldanon rose from his chair, adjusting his armour. “Fear not, dear” Aldanon said “I’m just appointing Arl Alistair as chancellor while we’re both away. He has my full confidence that we won’t return to a Ferelden bathed in another civil war.” nodding to Alistair, who did not smile at Aldanon's attempt ar humour and stood focussing straight-faced at Anora, his smile had dissapeared when she entered, too much like Loghain, he thought. I suppose I should be lucky.

“Yes, well it’s not like anything bad is going to happen." he told Anora "Like crops being stolen, another riot, tap-dancing soldiers trashing the palace!” he rambled on, inducing a delighted chuckle from Aldanon. But for all his glibness, Anora was hardly moved, only Aldanon's gentelmanly charm was the sort that would work on her.
“Enough, I can see your point clearly, Alistair.” Anora interjected “Now then, my husband, don’t forget your sword, shield and royal cloak. You wouldn’t want to look less than you were when you killed the archdemon.”
She threw a naughty smile across to Aldanon and departed, who admittedly made him smile back. “I’ll see you at the carriage.” Alistair seized the moment and threw another cheeky grin across, Aldanon's pleasure quickly turned back into pressure after realizing Alistair's humour attempt. He collapsed back into his armchair.

“Somebody’s beginning to warm up to her!” he teased. Aldanon smacked his forehead, exasperated.
“I don’t see what your problem is; to me she’s more like a childhood acquaintance, than my worst enemy’s daughter. That I reserved for Delilah Howe.” He added; his voice growing cold. Alistair sensed his mood change and edged about nervously “Besides, she’s your equivalent of Delilah, is she not?” he asked. Alistiar knew what he meant, he remembered the day the Howe family lost their noble title and lands, to be given to the Grey Wardens.
“That’s true,” said Alistair “and while I don’t say it often, I am grateful you became her king instead of me. Maker, it would have been awkward.” He clasped his hand on Aldanon’s shoulder as he rose from the chair.
“Thank you. Luckily, she likes appearing attractive to me” He returned, smiling “I know you don’t like the fact that people look to you for leadership, but the truth is you have it in you to lead. And don’t worry; some men from Highever are coming to keep peace in Denerim while the Royal Regiment is gone, and Teyrn Fergus is coming to keep you company, his wife Lady Elebeth will look after Highever.” At the news, Alistair relaxed. “I suppose that’s not so bad.” He said, acceptance in his voice. “But still what do I do in your absence?”

“Well...” Aldanon strode to his desk and picked up a large amount of books, scrolls and other articles “These should give you some background information about Ferelden politics, and what to do...” putting the heavy books in Alistair’s arms, forming a pile up to his chin “and these documents are the more pressing items; letters from the nobility, trade subscriptions, tax reports, and don’t sign the red letters” by the time Aldanon finished, they had formed a pile so high Alistair’s face his behind it “Right. Thanks.” His muffled voice sounded sarcastically from behind the pile. He rested it down on the desk, panting from the weight. “Anything else I need to be aware of?”
“Yes actually,” Aldanon burst out in recollection, his voice suddenly hardened “In the time we’re gone Alistair, take this:” Aldanon produced a pouch of sovereigns, enough to be called a back tax owed to the nobility. Alistair did not notice the caution in his voice and serious expressions, and reacted with awe and gasped.
“But what is it? It’s enough to make a poor man rich enough to buy a decent house!” he exclaimed, amazed.
"Ssh!" Aldanon whispered "it’s enough sovereigns to pay for the damage done to the elves in the Denerim, after Anora came down hard on them during their food crisis. It’s like my father said once; ‘You know what they say about mice when the cat is away?’ I fear that you may need to do what Anora would not permit me to do while she’s gone. Use it well.” Alistair nodded understandingly, he took the pouch and concealed in underneath his armour. “All right, I’ll be careful, you're doing a good thing, you know? Any more fuzzy stuff before you leave?”
“Yes; take care, brother,” they clasped shoulders again “and no tap-dancing soldiers.” He added smiling. Both men were used to each other's humour, whether it was Alistair's silliness or Aldanon's upper-class quips.
“Oh! You always were a fun sucker!” he joked. Aldanon turned and noticed a servant leave his Denerim Shield and King Maric’s blade on a side table. He sheathed the blade and bore the shield . “Farewell.” He finally said and vanished away. Alistair was left alone in the room, listening to the sound of his old friend’s armour clinking away. 

Aldanon was walking rather quickly now, guards stood to attention when he passed and maids and servants stopped working where ever he passed. However, avoiding Anora’s bad side was imperative. They may have been childhood friends, but her father’s reserved nature did put him off ease. Often he would cling to fond memories of play sword fights with his brother and Cailan, and Anora chatting with Delilah in the distance, whilst their parents discussed Grey Wardens returning and other politics. The fact that Anora was the true leader kept him subdued, he would not risk his title or Ferelden's prosperity in a heated argument with her, the best he could do was nudge her in the right direction.

“Ho there, your highness!” called a familiar voice, Fergus marched into sight, his grin visible across the hall. He was clad in a dazzling red steel heavy mail suit, and flanked by four formidible Highever soldiers.
“Fergus! Good to see you!” The two brothers embraced, but broke away just as quickly. "How's Lady Elebeth?"
“She's fine, you know getting me to walk in Denerim at the height of the celebrations was the best thing you did for me, I would not have met her otherwise." his eyes wandered the depths of his thoughts as he spoke, and a dreamy smile came across his face. Aldanon was glad that his brother had finally met a woman he truly loved. While he did love Oriana, she was just a bit too inflexible, and in Aldanon's opion stuffy. But he continued to remember her with honour, and her son, Oren. "I just passed the queen," he resumed "she says she’s going to leave without you.” the fact that Aldanon had to obey her still amused Fergus. Before more brotherly banter could resume, Anora entered the hall and was about to interrupt; she had a tendency to do that. But of course that was part of the package that was Anora Mac Tir.
“I was just about to tell the Teyrn that Alistair was in the palace, Anora” he countered, irritation rising in his tone. Anora shot a disaproving frown across, which lessened when Aldanon became visibly less annoyed.
“Well, we are ready when you are.” She reminded him and left for the carriage. Aldanon strode out into the courtyard, Fergus at his side, and to his delight saw a company of knights clad in silverite armour with shield seals representing all the nobility of Ferelden, from Highever to Gwaren, Denerim, Redcliffe and Amaranthine. It took a lot for him not to give into his pride; even though uniting Ferelden from civil war was no triviality. Ultimately his position as king-consort, chancellor and General of Ferelden’s army provided him great ceremonial prestige.

He marched towards a white stallion at the head of the regiment, mounted and turned to Fergus “Farewell, brother. Look after Alistair and Ferelden while I’m gone.” He bid his brother with sincerity, clasping his hand.
“Don’t worry about us, just have fun in Orlais and don’t look too handsome or go unescorted, Orlesian ladies have a taste for heroes. And with Anora around, don't get too endulged” he chuckled "Oh, and here, take these." he unsheathed what looked like the Cousland sword and shield, but reforged with silverite, and a magical glow ran around their edges, Aldanon recognies the enchantments that were made. "I had them taken to Soldier's Peak to be reforged anew by Mikheal Dryden, cost me a bundle but it was worth it, considering the adventures you've had."
“I'll remember, and thank you.” said Aldanon. He fastened his golden helmet and Fergus stepped back folding his arms. “Knights, sally forth!” he shouted, horns sounded across the city and the Royal Regiment and Anora’s carriage set forth. Royal bugles sounded as they departed, the king was received by cheering crowds, eager to see the Ferelden king face the Orlesians.

Long after they departed the city, a golden sun was setting into the Amaranthine Ocean, Aldanon’s armour shone in the fading light like a beacon for all to see. They would go first to Highever then to Val Royeaux. Aldanon’s thoughts were just as quiet. I have served Ferelden as best I could thus far, Orlais will prove a challenge. Empress Celene is cunning, just like her people. My Warden sense is tingling once again, I know something great and terrible is on that road, Maker watch over those in my care.

edit: errors corrected.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 02 mai 2010 - 10:48 .

[TheMadCat]

Gotta fix up that format.

[Maximus741000]

format fixed. Please, anyone feel free to comment, whether it be criticism or complement. Further edits may be done in the future.

