149 réponses à ce sujet

[Sandtigress]

Hurrah, she's staying! But who is Fergus' wife, hmm? Ohhhh, I bet I know who it is!!!

[Sisimka]

I'm guessing too! Whee! I love this story, BT!

[bloodtallow]

N.B. The story Fergus' wife tells in this chapter plays around a bit with Chantry hierarchy. I made these changes because I didn't think it would make sense for Fergus to be making mundane inquiries of the Divine herself. So - random Revered Mother in the Grand Cathedral it is!
-------------------------

Chapter Nine, Part Two

The teyrna of Highever sat reading a book in the castle study, her lap filled with the sleeping form of the teyrn-apparent. As though she had already been expecting him, she shut her book as Alistair entered, giving him a warm smile. But when she saw who had entered the room behind him, she gasped, her vivid blue eyes wide.

"Neria!" She whispered, though Alistair was certain that if her son had not been sleeping in her arms she would have leapt up to embrace the Hero of Ferelden in her usual effusive manner.

"Maker's breath! I didn't know you were here!"

The teyrna smiled, and Neria met her smile in turn, crossing the room to take the other woman's outstretched hand in greeting.

"It is so good to see you, Leliana," she said quietly, kissing the bard on the cheek.

Leliana looked from Neria to Alistair, her face a pleasant mixture of surprise and happiness. Then, taking care not to wake her child she stood and walked to the door.

"Let me put him to sleep in the nursery. Then we can talk."

But as she spoke, the child stirred, yawning sleepily, before turning to his mother and her guests with a broad smile.

"Cookie?" he asked, small hands twining in her hair as Leliana laughed.

"Then I misspoke, my dear ones," the bard smiled, looking from her son to Alistair and Neria. "To the kitchen we go, instead."

She led them down the bustling castle corridors to the kitchen, Neria walking close beside her, forcing a slight but palpable distance between herself and Alistair. Neria's face was still unreadable when she looked at him, as it had been during their conversation in the atrium, and now she turned deliberately to speak with her old friend. Alistair followed both women down the hallway, listening to them catch up on lost time.

"He has your eyes," Neria was saying, looking from Leliana to her grinning baby.

"And my hair. But my little Bryce has his father's chin." Leliana smiled.

"I... I had no idea you were married. When did you..."

"Almost three years ago, now. I saw Fergus in Orlais, after I tracked down Marjolaine." The musical lilt of her voice never faltered, though for one instant her eyes hardened, and Alistair knew that Leliana had finally managed to end whatever hold her former lover and mentor had had upon her. Then the hardness was gone, and Leliana laughed.

"It was his first time to Val Royeaux, and he was hopelessly lost. He had a meeting with one of the Empress' ambassadors, but had stopped for afternoon prayers at the Grand Cathedral. Well, unbeknownst to him, when he arrived there, he wandered into the novice's quarters, instead of the main cathedral chamber."

"Maker, no!" Alistair said. Though he had heard the story before, he always enjoyed it when Leliana chose to tell a tale.

"Wouldn't they have thought he was trying to become a cloistered brother then?" Neria asked, eyebrow quirking with amusement.

"Indeed. They took his clothes and shoes, and dressed him in Chantry robes. But since he was new to Orlais, Fergus just thought it was how worship was conducted in Val Royeaux. He sat through the prayers, but when the time came for him to leave, he couldn't find his clothes, and none of the priests would tell him where they were kept. And when he asked the Revered Mother for help, she tried to turn him over to the templars!"

They had reached the kitchen, and Leliana led them inside, finding a cookie for her son, and some tea for the adults. They sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"But didn't she know who he was?" Neria asked.

"She didn't believe him, and he had no proof. He had even taken off his signet ring. Novices aren't allowed to wear any jewelry, after all. Apparently, not even his accent changed her mind. She thought he was just some urchin, or a madman who had escaped from the docks.

"Fortunately, I was staying in the chantry then, and I was able to convince the Revered Mother of his identity." She smiled. "Though we never did get his clothes back."

They all laughed, even baby Bryce, who clambered up onto his mother's lap for a hug, before slipping down again to
toddle around the kitchen.

"I'm glad to see you doing so well." Neria said, smiling.

"And I you," Leliana trilled. "I see life in the Free Marches and beyond has been full of adventures."

Neria shrugged as Leliana rose to make tea from the hissing kettle.

"I suppose so."

"And you are a Dalish mage now? Oh, but I wish I could have been with you for some of your journeys."

Neria's eyes darkened as she looked across the table to Alistair.

"Well, that's partly why we've come." Alistair said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he could. He paused, watching the toddler wobble his way around the room, cookie half-forgotten in his chubby hand.

"Leliana, I never wanted to ask this, especially not now, with Bryce. But I don't know who else to ask..."

"Alistair," concern colored Leliana's lilting voice, "tell me already."

He took out the last letter he had written at the Tower and looked at the ink-spattered parchment for a moment.

"I need you to find Morrigan," he said, pressing the letter into her hands, "and give this to her. Her life, and--" he broke off before saying the words, gazing at the letter as though it were penned in poison, or blood.

I never thought I would have to write it.

"Morrigan's child is in danger."

Modifié par bloodtallow, 17 mars 2010 - 03:56 .

[Sisimka]

Great chapter! So excited to see Leliana and I LOVED the story about Fergus in the Chantry! classic. And Morrigan's child. So much. *taking a deep breath* We need more!

[Sandtigress]

Ohhh it keeps getting better. Love it love it love it. Keep it coming! Go finish Awakening fast so you can write us some more!

[Ardonia]

Oh the the baby with the old god soul is a great twist

[SRWill64]

This is probably the 3rd or 4th fanfiction story I have read. Yours is, by far, the most captivating and charming. Your handling of the characters is supurb (though I am surprised that Alistair didn't have tears welled up in his eyes at the fall of the Tower), and they feel so much like the in-game characters. I especially LOVE Ogrhen's 'Lets show them ours hearts and then show them theirs!". It was one of the best lines he had, and fresh in my mind, since I just finished the game today. Alistair is an awesome king and so assertive if you harden him before the Landsmeet. Someone mentioned they would love to meet that Alistair in the game. He's there and mine was that Alistair. And then I married him....Love that man!

[bloodtallow]

Thanks, SRWill64! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, and this version of King Alistair! Thanks for reading!

Modifié par bloodtallow, 18 mars 2010 - 01:37 .

[Freckles04]

Finally got caught up. This is still excellent!

[Kulkodar]

lovely tale! I agree with the comments on the "adult" Alistair. You've done him justice, I think.Thoroughly enjoying your storytelling

[SRWill64]

When are you going to write more? I am chomping at the bit to read more! Isn't it terrible to have fans waiting on you to write more?

[bloodtallow]

Okay, I finally finished Awakening, and can get back to writing. I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow at the latest. Thanks, everyone, for your support!

Modifié par bloodtallow, 22 mars 2010 - 02:30 .

[bloodtallow]

Chapter Ten

Leliana's eyes widened, and Alistair knew she  was remembering a conversation from many years ago, when he had told his closest friends the truth of what had happened the night the Archdemon died. Neither Leliana nor Oghren had turned from him then, and over the years Alistair believed their friendships had fared far better with them knowing the truth. He had not expected the past to suddenly collide  with the present.

Neria sat silent in her chair, looking down at the mug of tea in front of her. But when Alistair looked at her she met
his eyes, and rose.

"Leliana, may I take Bryce for a walk? I bet he'd love to meet the halla."

"Oh, indeed," Leliana said, giving Neria a brief smile. "Be good to your aunt Neria," she said, kissing her son's cheek as Neria lifted him into her arms.

"Now, young man," Neria said, as Bryce giggled and tugged at her hair, "it's time to introduce you to my friends. They're very fond of children."

Alistair waited for the door to shut behind them before turning back to Leliana.

"Do you remember the stone Simon found in the forest, about five years ago? How we sensed power in it, but the mages couldn't get it to work? Neria says it's a pathway... a way to speak with the gods. The Tevinter Imperium stole it from the elves, and now the darkspawn wish to use it  to find the next old god."

"Maker's breath." Leliana sighed, her smile fading to a grimace.

"It gets worse," Alistair said, taking a sip from his half-cold cup of tea.

"The darkspawn have been far more strategic than they could ever be on their own. Both times they've come against the stone they've nearly destroyed us. It's like some other force is commanding them - something that knows where to
search for the godstone and how to fight against us."

"A general of darkspawn?" Leliana's blue eyes looked like they were filling with tears.

"Perhaps. I don't know. But we cannot let them get to the stone. If they reach it... If they use it, they could find one of the slumbering dragon-gods. Or, they could find Morrigan's child."

Grimly, Alistair pressed on, speaking faster.

"When she left, Morrigan swore an oath to me, that neither she nor her child would ever again enter the borders of Ferelden. But if the darkspawn know about the stone, it's possible they know other things too."

Like where Morrigan went after the Blight, or that her child is Urthemiel reborn.

"I need you to find her and call her back. Or..." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache that threatened there. "Or if that is not possible, convince her to seek amnesty in Orlais. The Wardens there should protect her, even if..."

Even if it means admitting what we did.

For ten years he had hidden the true reason he and Neria had survived the Archdemon's defeat. The Wardens of Orlais and the Anderfels had never accepted his explanations for the event, but his resolute silence had finally ceased
their more open questions. He smiled darkly, picturing the rash of inquiries Morrigan would receive were she to seek their protection.

"I cannot let them find Morrigan. And I know she would never trust me to give her the news myself, if I could even find her. She made me swear I wouldn't come searching for her, that I would never see..."

Leliana placed a hand on his arm and squeezed gently.

"It is all right, Alistair. I will find her, and the child."

"I..." He could think of nothing to say, and instead drew Leliana to him in a grateful hug. "Thank you."

"But, I will ask of you that while I am gone, you ensure Bryce's safety, and that of Fergus."

He nodded fiercely.

"I swear it."

Leliana took his arm as they left the kitchen and walked together to the castle's main hall.

Fergus was sitting at one of the dining tables, sharing a round of ale with some of the crown soldiers and bouncing Bryce on his knee, as Neria was clearly trying to lighten the mood by finishing up a ribald story about a nug, a badger,
and a bar of soap. The teyrn's hearty laugh turned to a happy smile as his wife entered the room. Hopping up from his seat with Bryce in one arm, he made his way over to her and kissed her cheek.

"Will you join us for dinner, my dear? Or would you rather get to bed early?"

Alistair and Neria both smiled at Fergus' baldfaced invitation, though the Warden mage's smile, like his own, failed to reach her eyes.

It was Leliana who stepped easily into the breach, beaming at Fergus, Alistair and Neria alike. She led her husband back to the dining table, sitting close to him on the bench, and pouring more ale for the assembled company.

"A light meal, my husband, then I must take my leave. Please tell the captain of the Giselle that I will be ready to sail on the morning tide."

"You're sailing to Orlais? But the next diplomatic visit isn't for another six months." Fergus' voice fell in surprise and disappointment, but Leliana gave him a ready smile.

"The king has a special appointment for me, love. And it will give me a chance to use my too-neglected talents of persuasion and intrigue, no?" Her voice was warm and airy, and Alistair felt another, far more genuine smile cross his face as he marveled at how easily Leliana was able to lighten any mood.

"Oh, I don't know," Fergus said, calling for more ale and a fresh platter of food from the kitchens, "you use your
powers of persuasion often enough for me, my love."

They ate again, for Fergus was all too eager to display the finest cheeses and ales of Highever, and talked of lighter things. Then Neria and Leliana left to put Bryce to bed, and, Alistair knew, to speak more about the godstone. Alistair and Fergus discussed the coming day over a last tankard of ale, before the teyrn led the way to the castle guest quarters and said goodnight.

Eager to rest his aching legs after the long days of travel, Alistair opened the door to his room.