[westiex9]

Awesome, i love the fact Aldanon is king and Alistair a warden commander it makes an interesting change in roles. The paragraphs were a little unspaced but keep at it this plot looks like it will be very cool.

[Sisimka]

westiex9 wrote...

Awesome, i love the fact Aldanon is king and Alistair a warden commander it makes an interesting change in roles. The paragraphs were a little unspaced but keep at it this plot looks like it will be very cool.

Me too!  I am excited to see where you go with this, it's a unique perspective.

[Maximus741000]

@ Sisimka & westiex9, thank you for showing interest in my work so far, and I've taken on what you've said about spacing paragraphs out. It's certainly encouraging to have people interested, even if it's a few.

[Maximus741000]

Since things have been a little slow lately, I'll present the scond chapter in this story:

In the Shadows

Aundar Jürgen strode the streets of Val Royeaux with a brutish nature that distinguished him from the other Orlesian citizens of like a wolf in a pen of lap-dogs. His frightening appearance kept most passersby well away from him, but the fact he was still a eyesore in a city of beauty put him off to no end. He was heavily built, with a large bald head, plaited black beard, and clad in red steel chainmail adorned with wolf and bear furs. But what scared the Orlesian citizens most was his accent, a deep, heavy Anderfel tone of voice was like thunder of foreign storms. Aundar was used to the wild frozen wastes of the Anderfel steppes and fighting alongside other men who were just as gruff and blood-lusting, this realm where frilly, fluffy flutter was everything; well all he could do was trust that the reward was worth it, at least that’s what the Mistress assured him. In a leather sack was a stash of steel swords, which he had kept as discretely away from the public eye as his large size could afford, underneath his furs. He took a turn away from the more glamorous part of the city into a back alley.

He walked towards a decrepit warehouse that lied down a filthy back alley, up to am elm door and knocked. Once. Twice. Once. The door creaked open and a thin, wheezy orlesian voice emerged from the crack in the door.
“Do you have the weapons” the voice breathed, age hung on his voice.  
“Hrr...Yes. Now get out my way, I’ll not suffer more Orlesian fools.” He snarled in his evident dog-like manner. The door slid open, and Aundar shuffled in, and the door slammed raucously behind him.
“Silence!” a woman’s voice shrieked from the shadows “Do you want all Val Royeaux to know I’m here?” she added, a paranoid disturbance entrenched in her voice. The other mercenaries, well-equipped men with weapons and heavy mail armour of exotic materials, grunted nodded nonchalantly. Mercenaries were not a strange sight in Val Royeaux, but a surprising number of them in the streets, well equipped and positively threatening, would have been enough for the Empress to remove them from the streets of the city, so stealth and secrecy was necessary.

Aundar walked over to a smoky corner of the warehouse where a surly smith caked in soot and dirt hammered away at a sword. He was badly shaved, his beard trapping soot as it flew from his forge, he seemed to be constantly muttering to himself, and there was always a chip on his shoulders.
“I have the weapons you asked for, smith.” the anderfel man grunted, dumping the sack onto the ground. The smith stopped what he was walking on and opened the sack to examine them.
“Good, now let’s...” he paused midway, examining the metal and scowled “You numb-skulled anderfel scum!” he burst out; Aundar became visibly enraged “I can’t work these swords in the short time we have! These are steel blades, not silverite like I requested!” he ranted on. But Aundar was not about to suffer more orlesians.

“Bite your tongue, blacksmith.” he snarled “I’m paid to fight, not run trivial tasks for narrow-minded fools.”
 “Silverite is strong yet light and malleable during forging; steel is just obstinate, heavy and not as strong!” the smith ranted, shaking the swords at his deliverer from the blade. “The mistress wants a powerful and efficient army, not a brigade of rusty tin soldiers.” Aundar drew a mighty, blackened battle axe and raised to strike
“Enough!” their mistress screeched once again “I will accept this mistake just this once. Work double time, smith Benoit. They must be equipped as soon as possible. King Aldanon and Queen Anora arrive next week.”
She slunk back into the shadows and ascended to the top of the roof, there she overlooked the whole of the city.  Aundur shuffled into another dark part of the warehouse to a nearby hovel about the size of a cesspool, opened the door, dirt falling off it as he opened it, and slammed it behind him.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

The doorman, the old and wheezy orlesian human dressed in lavish tevinter mage robes and a green staff slung on his back sat on one of the dusty armchairs in the corner and secretly helped himself to his mistress’s wine. His hair was grey and stringy, wrinkles made his gaunt face more decrepit and ashen, yet in spite of his age, his skin was not flaking or crusty, but oily and reptilian. He was approached by another man, but this one wore heavy leathers and belts and buckles slung across his torso carrying daggers, hand axes, a sword on his back, and all other manners of remorseless pieces of metal. He was much younger than most of the other men there, and his tanned skin and refined accent identified him right away as a man from Tevinter. He leaned against one of the bare wooden beams that kept the place from collapsing and called to the mage.

“My men were able to round up some more mercenaries; they cost us a bundle, but their blades should be worth it. We still need more funds to pay these men, some of my thieves have taken to robbing the nobility in the city, but it means the Empress will start to take notice of our presence.” He reported to the mage.
“There may be a solution to that, Iūrups.” the mage replied in a suggestive tone “Send some of our men to the Val Royeaux alienage to collect some elves, at least the ones who look strong enough to lift a sword.”
“Elves? Those flimsy knife-ears are about as useful in battle as the next plague-stricken beggar, François; to put them in our army would be like giving a warrior a herring instead of an axe.” Iūrups complained, his typical Tevinter distaste for anything elven was evident. But the mage was his superior and could easily sway him.

“They will be our cheapest source of sword arms, and any who won’t come freely will come by force.” François said in his casual, idle way. “If you disagree of course, the mistress can always settle it.” He suggested, knowing his adversary could not best his argument. Intimidated by the mage’s argument, Iūrups glared and turned his back on the mage. Before he vanished into the shadows of the warehouse he turned again.
“It will be difficult to ensure all those elves are armed and armoured.” He challenged François.
“I said they need only be sword arms – cannon fodder in effect, I did not say ‘our best’, just give them the bare minimum and say their lives will be better in the end.” He said, reclined into his chair, almost dozing the conversation off, dreaming of his power and ambitions extending.

                                                                                       ++++++++++

Val Royeaux was beautiful at this time of year, flowering trees in blossom, the great stone city gleaming in the moonlight, the sounds of music, laughter and city gossip formed almost formed a perfect urban symphony. The common folk would vacate to their inns and taverns and relish their rowdy excitement, and the aristocracy would partake in dancing, sightseeing, or quiet walks in the city for lovers.  She, on the other hand had been away from her home city for what felt like decades, and what would have been an everyday occurrence for her was more like a new experience, after months of absence. Ferelden reeked of wet dog, she thought, that must be remedied as soon as possible, and she will learn to see that land and all within it as I do. All foreigners to Ferelden had this almost insufferable notion that Ferelden had a dog-like odour about it, and some Fereldens argued back and Orlesian air was more perfume than actual air, but this woman’s disgust at what was a trivial matter was disturbing to everyone around her. Her appearance and well groomed, almost unreasonable hygienic nature suggested that she was once an aristocrat, but why she would throw away all her money on what some of the mercenaries called a fool’s errand was beyond them all. And she was beyond reason too, the only thing that kept her operation both behind the veil and holding together was the prospect of reward and profit.

                                                                                    +++++++++++

“Mistress?” she turned about so quickly the newcomer jerked back deeper into the shadows. It was the mage, François, he regained his poise and resumed “This desire you intend to see through, must so much expense, thievery and murder come into play when we can simply kill the girl and leave it at that? T’is such a costly revenge you plan on exacting, blind to all logic. You have my spells at your disposal after all.”
“I will take no chances with her,” she answered in a supple Orlesian voice “and you forget she has friends in high places with the power to put us on the run. I will not allow my life to be threatened by her hounding; she will suffer for what she plans to do, and Orlais will benefit from her death. And you know this, don’t you, François?”
“With all due understanding, mistress, but why can I not just use my spells to wipe her out for you?” as a mage, François had the ability to use his cunning coercion to bend others’ wills to suit his own, but his mistress was the ultimate exception. “As tempting as you offer is, to suffer from the heart and head rather than the flesh,” she responded coldly “I want her to suffer as such, no questions asked. The Grey Warden will not stop me.” François depended was driven by logic, and his mistress’s motive confused him, but his intelligence warned him against disagreement. “Of course, mistress. It shall be done.” the slick mage departed with a bow. His mistress resumed her brooding, dire machinations were being born, and Maker only knows what they would soon be.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 07 mars 2010 - 10:30 .