Neria was sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, hands clasped about her knees as she stared at the glowing embers. She looked up as he entered, but if she saw the surprise on his face, she made no signal. Instead, she frowned, and then looked darkly back at the hearth.

"Do you ever regret what we did?"

The question startled him in its bluntness, though he knew immediately what she was asking. Slowly, wincing at the pain in his tired legs, Alistair sat on the edge of the guest bed, allowing his gaze to wander, like hers, to the fire.

"Oh, I regret so many things." He said, smiling bitterly as he pictured Duncan's face, Anora's last smile, the first time Wynne fell down while learning to walk and he wasn't there to catch her. Of course he regretted that night before battle. Even ten years later he couldn't think about it without feeling the familiar taste of ashes on his tongue, or the creeping chill along his spine.

But, he laughed grimly to himself, that regret had paled over time. And in its place had grown a bitterness he had never expected to feel, at not knowing what had become of that child - whether it had Morrigan's eyes, or his own
hair which still stuck up in the front. What its first word had been, and when it had taken its first steps. What dreams it had, what plans and hopes for the future.

Many times in his dreams over the years, he would picture Wynne and the child playing together, weaving flower chains, chasing butterflies, and going on wild adventures to defeat pirates and brigands in the shadows of the palace library. And then he would remember what Morrigan's child was, and the dream always faded.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"I think it's past the time when either of us should feel regret over that. Morrigan was true to her word. And whatever we did - whatever we... made... well, it hasn't aided the darkspawn. Or caused another Blight. Not yet."

Neria looked thoughtful.

"All the more reason to safeguard the Vhen'talennahr."

As if the words were a spell releasing releasing her from her thoughts, she nodded.

"I will go speak to my lieutenants and prepare the halla for the journey."

"Neria--"

He stopped, unsure what he even meant to say.

"Good night."

Modifié par bloodtallow, 22 mars 2010 - 02:35 .

[Ardonia]

bloodtallow what is your real name as your work does you great credit and I for one would love to praise the person not the persona.

[Freckles04]

Very nice, bt!

[Sisimka]

Just dropping to check for updates! (No pressure... hehe)

[SRWill64]

LOVE IT! Keep it coming!

No Pressure....LOL Loved that line! I couldn't stop laughing for a few minutes after that line. Alistair is SO funny.

[bloodtallow]

Chapter Eleven - Pieces

Leliana sailed on the
morning tide, carrying with her the trappings and equipment to pose both
as a noble lady or a bard, as the need demanded. She and Alistair had
both agreed that the fewer people who knew about Morrigan's child the
better, outside of the Grey Wardens themselves. And so the teyrna would
arrive in Val Royeaux acting in her usual role as diplomat and emissary
of Ferelden. Alistair had even penned a letter to Empress Celene,
requesting a reinstatement of their trade agreement, should Leliana need
the Empress' help in her search.

Fergus had commissioned another
ship for the Free Marches, but the captain was completing repairs, and
would not be ready to sail for another two days. So today, Fergus,
Alistair, Neria and Bryce accompanied Leliana and her handmaidens to the
docks.

Fergus held his wife close, kissing her brilliant hair.

"Oh,
Alistair," he sighed, as he and Leliana parted, "if you were anyone
else, I'd refuse your request. But I know my wife is the best rogue you
could ask for."

"I won't send her into danger, my friend,"
Alistair said, "I promise."

"Don't worry, husband. I promise I
shall stay away from the Revered Mother, should my path take me to Val
Royeaux. And besides, I am sure Emeline and Sophie are eager to show off
their skills, yes?"

She smiled at her attendants, twin elf
sisters who had joined Leliana's service during her years in Orlais.
Alistair knew these women had helped Leliana bring justice to
Marjolaine, and though he had never met them before, he could see why
now. Like Leliana, both women held themselves gracefully, doing justice
to every silk ribbon and glimmering jewel on their court dresses. But
beneath their stately appearance, he could just see the daggers sheathed
in their boots, or the poisoned darts concealed in the lace frills of
their sleeves. Leliana would be well-prepared for any trouble her search
might give her.

Though I hope she has no need to use any of
it.

Leliana gave Alistair and Neria each a smiling hug,
before kissing her husband again and turning to go.

Bryce began
to cry as Leliana boarded the ship, flailing his chubby fists and
kicking at his father, as Fergus shook his head and blew a final kiss to
his wife. Then, half laughing, half smiling in sympathy, Fergus turned
to his son.

"Hey now, don't cry little man. I know how you feel,
for I feel it too, every time she leaves." He held the toddler firmly in
both arms, kissing the boy's ruddy forehead.

"But you know, she
always comes back."

#

With their sea voyage delayed,
Neria's Wardens had turned out into the sun-drenched castle courtyard
for exercise. At first, they stood apart from the crown soldiers and
Fergus' men, sparring with one another, their elven blades whirling. But
by mid-day the Green Griffons, as Fergus began calling them, had broken
their formations and integrated easily with the other troops. Groups of
men, dwarves and elves scattered in easy bunches across the training
fields, practicing archery or hand-to-hand combat. When Fergus broke
their training for a mid-day meal, brought outside in baskets and
barrels of ale since the day was so fine, Alistair was pleased to see
the previous tensions had melted away under the summer sun, and that the
Dalish, soldiers and teyrn's men alike were enjoying the light-hearted
chatter which Fergus and his entourage so easily supplied.

Bryce
was a feature at the mid-day meal, for it seemed every soldier present
took it upon themselves to make the toddler forget his mother's absence.
He was given the sweetest strawberries, and the freshest cream, and
even allowed to approach Shann, the gentle halla matriarch, and pet her
nose.

When the time came for Bryce's afternoon nap, Alistair
asked Fergus to grant him a sparring session. His legs and arm still
pained him, and he could feel the weakness there, but that, he told
himself, was all the more reason not to get out of practice. Fergus
accepted, grinning, and led the way to the racks of practice armor he
had brought outside for the day's training. Fergus chose a worn set of
Cousland chainmail for the bout, while Alistair selected the lighter
weight of an aged set of splintmail. It took only a few minutes before
they had donned swords and shields, and were walking out to a corner of
the dusty courtyard.

Fergus saluted, and Alistair returned the
gesture, smiling, as they circled each other.

"Always the
gentleman, Fergus?" He prodded good-naturedly.

"Of course, Your
Majesty," Fergus said, making the first attack, a ringing glance off of
Alistair's shield followed by a quick thrust of his blade which Alistair
parried, smiling.

"Though my wife has taught me that being a
gentleman is a far more diverse arena than I had ever suspected."

They
circled again, the dust rising from their footsteps, trading attacks
and parries, both men slowly building the momentum of combat, as
Alistair tested his new-found footing.

He had sparred with Fergus
many times since becoming king, the teyrn's ready friendship and
steadfast devotion to the crown coupled with Amaranthine's proximity to
Highever making them an easy pair in politics and combat. After Fergus'
marriage to Leliana, the teyrn's skill had grown steadily, clearly
benefiting from the combat training Leliana provided. His attacks were
faster than Alistair's own, despite still using a shield and sword, and
he was always moving, shifting weight and balance, never attacking from
the same side twice.

Sweating beneath his heavy armor, his limbs
complaining from the exertion, Alistair focused his mind, summoning
forth the clarity and single-mindedness he had learned as a templar,
surging forward to meet Fergus' next attack with a heavy triple blow of
his shield and a pivoting downward slash of his blade.

But Fergus
had dropped to the dirt, rolling out of range of his sword and
releasing the straps from his own shield arm. In another movement the
teyrn was on his feet again, pulling a dagger from his belt and
switching to a lower, looser stance. He did not attack, simply waited
for Alistair's next advance, and when it came he ducked and rolled away
again, landing a glancing blow on Alistair's sword arm.

Alistair
widened his own stance, sweeping sideways with his shield against
Fergus' longsword, and making a swift undercut below range of his dagger
hand, landing a blow of his own on the teyrn's leg.

A muted cry
sounded from several mouths nearby, and Alistair realized they had
gathered an audience as the fight went on. The soldiers sparring on the
practice field had stopped their exercises, and were grouped along the
walls of the courtyard, watching the new spectacle. Alistair was on the
verge of shaking his head, when he caught Fergus' eye. Amusement
sparkled there like a sprite, and together, teyrn and king shared a
grin, nodding together as they reached the same decision.

The
lightning speed, Fergus began a new assault, longsword and dagger
cutting the air in two before raining hail upon Alistair's shield.
Alistair grunted, throwing back the attack with the full force of his
shield, and turning his sword to parry the teyrn's next attack from the
side. But Fergus was out of reach again, twisting and tilting to find a
weak point before pouncing again like a hunting mabari. Alistair blocked
the teyrn's longsword, shield ringing, but Fergus' dagger slashed under
his guard. He hissed as the blade cut flesh beneath a hole in his
practice armor, but spun backward, mirroring Fergus' own turn, and
raising his longsword to meet the other man's.

Their blades
clashed together, twin metals hissing as they pushed against each other,
their teeth gritting in strained smiles, looking for an opening.
Fergus' leg lashed out below the barrier of the shield, just as Alistair
kicked out with his own foot to break the stalemate. And then it
happened. Alistair felt the plates of their care-worn armor lock
together as they kicked against one another and began to laugh.
Hopelessly tangled, they fell together, sprawling sideways in the dirt,
swords landing in a clatter next to them.

"Well," Fergus said,
spitting sand from his mouth, as Alistair, half pinned beneath his own
shield, tried to separate his own armor from the teyrn's, "I suppose
that settles it then. The splintmail wins it."

The crowd around
them dissolved into amused laughter, as Fergus and Alistair, covered in
sweat and dust, pulled themselves to their feet and clasped hands.

"I
do believe the lady teyrna has shown you how to be a rogue, Fergus,"
Alistair smiled. "Leliana bested me many times with that move, too."

"Then
she's bested us both, my friend, for she at least would have gone into a
match with a decent set of armor."

He pointed at the gaping hole
now torn in Alistair's splintmail during their scuffle.

"I
suppose it's time to consign that old mess to the scrap-heap."

"Oh,
I don't think it's time to retire the king just yet, Lord Fergus,"
another voice answered them.

Neria had approached, bandages
ready in her hands as she waited for both men to climb out of their
bedraggled armor. Then she inspected the teyrn for injuries before
turning to Alistair.

"I'm glad to see you're healing well," she
said, binding off his arm, a quirk of amusement turning the corner of
her mouth.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at her sudden humor and
the light-heartedness of the day.

She smiled back, her eyes
roguish and sparkling, before turning to join the soldiers and Wardens
partaking of yet another feast from the castle kitchens.

#

The
next day dawned early and bright, all clouds chased away by the hot
sun. The castle lay languid in the heat, and Alistair, tired from the
his skirmish and the late-night revels of the day before, rose later
than he had planned. He penned a letter to Wynne, telling her to be on
guard for Antivan brigands in the palace drawing room, before wandering
through the shadier of the castle's corridors and out into the gardens
overlooking the training fields.

A half-squadron of crown
soldiers and the more determined of Fergus' men were sparring in the
courtyard, but it seemed that most were either indoors or seeking shade
elsewhere. Alistair could not help grinning when a handful of Dalish
Wardens approached the sweaty skirmishers, bearing a number of halla
with them. With some joking and laughter, the Wardens managed to
convince three soldiers to take a chance at riding the strange beasts,
and soon the motley group was walking across the fields to a line of
trees in the distance.

With a sudden will to stretch his legs,
coupled with the hope of finding cooler shade within the forest,
Alistair set off to follow them. He went slowly, feeling the sun bake
out the last aches and pains from the day before, while sending the
sweat running down his back.

As he had hoped, the forest was dark
and cool compared to the heat of the castle and its surrounds. He
walked for a few minutes, listening for a brook or stream, and was
rewarded to find a small pond, shaded from the sun by the arms of some
silver birches. From some distance away, he could hear the sounds of
some of the crown soldiers, and perhaps a laugh or two from some of the
Dalish Wardens. He sat against the trunk of one of the trees, and shut
his eyes. Instinctively, he searched outward, senses reaching for any
sense of the taint, almost smiling to himself as he realized the
darkspawn would be the perfect antidote to the laziness of a summer day.
But nothing answered. The forest was safe.