[Maximus741000]

I know my fanfic is mostly being ignored, but I'm putting up with it, I'll persevere because I enjoy writing it. And that maybe someone will read it.

The Open Seas

The sun rose glamorously over Highever, one of Ferelden’s most respected, prosperous and strongest cities and ports in Ferelden. A stone city situated in a stretch of hills that form the sea-facing crown of the Coastlands, Highever dates back to the days when Ferelden was a land of divided, warring lords, and was made a stone city by sea-faring trade bringing in profit which went to improving the houses of the people. It’s not just because of the land being the teyrnir of the noble and honourable House Cousland that made Highever prosperous, but thriving trade from Orlais, the Free Marches, Nevarra and Antiva, a healthy supplement of local men to become soldiers, and craftsmanship unique to Ferelden.

Recent relations with Orlais under Teyrn Bryce’s permission allowed Orlesian commerce to come into Ferelden including medicine, education, art, fine clothing and fabrics, food, soap and of course Orlesian wine; one of the finest in Thedas. This inflow of new and exciting goods had allowed Ferelden to become more sophisticated. All of that was banned of course, when Rendon Howe seized Highever from Aldanon’s family. But now, with Fergus as Teyrn, Highever is a thriving cosmopolitan city; elven living standards improved and some became more respected citizens and there were the occasional dwarven smiths and merchants, something other nations are starting to envy. The Sun had perfectly illuminated the city, and like a rooster crowing its heraldic call of the Sun’s return, the royal horns sounded, people ceased their daily errands to witness the event. The king and queen were on the move through Highever.

                                                                                        +++++++++++

After a peaceful night at Highever Castle, Aldanon set about to preparing to leave for Orlais. He had slept with mixed emotions that night; in the room that was once his bedroom when he was a young man, fond memories clung to him like when his marbari hound, Maximus imprinted on him when he was a pup, and the two were night inseparable. But there were ill memories too; Howe had attacked the castle at night, trying to sleep in the atmosphere that was where a battle took place nearly overwhelmed him. The memories of every soul in the castle fighting and dying around him anguished him inside. Fergus’s wife, Lady Elebeth did the best she could to ensure he was at ease, but even she could not ease the pain in his memories. It was Anora joined him; he was able to put it all aside, and at least have a few hours of peace. When the castle squire came into the room, both had quite a surprise. Aldanon recognised the elf’s face immediately; it was Soris, from the Denerim alienage.

“My! y-your majesty! I um, uh.” He stuttered, Aldanon chuckled mildly and bid him welcome.
“Come here my friend, no need to be shy.” He beckoned, Soris obeyed, still shaking with excitement and set about to cladding Aldanon in his golden armour.
“I had no idea you were coming here your majesty.” The elf exclaimed, struggling to fit the armour on properly.
“Didn’t you see me at dinner, yesterday?” asked Aldanon, but Soris was trying to focus still.
“I’ve just been told to prepare the guests for the voyage to Orlais, it be must exciting mustn’t it?” he conversed.
“I certainly hope so,” said Aldanon “However, it’s more likely to be an extension of Orlesian celebrations and just a few matters on the side.” he suddenly became serious and looked Soris sincerely in the eye “I sorry about the damage that was done in the alienage, and rest assured that I will take steps to ensure its reversed.”
“I certainly believe that you of all people will ensure that a change starts somewhere.” said Soris. He finished buckling the leather straps together and handing him the helmet. “Well, good luck, your majesty.” Soris was about to bow, but Aldanon gestured to say there was no need. The elf smiled in return and Aldanon left.

Despite the luxury of his royal carriage, Aldanon had to keep shift to more comfortable nooks and crannies of the carriage, so that his armour wouldn’t chafe him, much to the irritation of Anora. He kept trying to reach into his greaves as if something was physically stuck there, eventually Anora could not stomach the noises.
“Dear, will you stop fidgeting?” she told him, but Aldanon became only more aggravated.
“I can’t help it, Anora, I’ve got laundry in my greaves.” Aldanon moaned, Anora ‘s eyes widened in surprise as Aldanon pulled out a set of socks and a tattered shirt. “See what I mean?” he told her “And kings don’t’ fidget.”
“Regardless, Aldanon;” Anora asserted herself “we should discuss our duties while we are in Val Royeaux.” she took out of her purse a set of folded letters and started to read them.

“First and foremost: ‘the Discussion of post-Blight relations with Orlais’, as you told me before, Cailan kept...” she paused for a moment, as if she would turn sick for mentioning it, “close relations with Empress Celene,. Now, we must decide how to effectively deal with this. Orlais is a strong nation and it would be better if she was our ally than our foe, but not the ally Cailan wanted her to be. Second and most relevant to you: ‘Grey Warden alliances between the nations’, as you know; Amaranthine is becoming the Grey Warden base of operations in Ferelden, and they will want to draw up strategies to end the continued darkspawn attacks. And thirdly; Honourary ceremonies to cememorate your triumph over the archdemon.” she concluded, and Aldanon mulled them over.
"I like the last one better." he decided. Anora could not help but laugh.

                                                                                  +++++++++++

The carriage and its retinue itself was a sensational sight, when the populace heard that King Aldanon was coming to set sail from Highever, there was no end of pleasure and joy. The enthusiasm of Ferelden’s crowds had not died down since the death of the archdemon, the prospect of their hero being king must have sustained that. Minstrels played their tunes as the carriage trundled down the downhill road, and townsfolk sang along to them, the cheering was almost thunderous, and mighty regal and brass bands horns sounded as they came. This is the sort of fame and glory Cailan would have wanted to achieve; Aldanon thought, I wonder if he would have been proud to see his home so overjoyed.

As the carriage turned towards the docks, it took most of Highever’s guardsmen to form a path for the royal couple to pass by. Aldanon looked out toward the bay and noticed with conclusive thought that the largest ship in the harbour must be the one he and Anora were boarding. The vessel’s name was he Sea Dragon, and she was aptly named, for she was the pride of the recently growing Ferelden navy. Her prow has shaped in the form of a roaring High Dragon, which occasionally emitted fire to amuse the crowds, and dragon’s wings carved along her massive hull. Though intended at a warship, most of her armaments were set aside for the journey, to encourage a strong yet peaceful impression in Orlais.

Upon her mast was Aldanon’s personal flag, which was designed to represent a stronger, united Ferelden; it was a yellow shield upon a drawbridge on blue background, a crowned golden mabari dog rearing up bearing a sceptre to represent peace, and on his opposite the Wardens’ silver griffon with a sword in his talon representing war, both were enveloped in the Cousland House wreath under a sun, arched by stars. By the time Aldanon, Anora and the Royal Regiment arrived at the ship, they were still loading crates onto the vessel, the ship’s crew were rigging the Dragon up for the voyage and a few sailors were bidding their loved ones goodbye. When Aldanon came onto the scene, the aid of the sun making his golden armour glow with brilliance, the whole dock burst into cheering as he boarded the ship, and resumed their business once he was safely inside the captain’s cabin, leaving Anora to do the whole speech business.

                                                                                      ++++++++++

The captain, an aging man with a large moustache and a trimmed beard, was signing a few documents and quietly mumbling how the noise hindered his concentration, he was caught by surprise when Aldanon entered.
“Andraste’s fiery brand, you’re here at last! Captain Arnold Newport at your service, your majesty!” he took Aldanon by his gauntleted hand and shook him firmly, “Welcome to the Sea Dragon, your majesty! Now, are you looking forward to this voyage and visiting Val Royeaux?” he asked him enthusiastically.

“It’s been a long time since I sailed on anything, captain. But we’re all going to make the best of it.”
“And one more thing; I received some curious guests the other night: a nifty elf, an overweight dwarf, and a mabari hound. Said they were looking for you” he informed Aldanon, who’s eyes widened with surprise. And as if by response, he felt a sudden blow to his chest and fell, and he saw to his delight a huge brown mabari dog showering him in saliva and rinsing his face with his tongue, while a tanned, heavily leathered elf chuckled in the corner and a large dwarf was charging straight towards him.