He sighed softly,
glad for a moment of stillness, before opening his eyes again and
watching the sunlight filter through the dappled leaves.


On the
far side of the pond, a lone deer had wandered down to the water, and
after listening intently for a moment, its ears flicking back and forth,
it lowered its head to drink.
 It hadn't seen him, hidden as he was
behind the birches, or it paid him no mind. Either way, he was glad to
watch it in silence, feeling the sweat cool on his skin.

Alistair
was just as shocked as the deer appeared to be when an arrow lodged in
the creature's chest.
 With a cry the deer collapsed thrashing on the
ground, as Alistair tensed, standing as quietly as he could, looking for
the attacker.

A green-clad figure emerged from the trees,
moving swiftly to the deer, an iron dagger shining in her hands. 
Then
Neria knelt over the deer like a shadow, moving deftly as she performed
the killing blow. Immediately the frantic calls ended, and the deer's
legs kicked no more.


"Ma serannas, lethallan. May Falon-Din
guide your spirit to the forests of the Beyond. And there, may you know
peace."

The elf mage bowed her head, eyes closed. Then, sharply,
as though she could see through the trees that obscured him, she spoke.

"You
may come out now, Alistair. I promise I won't shoot you too."


Maker.

He sighed, releasing breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
With leaves rustling and twigs snapping under his feet, Alistair crossed
to the opposite side of the pond.


"I'm sorry," he said, feeling
as though he had stumbled upon something he should not have seen.
Awkwardly, he sat down beside her.

"I didn't realize there was
anyone here."


"Nor should you have, or I would be a poor hunter
indeed." She tilted her head, wiping her bloody blade on her armor,
looking for all the world to him like a wild elf, unknown and alien.

And
suddenly he could not help laughing aloud, head lifted to the sky like a
boy, as he remembered that this was the same woman who had shared his
food, his stories, his battles, and Maker knew how many other things,
before they ran off to defeat the darkspawn and end the Blight.

"What?"
Neria watched him, eyebrow quirked.

"It's just so strange," he
smiled. "Seeing you, now, I would never have imagined that you, a mage
of the Circle, would look at home in leathers, hunting wild beasts."

He
closed his eyes for a moment, picturing her as he had once known her,
angry and shivering, completely amazed that Ferelden could contain so
much rain and mud and wild savage creatures and darkspawn, things
she had only read about in books at the Tower, furious at the muck and
blood and grime covering her mage robes and smearing her face.

"And
yet, here you are, and it suits you better than... well, better than I
would have expected."


You found something out there.
Something more than the books and the rigid lectures at the Circle.
Something beyond...

For a moment her face was unreadable, and
he thought yet again how hard it was to tell her expressions from
behind the tattoos on her cheeks. Then Neria nodded and smiled.


"It's
certainly a step up in the world for me, after being a thorn in the
side of the templars for so long."


"Oh, you were never a
thorn..." he blurted without thinking, before realizing she was speaking
of something else entirely. He fell silent, feeling the color rise in
his cheeks.

For a moment they gazed at the lake together in
silence. Then she turned to him, a wry smile on her face.


"Would
you like some of the deer's heart? The Dalish believe that it has great
restorative powers."


"Oh, no," he said quickly, trying to keep
his voice calm, "I ate a big lunch."


"Very well, suit yourself.
More for me, then." She grinned at him with a flash of unmistakable
mischief in her eyes, before returning her gaze to the rippling waters
of the pond.


"Hmm." He said, shaking his head at himself for
rising to her bait.

It's good to know some things haven't
changed.

"So, a hunter of deer now, not just a slayer of
ogres and demons." He leaned back in the grass. "Why didn't you use
magic to kill it?"

She had used magic for everything when he met
her, from lighting fires to cleaning her clothes, to cooking their
dinners, as though every step she took away from the Tower made her more
liberated, safe from the templars and the rules of the Circle. Free for
the first time ever, she told him, to use magic as it was meant to be
used. But now, she bore an ironbark hunting bow, hefting it as easily as
it it too were made by magic.


"Most of my magic makes the meat
taste strange. Not to mention that in Arlathan, the children would be
exposed to the energy of my spells. I learned to hunt this way to avoid
contaminating them."


"Children? Of the Grey Wardens?" His voice
rose with curiosity, eager to unlock more of the puzzle she held before
him, a ten-year-old mystery of Joinings and travels and rebuilding he
had not seen.

"Some. Most are orphans or children of clan members
who have not taken the Joining but who wish to serve with the Wardens.
Like Zevran."

Her voice was even, her expression neutral, but
something lurked there, in the flash of her eyes.


"Like Zevran?"
He repeated, keeping his voice low, trying to pose the question as
delicately as he could.
 Neria paused, her face unreadable.


"Indeed,
Zevran has a child in Arlathan. Her name is Anielle."

"And
you?" He spoke without thinking, and winced as a shadow fell over her
face.

"No." She whispered, eyes dim.

And as if she had
just slammed a door between them, her face hardened and she stood,
lifting the carcass of the deer as she did so, before and nodding to him
stiffly.


"I must prepare this for the evening meal. Good day,
Your Majesty."

#

They stared at each other across the
table, silent as the dining hall filled with the scent of roasting
venison, and those assembled, Highever soldiers and crown soldiers and
Wardens alike, remarked at the treat of having yet another grand meal.
Fergus was in his element, serving wines and ale and cheeses and soups
spiced from the castle herb gardens, before carving the deer himself and
presenting the first two pieces, smiling, to Alistair and Neria.

"May
this be the last of our troubles," he said firmly, smiling at them, and
raising his glass in a toast. "Now that the king and the Hero of
Ferelden have joined forces again, may the darkspawn know that their
days are numbered."