“Get outta the way, dog” he shoved Maximus the dog to the side and picked me up with his huge arms laughing “Aldy, by the Stone! It’s just about sodding time!” he was squeezing Aldanon so tightly he could hear his armour creaking form the pressure. It took most of Aldanon’s strength to shake Oghren off.
“It’s good to see you too Oghren,” Aldanon said “you too, Zevran.” He clasped the elf’s hand, shaking it firmly.
“When we heard that you were off on another adventure, this time to Orlais. There was no stopping us.”
“Well, I am glad you’ve come. Might I ask about the others; Wynne, Leliana, Shale, Sten?” he asked his friends hopefully, but they both shook their heads solemnly.

“I received a letter from Wynne,” Zevran said “telling us that she might be in Val Royeaux by the time we get there, she left Shale in the care of the tevinter mages to help regain her mortality. Sten, I haven’t heard from since he left abruptly; I don’t think he means to keep in touch. And Last I heard from Leliana, she was still hunting Marjolaine who had left Ferelden lately, and was heading to Val Royeaux. So we might see her.”
“Well, that’s hope enough for me,” said Aldanon. “Let’s make something of this Orlesian excursion yet!”  He said to his friends “Now let’s set sail! Captain Arnold, tell the crew; the Sea Dragon’s voyage has begun! ”
“Gladly, your majesty!” cheered Captain Arnold. He exited the cabin and the trio left with him and took their places on deck waving farewell to the populace. But Oghren’s stomach was unsettled, and was moaning about as loudly the ship was as it steered out to sea.
“Uh, Sod it all.” he groaned “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that big breakfast. This is why dwarves don’t sail.”

Modifié par Maximus741000, 07 mars 2010 - 10:37 .

[Sisimka]

I'm reading it! And putting Oghren on a ship is fun, isn't it?

[Maximus741000]

It certainly is a humorous idea, shame it was never thought of in Dragon Age, but thanks for keeping in touch with the story.

[Maximus741000]

I know things are a bit quiet on my fanfiction forum, but persevernce does pay off, and there's still the fact I enjoy writing ths story, even though this one's more of a transition chapter.

On the Hunt

In the middle of the vast, verdant land known as the Dales was a small, lonely Inn outside the Orlesian town of Lydes by the name of the Silver Antler. It was a favourite enough destination for travellers along the imperial highway, particularly adventurers in search of the treasures from the old Elven homeland that was the Dales. Recently with the darkspawn raids and the Orlesian military spread throughout the nation in vain effort to exterminate them, small establishments like the Silver Antler are relatively unprotected, resulting in poor business. But it was this one occasion which had proved to be a boon of fortune for the proprietor of the Antler; Norman Cerledre was also a warning of the danger to come for the greater part of his home.

The past few weeks had been cruel to Cerledre and his assistant, Surilie, the darkspawn raids had left the local armed forces in hot pursuit of them, and people fleeing the region to escape the potential danger. No safety meant no staying, and no staying meant no customers for Cerledre, soon he would have to leave. But what really made that night harsher were the rainstorms, it was raining heavily in the Dales for weeks now.
“Another rotten eve and no customers, mon amie.” Cerledre mumbled dispassionately, “Is it true what the Chevaliers are saying, that there are no customers left for us to cater in the region? If we must endure another week without business we may as well abandon the establishment altogether.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if he had enough food and drink to cater, but it too is fast in dwindling. And the topper comes in the form of ill winds and storms from the southwest bearing down on us. There will be no business for the next weeks. That’s for sure.” Both men sighed resignedly. They were not expecting anything in particular to happen.

Suddenly, there was a loud wail of the wind, and the two men noticed the door opening. As if completely out of nowhere, a heavily robed and hooded figure emerged from the doorway, soaked from the rainfall. The figure was relatively short and lightly built, and moved with a grace and elegance that surprised the two lonely bartenders. The figure pulled up a chair on the far corner of the bar and laid his hooded head down on the table, and Cerledre walked gingerly over to attend to the newcomer. She wore a green cloak over a brown chantry robe.

“How can I help you, monsieur?” he asked tentatively. The figure pulled back the hood, and Cerledre was honestly stunned. She was a most beautiful young woman, with smooth sunset skin, and scarlet hair that seemed to glow like the setting sun, even in the dimmed light, her features were light and delicate, but her eyes sparkled with insight, and it could be seen in those eyes that she had seen and known much in past months.
“Mademoiselle would do,” he answered. “As for how you can help, I’d like a draught of your finest ale, and some bread, cheese and perhaps some fruit.” The two bartenders snapped into action to acquiesce to the guest’s wishes, this pleased the traveller, as she seemed to have more on her mind than food and rest. Once she had eaten and drank her fill, she called Cerledre over and asked for privacy from Surilie.

“I have come here with certain intents. I am looking for a -” she paused to find an appropriate word “friend of mine, a woman. She might not have introduced herself.” she inquired searchingly. Cerledre looked at her confused, but she had more to say “She would be fairly tall, brown hair and looked as though she may have been beautiful once, dressed quite finely and had a strong Orlesian accent.” Cerledre paused to recall of seeing a woman by the girl’s description. But then the memory struck him, and he became visibly disturbed.

“I know of whom you speak mademoiselle, though I must warn you; do not go looking for her!” he urged, his guest began showing traces of irritation and protest in her face. “She came to my inn, not two months ago, said she was running from a woman – of your very description no less. She did not tell me her name, but I could tell she was certainly deranged. But she left me with a message, that if you ever made your way here,” he paused and shook with fear; so much so, he thought he would stop talking, “we were supposed to tell you not to pursue her, else you find yourself in her grasp. And that she would kill you.” The guest showed a trace of calculating fear but soon subdued it, for it quickly turned to bold determination. She pulled out a large pouch of coins which drew Cerledre’s eye, Cerledre opened the pouch and his eyes widened in surpise, how could a travelling chantry pirest have so much money? There was something clearly out of place.

“Take these silvers, monsieur, as my thanks for the food, drink and the information.” she said and got up.
“Thank you kindly, mademoiselle,” he thanked but became stern again “But I implore you, do not go after this madwoman you spoke of, let alone by yourself.” But she had already wrapped her cloak around her body and put her hood back over her head as if she had not heard Cerledre’s words.
“I am setting forth to Lydes Docks now, and I’m taking a boat to Val Royeaux to find her. No matter what you say, monsieur, she will not see me coming.” she announced bravely, opened the door and disappeared into the foul weather. Cerledre’s memories of the recent guest’s said woman were frightening ones, she was anticipating the girl’s arrival. Maker protect her, for she knows not the danger she’s walking into, Cerledre prayed to the Maker, and may a strong soul shield her from the darkness.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 07 mars 2010 - 10:51 .

[MireliA]

You're good at painting at picture with words. And I'm interested to see where it will go

[Sisimka]

The plot thickens! I agree with Mirelia, nice descriptions.

[Maximus741000]

Thank you, both of you, for the positive feedback, it's a true encouragement. And now without any further ado, I give you Val Royeux:

Into Val Royeaux

The crew of the Sea Dragon said that she didn’t sail across Waking Sea’s vast azure vaults, but soared across them, for she was as graceful at sea as a dragon was in flight. And that gave her swiftness akin to flight than sailing. When smaller ships passed, they did well to give the Dragon a wide berth, for fear of her great armaments and fearsome appearance. Zevran seemed to be having a better time at it, training sailors to fight with his speed and reflexes and scaling the rigging, and was now sharing the crow’s nest with another sailor. The fact of the
Dragon’s graceful sailing came much to the relief of Oghren’s fears that he would be heaving up all his meals whilst on the voyage. After that he had raided the ship’s larder for food. Only to learn he had eaten the apples from the wrong barrel, and lost his appetite. When Aldanon found him he was sitting, legs stretched out, looking about as glum as an old donkey and smelling twice as bad, next to the Dragon’s head, with Maximus sleeping next to him.

“Oghren, why don’t you get up and find something productive to do?” Aldanon beckoned Oghren, who grunted gloomily. “Maybe go up into the rigging and get a good view of the Waking Sea and the nearby realms”
“I’m just having a quiet moment, Aldanon,” he grumbled grumpily “I’ll be up and about when I feel like it.”
“Oh come on, Oggers. You have for too many quiet moments while you’ve been with me. It’s odd for a dwarf.”
“I’m just feeling seasick, already!” he grunted loudly. “And since when do you call me ‘Oggers’?” he asked confused, Aldanon paused for a moment, remembering that he never used the new nickname before.
“Well, not at all until recently.” He confessed sheepishly. Oghren chuckled for a moment and smiled.
“Well, I like it, it actually sounds like me.” Having come into a visibly better mood, he pulled out a flask of beer and drank heartily, offering some to Maximus, who sniffed it and gagged disgustedly, whilst Aldanon got up and left him, pleased that at least Oghren was no longer under the weather.

                                                                                   ++++++++++

Aldanon patrolled across the Dragon’s deck impatiently, for he was eager to get to Val Royeaux, but found himself at a loss with nothing to do with the ship’s crew busying themselves with the multitude of nautical tasks. He went to the captain’s cabin to find Anora working diligently on a list of requests for Empress Celene detailing military exchanges for mutual benefaction. However she was not interested in Aldanon’s company.
“Aldanon, I’m quite busy at the moment, these forms are meant to go to Empress Celene outlining our future military relations, and I’m not finished,” she said firmly. But Aldanon was not easily deterred, less by her.

“But then there must be some level of diplomatic measures that I can take with Celene on your behalf, Anora.” he said, hopefully. Anora, however made an expression that told him that it wasn’t necessary.
“Just be patient, Aldanon,” she assured him “We’ll be in Val Royeaux soon enough, and when you meet the Orlesian wardens, you’ll have plenty to busy yourself with. As I’ve told you before; leave the Empress to me.”
This was one of the less fortunate times when he realised that at the end of the day, for all his political or military powers and regular exercising of them, he was still a figurehead, Anora would always have the final word in those affairs. He resignedly exited and rested on the stairs to the higher deck.

“Then what do you hope to accomplish when it comes to Empress Celene?” Aldanon asked. Anora thought for a moment, and gave him a curious look, as if to say ‘could you be more specific?’ so he elaborated “To start off with, Orlais does not have a high opinion of Ferelden, and we don’t exactly have anything to appease them with; no food from us, or metals, timber, minerals, and under no condition is Ferelden going to part with her war dogs or swordarms, and that leaves us with a problem: assuming we try to persuade the Empress to engage in a mutually beneficial agreement, what , within our borders, and apart from our money, can entice the Empress’s interest?” Anora looked up at him surprised by his political acumen and smiled approvingly, but became grave when she brought the subject to thought.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely certain. Orlesian trade has made many people in Ferelden lead improved lives, and people are learning from Orlais, and Orlais in return gets a large helping of sovereigns. But,” she paused and sighed, almost despairingly “I don’t think we can offer more than our good word.”
“Well, there is literature, as in my adventures,” Aldanon thought “and we can also offer them a pilgrimage passage though Ferelden to Andraste’s resting place near Haven, something we can earn a lot from.” Anora mulled his ideas over, and became visibly impressed, “Excellent points!” she exclaimed, delightedly.
“Land, ho!” a coarse sailors voice boomed from the very height of the crow’s nest, and to Aldanon’s relief and pleasure he could see it, the docks of Val Royeaux city. Soon enough, Captain Arnold was on the scene, shouting out orders so loudly, Orlais could practically hear him.
“All hands on deck!” he boomed “Brace the foreyard! Crowd that canvas! Man the oars if need be!” Aldanon went to the edge of the ship and looked out the city in which he would be seeing in much better detail soon.

                                                                                         +++++++++

Once the Dragon had landed in the bay, a large crowd of Orlesian citizens had gathered to see the Fereldans land, and to catch a glimpse of the hero who became king. As soon as Aldanon and Anora were off the Sea Dragon a young noble with auburn hair and a fair face approached them, he carried himself with an honest nobility similar to Bann Teagan, he conveyed leadership through charisma.

He took Anora’s hand and kissed it gracefully and shook Aldanon’s hand
“Greetings, your majesty, and welcome to Val Royeaux. I’m Marquis Jacques, of the Royal Family, Empress Celene’s cousin. I’ll be escorting you through Val Royeaux to Palais Royeaux. I also understand you’ve brought King Aldanon with you, I take it this is the man?” he turned to Aldanon, who in is golden armour was the focus of almost hundreds of people. He nodded his head, smiling in his usual slightly shy way, still modest.
“You stand correct, Monsieur Jacques. And rest assured we both look forward to ensuring both our lands emerge stronger from this,” Marquis Jacques was convinced by Aldanon’s convictions.
“Now then, I trust you’re all ready and eager to reach Palais Royeaux, let’s not delay further.” the Marquis announced, leading Aldanon, his companions, and the knights to their horses and Anora to her coach.

                                                                                          +++++++++

Nothing could have prepared Aldanon for Val Royeaux, in his mind’s eye she was more fair than any city in Ferelden. A grand sweeping city, of marble citadel forts situated on hills where the chevaliers resided, wrought-iron fenced areas of land left green for trees to grow and birds to sing, fabulous mansions which marked the homes of the nobility, and roads avenues decorated with flowers and trees. Monuments were commonplace too, from fountains gilded in silver, to statues of the kingdom’s emperors, and guarding the graceful Grand Cathedral, a lofty statue of Andraste stretching up into the heavens as if to rejoin her Maker.

The masonry itself was unique, it seemed almost Tevinter based, at least in terms of design, but more elaborate, graceful, and original designs were integrated, string courses to define each floor, pillar capitals carved with animal or human likenesses, arched doorways and windows and roofs capped with cornices.

They passed the Grand Plaza at the centre of the city, a great ring of downward stairs leading to a mighty obelisk, crowned with a golden sun, the symbol of the Orlesian Empire and of the Chantry, people crowded around it in prayer, admiration or reflection, or sat underneath the pillared arches to enjoy the scenery. The Grand Cathedral was one of the most dominating sights in Val Royeaux, where the Chant of Light could be heard gracefully emanating from it, elegant marble walls broken by ornately carved apses, stained glass windows depicting scenes from Andraste’s life, and towers rising on the corners of the cathedral, overarched by the bell tower.

Even the marketplaces were decorated, Aldanon managed to briefly glimpse what must have been the Avenue of Flowers, a part of the Market District that Liselle of Orlais mentioned when he first came to Denerim as a grey warden, an aromatic fragrance flowed from the street, and dresses of many colours made the avenue seem alive. Anora’s going to love this part of the city, he thought; but his thoughts drifted off and he became suddenly saddened, Maker, I wish Leliana was here. Even the houses of the common folk were a surprise to him, they were similar to the ones in Ferelden, but cleaner and well kept, their wooden beams oiled to give, and capped with brick tiles. After seeing this, Ferelden’s homes should be remedied; Anora thought, too long Ferelden has not been the envy of the world.

                                                                                +++++++++++

But one the true spectacles of the city was the Palais Royeaux. Upon entering the vast courtyard where they were to greet Empress Celene, a majestic, ornate marble façade towered over him crowned with statues of Andraste, her followers, other major orlesian figures situated on the roof, there was even a space reserved for Empress Celene. The Orlesian coat of arms was carved on the arching gable above the entrance, with graceful pillars forming the front of the palace, looking beyond this impressive front was a great dome, crowned with a smaller version of the golden Chantry Sun symbol. On the side of the main palace were two towers, both bore the Orleisan flag and sentinels could be seen, ever vigilant. Aldanon had not seen a grander residence in all his life. Beneath the vast palace was a full regiment of chevalier knights, and at the centre of it was a finely dressed company and a most regally decorated, distinctly beautiful young woman. Empress Celene and the royal family.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 07 mars 2010 - 10:55 .

[Der Tunichtgut]

I am also enjoying the story so far! I can only agree with the others that you way of creating pictures with words is wonderful! I am already looking forward to the next part!

[TheMadCat]

Nice work here.

[Sisimka]

Another good chapter, I only wish I'd described Val Royeaux so well...

[MireliA]

Good chapter - yet again great descriptions. And I agree with Oghren, Oggers does suit him as a nickname

[Palentor]

Indeed, very thorough descriptions of the settings and people involved. And lots of it.

It is and will be interesting to see where the story will lead us.