"Hear hear!" The room rumbled, as eager
soldiers drank to fulfill Fergus' wish.

Neria smiled back at the
teyrn, nodding at his toast and sipping from her mug. But when Alistair
looked at her, her face fell, and he knew she shared his doubts.
Tomorrow, the Dalish would take the godstone to the Free Marches. But
the stone was only one piece of the mystery which surrounded them. He
sighed and took another drink from his tankard, hoping that somewhere in
Orzammar, Oghren was finding more answers.

The revels were dying
down and most of the soldiers had returned to their rooms when Fergus'
chief of staff entered the main hall.

"Your Grace... Your
Majesty, a messenger has arrived from Orzammar. He says it's urgent."

"Show
him in." Fergus nodded.

The soldier entered, his armor
travel-stained, though he did not look injured. Alistair recognized him
as one of Oghren's soldiers.

"Lieutenant Tavers, isn't it? Is
everything all right in Orzammar?"

"Your Majesty, the general is
headed to the Deep Roads. He told me to give you this. Said you'd know
what it meant."

Tavers took a leather satchel from his shoulder
and placed it on the table with a thud.

Alistair opened the
satchel, grunting with surprise as a heavy dwarven mace slid out of the
leather and rolled onto the table. His face darkened as he saw the dried
blood on the head, and the stamp of the house of a Paragon on the
pommel.

"That's Branka's."

[bloodtallow]

OK, my internet browser hates me right now and is not letting me make format changes on the latest chapter. So please bear with the formatting difficulties until I can browbeat my internet into behaving!

Edit: And yes, I know. Double post. Sorry for the technical issues! I'll get it resolved as soon as I can.

Modifié par bloodtallow, 24 mars 2010 - 08:55 .

[bloodtallow]

Chapter Eleven - Pieces



Leliana sailed on the morning tide, carrying with her the trappings and equipment to pose both as a noble lady or a bard, as the need demanded. She and Alistair had both agreed that the fewer people who knew about Morrigan's child the better, outside of the Grey Wardens themselves. And so the teyrna would arrive in Val Royeaux acting in her usual role as diplomat and emissary of Ferelden. Alistair had even penned a letter to Empress Celene, requesting a reinstatement of their trade agreement, should Leliana need the Empress' help in her search.



Fergus had commissioned another ship for the Free Marches, but the captain was completing repairs, and would not be ready to sail for another two days. So today, Fergus, Alistair, Neria and Bryce accompanied Leliana and her handmaidens to the docks.



Fergus held his wife close, kissing her brilliant hair.



"Oh, Alistair," he sighed, as he and Leliana parted, "if you were anyone else, I'd refuse your request. But I know my wife is the best rogue you could ask for."



"I won't send her into danger, my friend," Alistair said, "I promise."



"Don't worry, husband. I promise I shall stay away from the Revered Mother, should my path take me to Val Royeaux. And besides, I am sure Emeline and Sophie are eager to show off their skills, yes?"



She smiled at her attendants, twin elf sisters who had joined Leliana's service during her years in Orlais. Alistair knew these women had helped Leliana bring justice to Marjolaine, and though he had never met them before, he could see why now. Like Leliana, both women held themselves gracefully, doing justice to every silk ribbon and glimmering jewel on their court dresses. But beneath their stately appearance, he could just see the daggers sheathed in their boots, or the poisoned darts concealed in the lace frills of their sleeves. Leliana would be well-prepared for any trouble her search might give her.



Though I hope she has no need to use any of it.



Leliana gave Alistair and Neria each a smiling hug, before kissing her husband again and turning to go.



Bryce began to cry as Leliana boarded the ship, flailing his chubby fists and kicking at his father, as Fergus shook his head and blew a final kiss to his wife. Then, half laughing, half smiling in sympathy, Fergus turned to his son.



"Hey now, don't cry little man. I know how you feel, for I feel it too, every time she leaves." He held the toddler firmly in both arms, kissing the boy's ruddy forehead.



"But you know, she always comes back."



#



With their sea voyage delayed, Neria's Wardens had turned out into the sun-drenched castle courtyard for exercise. At first, they stood apart from the crown soldiers and Fergus' men, sparring with one another, their elven blades whirling. But by mid-day the Green Griffons, as Fergus began calling them, had broken their formations and integrated easily with the other troops. Groups of men, dwarves and elves scattered in easy bunches across the training fields, practicing archery or hand-to-hand combat. When Fergus broke their training for a mid-day meal, brought outside in baskets and barrels of ale since the day was so fine, Alistair was pleased to see the previous tensions had melted away under the summer sun, and that the Dalish, soldiers and teyrn's men alike were enjoying the light-hearted chatter which Fergus and his entourage so easily supplied.



Bryce was a feature at the mid-day meal, for it seemed every soldier present took it upon themselves to make the toddler forget his mother's absence. He was given the sweetest strawberries, and the freshest cream, and even allowed to approach Shann, the gentle halla matriarch, and pet her nose.



When the time came for Bryce's afternoon nap, Alistair asked Fergus to grant him a sparring session. His legs and arm still pained him, and he could feel the weakness there, but that, he told himself, was all the more reason not to get out of practice. Fergus accepted, grinning, and led the way to the racks of practice armor he had brought outside for the day's training. Fergus chose a worn set of Cousland chainmail for the bout, while Alistair selected the lighter weight of an aged set of splintmail. It took only a few minutes before they had donned swords and shields, and were walking out to a corner of the dusty courtyard.



Fergus saluted, and Alistair returned the gesture, smiling, as they circled each other.



"Always the gentleman, Fergus?" He prodded good-naturedly.



"Of course, Your Majesty," Fergus said, making the first attack, a ringing glance off of Alistair's shield followed by a quick thrust of his blade which Alistair parried, smiling.



"Though my wife has taught me that being a gentleman is a far more diverse arena than I had ever suspected."



They circled again, the dust rising from their footsteps, trading attacks and parries, both men slowly building the momentum of combat, as Alistair tested his new-found footing.



He had sparred with Fergus many times since becoming king, the teyrn's ready friendship and steadfast devotion to the crown coupled with Amaranthine's proximity to Highever making them an easy pair in politics and combat. After Fergus' marriage to Leliana, the teyrn's skill had grown steadily, clearly benefiting from the combat training Leliana provided. His attacks were faster than Alistair's own, despite still using a shield and sword, and he was always moving, shifting weight and balance, never attacking from the same side twice.



Sweating beneath his heavy armor, his limbs complaining from the exertion, Alistair focused his mind, summoning forth the clarity and single-mindedness he had learned as a templar, surging forward to meet Fergus' next attack with a heavy triple blow of his shield and a pivoting downward slash of his blade.



But Fergus had dropped to the dirt, rolling out of range of his sword and releasing the straps from his own shield arm. In another movement the teyrn was on his feet again, pulling a dagger from his belt and switching to a lower, looser stance. He did not attack, simply waited for Alistair's next advance, and when it came he ducked and rolled away again, landing a glancing blow on Alistair's sword arm.



Alistair widened his own stance, sweeping sideways with his shield against Fergus' longsword, and making a swift undercut below range of his dagger hand, landing a blow of his own on the teyrn's leg.



A muted cry sounded from several mouths nearby, and Alistair realized they had gathered an audience as the fight went on. The soldiers sparring on the practice field had stopped their exercises, and were grouped along the walls of the courtyard, watching the new spectacle. Alistair was on the verge of shaking his head, when he caught Fergus' eye. Amusement sparkled there like a sprite, and together, teyrn and king shared a grin, nodding together as they reached the same decision.



The lightning speed, Fergus began a new assault, longsword and dagger cutting the air in two before raining hail upon Alistair's shield. Alistair grunted, throwing back the attack with the full force of his shield, and turning his sword to parry the teyrn's next attack from the side. But Fergus was out of reach again, twisting and tilting to find a weak point before pouncing again like a hunting mabari. Alistair blocked the teyrn's longsword, shield ringing, but Fergus' dagger slashed under his guard. He hissed as the blade cut flesh beneath a hole in his practice armor, but spun backward, mirroring Fergus' own turn, and raising his longsword to meet the other man's.



Their blades clashed together, twin metals hissing as they pushed against each other, their teeth gritting in strained smiles, looking for an opening. Fergus' leg lashed out below the barrier of the shield, just as Alistair kicked out with his own foot to break the stalemate. And then it happened. Alistair felt the plates of their care-worn armor lock together as they kicked against one another and began to laugh. Hopelessly tangled, they fell together, sprawling sideways in the dirt, swords landing in a clatter next to them.



"Well," Fergus said, spitting sand from his mouth, as Alistair, half pinned beneath his own shield, tried to separate his own armor from the teyrn's, "I suppose that settles it then. The splintmail wins it."



The crowd around them dissolved into amused laughter, as Fergus and Alistair, covered in sweat and dust, pulled themselves to their feet and clasped hands.



"I do believe the lady teyrna has shown you how to be a rogue, Fergus," Alistair smiled. "Leliana bested me many times with that move, too."



"Then she's bested us both, my friend, for she at least would have gone into a match with a decent set of armor."



He pointed at the gaping hole now torn in Alistair's splintmail during their scuffle.



"I suppose it's time to consign that old mess to the scrap-heap."



"Oh, I don't think it's time to retire the king just yet, Lord Fergus," another voice answered them.



Neria had approached, bandages ready in her hands as she waited for both men to climb out of their bedraggled armor. Then she inspected the teyrn for injuries before turning to Alistair.



"I'm glad to see you're healing well," she said, binding off his arm, a quirk of amusement turning the corner of her mouth.



"Thank you," he said, smiling at her sudden humor and the light-heartedness of the day.



She smiled back, her eyes roguish and sparkling, before turning to join the soldiers and Wardens partaking of yet another feast from the castle kitchens.



#



The next day dawned early and bright, all clouds chased away by the hot sun. The castle lay languid in the heat, and Alistair, tired from the his skirmish and the late-night revels of the day before, rose later than he had planned. He penned a letter to Wynne, telling her to be on guard for Antivan brigands in the palace drawing room, before wandering through the shadier of the castle's corridors and out into the gardens overlooking the training fields.



A half-squadron of crown soldiers and the more determined of Fergus' men were sparring in the courtyard, but it seemed that most were either indoors or seeking shade elsewhere. Alistair could not help grinning when a handful of Dalish Wardens approached the sweaty skirmishers, bearing a number of halla with them. With some joking and laughter, the Wardens managed to convince three soldiers to take a chance at riding the strange beasts, and soon the motley group was walking across the fields to a line of trees in the distance.



With a sudden will to stretch his legs, coupled with the hope of finding cooler shade within the forest, Alistair set off to follow them. He went slowly, feeling the sun bake out the last aches and pains from the day before, while sending the sweat running down his back.



As he had hoped, the forest was dark and cool compared to the heat of the castle and its surrounds. He walked for a few minutes, listening for a brook or stream, and was rewarded to find a small pond, shaded from the sun by the arms of some silver birches. From some distance away, he could hear the sounds of some of the crown soldiers, and perhaps a laugh or two from some of the Dalish Wardens. He sat against the trunk of one of the trees, and shut his eyes. Instinctively, he searched outward, senses reaching for any sense of the taint, almost smiling to himself as he realized the darkspawn would be the perfect antidote to the laziness of a summer day. But nothing answered. The forest was safe.



He sighed softly, glad for a moment of stillness, before opening his eyes again and watching the sunlight filter through the dappled leaves.




On the far side of the pond, a lone deer had wandered down to the water, and after listening intently for a moment, its ears flicking back and forth, it lowered its head to drink.
 It hadn't seen him, hidden as he was behind the birches, or it paid him no mind. Either way, he was glad to watch it in silence, feeling the sweat cool on his skin.



Alistair was just as shocked as the deer appeared to be when an arrow lodged in the creature's chest.
 With a cry the deer collapsed thrashing on the ground, as Alistair tensed, standing as quietly as he could, looking for the attacker.