[Maximus741000]

Thank you one and all for the praise, and rest assured before long, the story will emerge. Will bring up another chapter or two before the week is out. Once again thank you, everyone!

[Maximus741000]

Now for another update; Aldanon's grand arrival into Val Royeaux has not gone unnoticed by those who lurk in the darkness.

Spies

Iūrups could tell that there was something improper in Val Royeaux, the normally vast swathes of people were suddenly lessened. Only a handful of people remained within the city, and he had not seen what was drawing their attention. He could also hear a great cheering somewhere in the south. Could it be the empress? He thought to himself. He turned and effortlessly ascended a nearby house onto its roof, but could not see the reason why. He leapt onto the wall of one of the tallest noble houses and made his way up it, once one top, he could overlook most of southern Val Royeaux. He pulled out a small telescope and looked southward towards the bay and he could see it: the Ferelden coat of arms set upon a uniquely shaped ship, in the sunlight he could pick out the armour of knights, but at the centre of it was one clad in gold; he had been told to look for a knight in golden armour and was told he was no knight, but a king. King Aldanon.

“He’s here!” he exclaimed out loud, “Aldanon Cousland is here!” as excited as he was, he wobbled and dropped the telescope. Though it came at little lament to him, he would still have to explain it to the good-for-nothing mage, François. He slid down the wall of the house and ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, swiftly back. The mistress said that King Aldanon plays a part in her grand plan, but what is it? Iūrups thought, All these great measures including an army, a mage, an assassin like myself, and a plot which involves the Fereldan king, just for revenge?

                                                                                    ++++++++++

It was easier this time to get back to the hideout unnoticed; there were fewer guardsmen, so he did not have to worry about stealth. He found the decrepit warehouse, ran up to the door and produced the secret knock. As soon as it was opened, he practically threw himself within and slammed the door loud enough to make the old building tremble. He looked as if he was he was being hunted by the guards; panting as he went in, he startled the other residents. François got up from his chair and left a bit of stolen bread he was chewing on, he looked curiously at Iūrups, who as soon as he caught his breath began to report.

“Mage, he’s here.” He panted heavily, handing the broken remains of the mage’s telescope.
“What are you talking about, fool? Who’s here? What have you done to my telescope?” François demanded, striding towards him. Iūrups slumped onto a chair and downed a nearby bottle of wine he had saved.
“The king, Aldanon of Ferelden has landed in Val Royeaux.” He replied as soon as his breath was caught.
“King Aldanon of Ferelden?!” their mistress’s voice pierced the air once again, this time much closer. Iūrups felt a cruel, hard grip his leather armour, pulling him towards the shadows where his mistress lurked.
“Yes, my sly mistress.” He choked; her tightened hand dangerously close to his throat. Her eyes suddenly became visible to him; they held a manic pleasure in that chilled his spine.

“He’s the one.” she hissed excitedly “He’s the one we bring to his knees. Have you sighted her yet? Is she with him?” Iūrups hesitated, become more afraid as her eyes flashed from frenzied satisfaction to terrible anger.
“I know not, mistress” he said; fear strangling him “I did not see her with him. What does he matter anyway? Is he the one who nearly killed you?” he asked, suddenly he was flung back headfirst against a wooden beam
“Keep your grubby hands out of where they don’t belong, Tevinter slime!” she snarled “Get back to your spying! Get back to the docks, and don’t come back until you spot that little demoness!” her voice rose to as shriek as she had almost stepped out of the shadows and assaulted him completely, but not before he had escaped her blows and scurried out of the warehouse.  The mistress called François Aundar to her, they assembled and awaited interestedly, she was twitching with mad anticipation.

“Aundar, you must go into Val Royeaux with a few mercenaries as possible and await my word. When my spy reports her return, you must mobilize the mercenaries to trap her. François, see if you can get closer to King Aldanon, get good look at his weapon and bring a sketch of it back to the smith. Perhaps our man on the inside can help to that end; I also want you to prepare the necessary components for the trap. When she comes into Val Royeaux, I will notify you, my mage,” she turned to François “to order the other mercenaries to march and join Aundar, there he will trap her and bring her to me. Then we move against Aldanon.”
“Mistress, must such a dangerous, hostile act be committed, once we so much as lift a finger against him, he or his knights or the chevaliers would finish us of.” François stammered in fear, his mistress turned a hostile eye to the mage demanding an answer “We could simply capture her and bring her to you, and you could deal with her as you pleased, otherwise...” before he could finish, his mistress suddenly grabbed him by his robe and held a blade to his throat. The hapless mage struggled to be free of the point but Aundar restrained him.

“My revenge will go as I intended it to be, not how you would like it. Now go and do my bidding.”
“It will be done, my mistress. And fear not, for we are not all cowardly worms of mages” Aundar growled and turned a smug eye at the defeated mage; Aundar bowed respectfully, selected his men and left promptly. François opened a trapdoor near the fireplace and descended beneath the floor. The Mistress slunk back into the dark, lost in thought once again. Revenge. I will have my sweet revenge.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

Empress Celene

Aldanon dismounted his steed and joined the head of the Royal regiment and removed his visor, Anora was at the head of the Ferelden embassy preparing to greet the Empress. Once he had a clear view of Empress Celene, he could not have been more taken aback. Shimmering blond hair that seemed to shine like a river of gold which complemented her golden, ruby encrusted tiara, her emerald eyes depicted a mixture of cunning intelligence and witty charm, her silver sack-back gown with closed bodice and panniers, trimmed with padded bands of blue satin, chenille blonde lace, flowers of gathered ribbon, feathers and raffia tassels. He could see that her beauty was enough to lull a man like Cailan under her influence, but Aldanon had to maintain a strong will whenever it came down to her. Anora approached the empress and bowed respectfully.

“Greetings, Queen Anora Mac Tir of Ferelden,” the empress smooth, accented voice radiated.
“Greetings and well met, Empress Celene,” Anora’s voice now seemed drab in comparison to Celene. Aldanon was now really struggling not to be impressed by Empress Celene’s external beauty, he made a point about his sincerity towards Anora by promising not to take up any mistresses; but here the Empress, it seemed as if two months of limited lady contact were suddenly being compensated for.

“I recall you once referred to me as ‘a solitary rose among brambles’, your majesty,” said Anora.
“Pft, that’s disputable!” Zevran muttered to Oghren, who grunted nodded his head in agreement.
“Then discussing political cooperation with you should be intriguing, yes?” Celene returned, “I’ve also been told you’ve found a worthy husband, none other than the one who had slain the archdemon, where is he?” Aldanon stepped forward and took off his helmet, revealing himself to the Empress, bowing low, and taking her hand delicately and kissed it. His parents had taught him to be courteous for days such as this one, had they learned he would be gracing Empress Celene of Orlais, they would have sooner believed he’d rode a griffon.

“It seems Anora chose her husband well, for he’s every inch as fearsome and bold as the bards sung” she said to her courtiers, she then turned to Aldanon “Rest assured, your majesty, you will play a major part in the peace between our lands,” she smiled to Aldanon, who was now overwhelmed by the excellent experience.
“I will also make sure to see Val Royeaux’s finest facets before I leave, with your blessing of course, your majesty.” in truth, he did not know how to address the Empress; she chuckled smoothly and gestured calmly.
“You need only refer to me as Celene, Aldanon, for we are to be friends in this endeavour, yes?” she said.
Aldanon nodded in agreement.

“Truer words were never spoken. If I may ask, Celene, are the Orlesian Grey Wardens present at Palais Royeaux? I’m sure they’re anxious to learn of the current state of affairs.” As he said this, his stomach churned, for all his quality, he harboured the darkest of secrets; he resorted to dark magic to save his life. Soon he became lost in an ocean of his thoughts that overcame his reality.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

 Before his status as king-consort to Anora, he was in love with the wild, sultry sorceress of the Korcari Wilds, Morrigan. He fell under her spell because of years of courting young noble daughters, who were either snobbish or tedious, Delilah Howe being one of them. In Morrigan, he saw an exotic mystery of a woman that intrigued him like never before; he had given her many gifts from silver bracelets, golden necklaces, a golden mirror he found in Orzammar, to both of her mother’s grimoires.

He had clashed with his companions over the fact that he liked her a lot, including Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne. It wasn’t easy for them to accept a man of noble upbringing find fancy in a callous shrew of an apostate. Morrigan eventually succumbed to the ideas of love for his happiness. But on the eve of battle, she offered him a way to survive the death of archdemon; to father a child for the Old God spirit to live in. Their previous intimacy had made the option seem plausible, even desirable. When the battle was over, based on his blurred vision of the battle’s aftermath, she turned into a bird and flew off the top of Fort Drakon.

He wanted to ensure Alistair would at least live to lead and rebuild the Ferelden Grey Wardens, while he ruled as king. Even though the consequences of his subconscious selfishness had not been seen, the Orlais Wardens would have been in the very least interested in the event. What made it worse is that everybody knew it was he who had slain the archdemon. His skin paled and he froze in fear, all he could see was a fog of memories of Morrigan, the archdemon, and the night.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

He suddenly snapped back into consciousness, gasping loudly, he had not heard any of the response to his inquiry for Empress Celene. Everyone around him looked at him confused and worried. To them, he suddenly looked as if he’d returned from a nightmare. Celene soon overcame her anxiety and took over.
“But come, now, you must be tired. I will lead you to the drawing room,” she beckoned them “We will make further introductions later.” she gracefully turned about and led both groups into the palace. One of the palace guards took Aldanon’s mabari, Maximus by a leash and led him first to Aldanon.

“I will be taking your canine friend to the royal kennels,” he motioned to the furthest part of the palace grounds, and was about to leave when Aldanon held up a hand inticating to wait. He bent down to Maximus, who was whining sadly about leaving him for a further few more hours, Aldanon rubbed Max’s head and said
“Don’t worry, Max, you’ll get your chance to spend some time with us in Val Royeaux. Be a good dog and don’t grace the royal poodles with your presence”, when he finished, Max cocked his head and whined curiously, but barked in agreement, and nuzzled Aldanon. “I’ll see you later.” he said

                                                                                    ++++++++++

The palace itself was another tribute to the richness and sparkling beauty of Val Royeaux. Aldanon struggled to take it all in. The walls of the entry hall were white and decorated with gold linings, on each roof segment were intricate and stunningly lifelike portraits of Orlesian lords and chevaliers, some of Chantry personages, and some grey wardens. They had passed three individual drawing rooms before reaching their destination; they were all similar, fragrances hanging in the air, armchairs and sofas of varying fabrics and colours (at least in appropriate styles and colours), portraits, gold lining, murals of graceful spirits and animals, and elegant carpet floor. In one particularly vast room was the library, which must have held twice as many books than all the nobility estates in Denerim combined. In another room, the court musician played an elegant tune on what one of the Palace nobles explained to him was a harpsichord. Anora had been visibly agitated by Aldanon’s sudden lapse from reality, strode over to Aldanon, with a look on her face as if Aldanon had embarrassed her in public.

“Aldanon, what it the Maker’s name was that all about?!” she demanded in a hushed voice “We were making an important first impression on her, and she answered your question, but you had to nod off didn’t you?”
“I had no intention of doing it on purpose, Anora, it just happened.” Aldanon said defensively “And it’s not like you’ve never seen it. The truth us you have, haven’t you.” Anora was perturbed by this truth; she had after all intended the meeting with Celene to be a clean one. But ever since Aldanon defeated the archdemon, he sometimes succumbed to an impenetrable sea of thought that clouded everything around him, and shut his consciousness down, even once slowed his pulse to a stopping point; it was as if he was supposed to be dead.
“You are correct,” she said, “it has happened before, but don’t let it happen again. Empress Celene must be impressed by us and our conviction to strengthen peace between Ferelden and Orlais.”

                                                                                    ++++++++++

When they reached the living room, Aldanon was beckoned to sit closest to Empress Celene, as if she had not been daunted by the earlier event. Anora sat with another group of Palace courtiers with some Ferelden banns near in another part of the living room. On Celene’s opposite sat a man with a surprisingly gaunt face despite his middle age, with pitch black hair and a longer goatee and moustache than Aldanon.
“You must be King Aldanon Cousland, you’ve played a part that secured Orlais from disaster. You should be proud.” His voice was an even, persuasive one which gave Aldanon a curious feeling of discomfort, which was increased when he kissed Celene.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Aldanon asked as he tried to keep his voice composed rather than indignant.
“I am Duke Claude d’Aubrac, the Emperor-consort of Empress Celene.” Aldanon’s eyes widened in surprise. “I understand that you and I share similar roles to our wives, except my title extends to full authority, not a mere symbol like yourself.” His eyes narrowed at Duke d’Aubrac’s inconsiderate comment. Maker’s breath, he thought, this is who Celene chooses for a husband; a giant prat of a duke with a skull face? He just managed to prevent a frown sprouting on his face, remembering Celene was there, keeping calm here was imperative.
“My title may be ceremonial in part, my Duke, but Anora regards me as her equal.” He retorted coolly, d’Aubrac considered him carefully, as if studying him for weaknesses. Celene motioned him to stop it.

“Claude, save your severity for another occasion, and for other personages, this man is an honoured guest. To challenge him is unworthy of you.” she scolded him, in a manner similar to Aldanon’s father, Bryce. “Please forgive him, Monsieur Aldanon, his duchy was assaulted by darkspawn. Though he won, his brother perished.” This still did little to lessen Aldanon’s seemingly irrational dislike for him; he suddenly understood how Alistair felt with Morrigan’s psychological probing. He glanced across the room to see Anora in heated discussion with the palace courtiers, which meant he was not really needed, politically.

“I think I would like to get changed for the evening, your majesty.” He told Celene “I will see you at dinner.”
“As you wish, Aldanon. See you at dinner. And before you go, the Orlesian Wardens arrive tomorrow at noon.” Aldanon had almost forgotten about that, he was relieved to have removed it from his concern. He was also surprised to see that her eyes betrayed that she seemed to understand what he had went through, but they were also reassuring, he would feel no embarrassment about it. With other men, it would cause stir and misunderstanding, but with him it was different. It was if people trusted him almost immediately, a trait shown in King Maric, and his mother and father, even Alistair. Suffice to say he was lucky.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 03 mai 2010 - 03:30 .

[Sisimka]

Interesting developments. I wonder if our mysterious stranger from two chapters ago will arrive in time to foil the assassin's plot?

[A Puzzled Mind]

You've got a new fan. Though I wished the Warden was wearing Dragon Plate instead of the gold armor. Crimson red armor is so much more frightening and most scary when you equip the glowing eyes Blood Dragon helmet.

[Maximus741000]

@Sisimka, I'm glad you're still interested, and not to worry, all will be revealed concerning the assassin and the stranger.



@A Puzzled Mind, a new fan is always welcome, as for my choice in Warden armour, it was because after becoming King, Aldanon took up Cailan's armour. But I have no doubt he still kept Wade's mighty dragonbone plate armour for war.

[Maximus741000]

My apologies for the somewhat late update, the week left me rather busy, but I hope it's not too late;

Dinner with the Empress

In Palais Royeaux, luxury was beyond vitality, as soon as Aldanon left the Empress’s company, an elven servant introduced himself and offered to lead him to his bedroom and to his friends who had already made themselves comfortable, to which Aldanon accepted willingly. As he saw more of the palace, he became more astonished and impressed similar designs and portraits, motifs and murals and to what he saw on the first level were as plentiful upstairs as well as downstairs. There were a few differences, though; there were more desks laden with candles of numerous shapes and varieties, antiques such as pots and sculptures and miniature statues, antiquities such as family swords which hung on the wall, in addition to portraits of the family. Soon it became certain that he did not need his palace guide, he could hear the boisterous, tongue-in-cheek banter of Oghren and Zevran from a mile off. He made his way to one of their rooms and leaned in the doorway, casually watching their witty repartee from a safe distance.

“I warn you, you bleedin’ Antivan! Keep your sodding perversions out of my things, or I’ll fart in your room.” Oghren’s rowdy, gruff voice boomed out, but the elf remained poised an undaunted by the dwarf’s threat, knowing he had the upper hand with the incense in Oghren’s beard, which he had washed out with a jug of water and his head was dripping readily, and seeping into his black Legion armour.
“You and what army, stumpy?” challenged Zevran, smugly, but his adversary was not backing down, by this moment he would have grabbed his axe and cleaved him in two, but his weapons had been taken to the smith.
“Ha! That’s a nickname, not an insult. Branka always used to call me that, you skinny bisexual!” he scoffed.
“When you two are done with the lovers’ quarrel, perhaps we could talk” Aldanon interjected, the two opposites quickly spun their heads to face him, their challenging faces becoming casual. “That’s better,” he resumed “The empress will be seeing us at dinner, 7 o’clock, so that leaves us two hours, which means I will need to dress appropriately for the event. This is something new to me after all; dressing in Orlesian style.”

“Well, why the sod have you come to us for?! You interrupted my finishing off the elf.” Oghren boomed.
“You would have to be three feet taller before you could finish me for anything, stocky.” The elf retorted and turned to Aldanon, “It just so happens I might be able to help you there.” Aldanon’s face shot up in surprise “Indeed,” Zevran continued “There was this one time when I served the Antivan Crows that I had to pose as a finely dressed squire to an Antivan Count who was on a diplomatic mission to Orlais. The rest of the story is quite long, and you can probably guess it anyway. Nonetheless, I’m your man when it comes to Orlesian finery.” Aldanon sighed in relief, “Ah, good,” he said, “because I would not want to come down looking to military, the Orlesians will think that’s all we are, they always want room for the finer things in life, besides -” He heard footsteps coming towards the room. It was Anora and Marquis Jacques walking side by side in formal discussion. When Jacques met eyes with Aldanon, he bowed respectfully.

“Greetings once again Monsieur Aldanon, I trust you’ve found Palais Royeaux pleasing?” he asked earnestly.
“To say the least,” Aldanon said beaming at the young noble “However, might I ask of the Duke Claude? He gave me the strangest and rudest comment in that drawing room. Like everything I do seems to offend him.”
“He’s fought long and hard to help cease the darkspawn raids in our lands, his brother’s death upset him greatly,” Jacques told him with a degree of gloom in his voice “He also lost his father during the Orlesian Occupation of your country, he was the Chevalier commander at the battle of River Dane, Claude was just a young man then, they say that it was your Teyrn Loghain who killed him at the battle.” Both Aldanon’s and Anora’s eyes widened in surprise, Aldanon could now see the striking similarity between the two men now.
“So he distrusts Fereldans on principle?” Anora asked, and Jacques nodded gravely.
“Anyway,” Aldanon changed the subject, “Dinner in Orlais is quite reputable, or so we are told, so we’d like to settle down first and then prepare for dinner.” He asserted. Jacques smiled
“Very well, Monsieur, perhaps we may speak more later.” He said, and turned to leave. Now, to find a decent suit, Aldanon thought, we're going to be here all night.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

When the servants presented the palace’s rich collection of dinner suits, Aldanon found himself at a loss for choice. He was surrounded by outfits of many colour and meant for many occasions, but having been at war for many months, and preferring to don his armour, he simply had no method of deciding. He had been studying them for a great deal of time, and his advisor, Zevran was growing impatient, and started pacing to and fro.
“I don’t see anything a sensible man would wear to a dinner party.” He concluded, but Zevran stared at him in disbelief. “You are joking!” he exclaimed “You have military officer suits, both naval and army, blazers of differing colours and a refined selection of trousers. That’s the gentleman’s winning card.” Aldanon was unconvinced however, all these elaborate styles and designs were unfamiliar to him, due to Ferelden being a bit set back in terms of style, and continued to ponder them confusedly.

“What it is; is an asphyxiating assault on the body, which inhibits breathing, and limits your posture in uncomfortable ways. As of I was trapped in a drakeskin straightjacket. This is why we have clothes that are more practical than showy in Ferelden.” He firmly stated; but his case was still not helping Zevran. “Look, Aldanon, if you don’t like any of this stuff, we can always ask Jacques to choose for you.”
“I’ve told you before, if I let the man choose a suit, he’ll chose the showiest one, which in a practical sense will be the hardest on the body.” He resumed studying the line of suits carefully, and singled a possible candidate. It was a dark red, ceremonial style cutaway tailored coat over a waist-length satin waistcoat and dark breeches, coupled with a white shirt has a small turnover collar. “What do you think, Zev?” he asked, the elf made a relieved expression and said teasingly; “I think you’d better put it on before the Empress disinvites you.”

                                                                                    ++++++++++

Aldanon met Anora at the end of the staircase, and was relieved that he had opted her radiant orange dress and had adorned her usual hairstyle with an assortment of the Empress’s pearls. This was one occasion when he felt his marriage to Anora was not as damning as Alistair believed. When they came down to the banqueting hall, Aldanon had never seen such a fantastic array of cuisine in all his life, even the celebratory feasts he had as the young master of Highever were paltry by comparison, and his victory feast in Denerim only just reached the point of extravagance. He was told that Orlsian dinner was never second-best, that was soon to be proven correct. The table must have been 30 feet long and twice as immaculate, neatly laid with a; napkins freshly pressed and decorated porcelain dishes and silver cutlery. When his tongue embraced the stunning display of tastes, he realised what Leliana meant when she would have to eat Ferelden style meals, this is too good to be eaten so gracefully, he thought, Maker’s breath...I love Orleisan food!

The assortment of starters was too many to choose from soup de jour to exotic coastal dishes; the diversity of drinks was unbelievable; from wines to ales and an Orleisan specialty; champagne. The main courses, for there were many, were unfathomable, from perfectly roasted meat joints of many varieties to lobster joined by hearty roast potatoes and succulent vegetables. And for dessert; cakes, puddings, fruits, and a selection of cheeses with bread, joined with tea. Aldanon tried to sample as many of these as he could, but found himself at a loss, for he could only go so far despite his hunger. But was reassured laughingly by Celene that he would have his chance the not night.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

He was invited to sit near the head of the table, where the Empress sat; on Celene’s right, his opposite sat Claude d’Aubrac in a similar suit; a black military uniform reserved for commanding officers or nobility, decorated with medals of differing statuses. He still carried his taciturn, reserved, Loghain-esque manner, and would consistently refuse conversation with Aldanon, but Aldanon would still occasionally catch him giving him a studying look, and would defer to Celene and the other nobles for conversation. Fortunately, to counter this character was Marquis Jacques, who was dressed much less extravagantly; for he wore a plain coat with wide revers, a small stand-up collar, and deep cuffs.How I’m supposed to become accustomed to all these styles is beyond me, Aldanon thought.

But as he soon found that while opinions from the nobility varied from honest admiration to conceited disdain, the idea that the Empress would honour and decorate a Fereldan was more disgust than surprise and that it was only a measure of peace. However there was one friend he made with certainty that dinner; Jacques. He believed that the aristocracy should exist to inspire and serve the people as much they served them, and that the Empress could help change that – starting with the poor way in which the Chevaliers treated the peasantry. They were champions of Orlais, not wanton tyrants; at least that’s who they were meant to be. Orlais needed to be less imperialistic but remain regal, retaining her individuality. Both Aldanon and Anora agreed on this, but Anora also suggested that Orlais also formed a governmental branch that served the country as the Ferelden Landsmeet did, Jacques protested firmly, stating that Orlais would not abandon traditions in which the aristocracy wields the power; lest the country fall to anarchy. But he did believe that the harsh way in which Orlesian nobles wielded power needed to be remedied.

                                                                                    ++++++++++

When Aldanon finished, he retired to the next level to prepare to rest, but before long he caught Zev and Oggers halfway upstairs in mid-banter, something about breaking a wind in a baroness's room.
“Don’t try to blame me, dwarf,” the elf retorted blandly, “I didn’t ask you to fart in the baroness’s room. I was only commenting that it smelt lovely in her bed chamber.”
“Well, what did you honestly expect me to do?” Oghren asked with incredulity, “Waltz in and adorn it with roses and ribbons?” he continued sceptically, Zevran rolled his eyes in exasperation, “But it’s supposed to smell lovely, and I was getting to know her. How she’s going to get that dwarven smell out of her clothes, I really don’t know.” But Oghren scoffed, disappointed that his banter-buddy did not take to his crude humour.
“Oh, sod off!” he grunted finally. Aldanon smiled fondly, entered his bedchamber and was eager to get out of that tight dinner suit and found a set of regal red pyjamas. Once he was finished washing up for the night, he found Anora waiting in his bed, with a silver revealing nightdress, smiling daringly. He knew what it meant.

Modifié par Maximus741000, 07 mars 2010 - 11:10 .