A green-clad figure emerged from the trees, moving swiftly to the deer, an iron dagger shining in her hands. 
Then Neria knelt over the deer like a shadow, moving deftly as she performed the killing blow. Immediately the frantic calls ended, and the deer's legs kicked no more.




"Ma serannas, lethallan. May Falon-Din guide your spirit to the forests of the Beyond. And there, may you know peace."



The elf mage bowed her head, eyes closed. Then, sharply, as though she could see through the trees that obscured him, she spoke.



"You may come out now, Alistair. I promise I won't shoot you too."




Maker.
 He sighed, releasing breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. With leaves rustling and twigs snapping under his feet, Alistair crossed to the opposite side of the pond.




"I'm sorry," he said, feeling as though he had stumbled upon something he should not have seen. Awkwardly, he sat down beside her.



"I didn't realize there was anyone here."




"Nor should you have, or I would be a poor hunter indeed." She tilted her head, wiping her bloody blade on her armor, looking for all the world to him like a wild elf, unknown and alien.



And suddenly he could not help laughing aloud, head lifted to the sky like a boy, as he remembered that this was the same woman who had shared his food, his stories, his battles, and Maker knew how many other things, before they ran off to defeat the darkspawn and end the Blight.



"What?" Neria watched him, eyebrow quirked.



"It's just so strange," he smiled. "Seeing you, now, I would never have imagined that you, a mage of the Circle, would look at home in leathers, hunting wild beasts."



He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing her as he had once known her, angry and shivering, completely amazed that Ferelden could contain so much rain and mud and wild savage creatures and darkspawn, things she had only read about in books at the Tower, furious at the muck and blood and grime covering her mage robes and smearing her face.



"And yet, here you are, and it suits you better than... well, better than I would have expected."




You found something out there. Something more than the books and the rigid lectures at the Circle. Something beyond...



For a moment her face was unreadable, and he thought yet again how hard it was to tell her expressions from behind the tattoos on her cheeks. Then Neria nodded and smiled.




"It's certainly a step up in the world for me, after being a thorn in the side of the templars for so long."




"Oh, you were never a thorn..." he blurted without thinking, before realizing she was speaking of something else entirely. He fell silent, feeling the color rise in his cheeks.



For a moment they gazed at the lake together in silence. Then she turned to him, a wry smile on her face.




"Would you like some of the deer's heart? The Dalish believe that it has great restorative powers."




"Oh, no," he said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm, "I ate a big lunch."




"Very well, suit yourself. More for me, then." She grinned at him with a flash of unmistakable mischief in her eyes, before returning her gaze to the rippling waters of the pond.




"Hmm." He said, shaking his head at himself for rising to her bait.



It's good to know some things haven't changed.



"So, a hunter of deer now, not just a slayer of ogres and demons." He leaned back in the grass. "Why didn't you use magic to kill it?"



She had used magic for everything when he met her, from lighting fires to cleaning her clothes, to cooking their dinners, as though every step she took away from the Tower made her more liberated, safe from the templars and the rules of the Circle. Free for the first time ever, she told him, to use magic as it was meant to be used. But now, she bore an ironbark hunting bow, hefting it as easily as it it too were made by magic.




"Most of my magic makes the meat taste strange. Not to mention that in Arlathan, the children would be exposed to the energy of my spells. I learned to hunt this way to avoid contaminating them."




"Children? Of the Grey Wardens?" His voice rose with curiosity, eager to unlock more of the puzzle she held before him, a ten-year-old mystery of Joinings and travels and rebuilding he had not seen.



"Some. Most are orphans or children of clan members who have not taken the Joining but who wish to serve with the Wardens. Like Zevran."



Her voice was even, her expression neutral, but something lurked there, in the flash of her eyes.




"Like Zevran?" He repeated, keeping his voice low, trying to pose the question as delicately as he could.
 Neria paused, her face unreadable.




"Indeed, Zevran has a child in Arlathan. Her name is Anielle."



"And you?" He spoke without thinking, and winced as a shadow fell over her face.



"No." She whispered, eyes dim.



And as if she had just slammed a door between them, her face hardened and she stood, lifting the carcass of the deer as she did so, before and nodding to him stiffly.




"I must prepare this for the evening meal. Good day, Your Majesty."



#



They stared at each other across the table, silent as the dining hall filled with the scent of roasting venison, and those assembled, Highever soldiers and crown soldiers and Wardens alike, remarked at the treat of having yet another grand meal. Fergus was in his element, serving wines and ale and cheeses and soups spiced from the castle herb gardens, before carving the deer himself and presenting the first two pieces, smiling, to Alistair and Neria.



"May this be the last of our troubles," he said firmly, smiling at them, and raising his glass in a toast. "Now that the king and the Hero of Ferelden have joined forces again, may the darkspawn know that their days are numbered."



"Hear hear!" The room rumbled, as eager soldiers drank to fulfill Fergus' wish.



Neria smiled back at the teyrn, nodding at his toast and sipping from her mug. But when Alistair looked at her, her face fell, and he knew she shared his doubts. Tomorrow, the Dalish would take the godstone to the Free Marches. But the stone was only one piece of the mystery which surrounded them. He sighed and took another drink from his tankard, hoping that somewhere in Orzammar, Oghren was finding more answers.



The revels were dying down and most of the soldiers had returned to their rooms when Fergus' chief of staff entered the main hall.



"Your Grace... Your Majesty, a messenger has arrived from Orzammar. He says it's urgent."



"Show him in." Fergus nodded.



The soldier entered, his armor travel-stained, though he did not look injured. Alistair recognized him as one of Oghren's soldiers.



"Lieutenant Tavers, isn't it? Is everything all right in Orzammar?"



"Your Majesty, the general is headed to the Deep Roads. He told me to give you this. Said you'd know what it meant."



Tavers took a leather satchel from his shoulder and placed it on the table with a thud.



Alistair opened the satchel, grunting with surprise as a heavy dwarven mace slid out of the leather and rolled onto the table. His face darkened as he saw the dried blood on the head, and the stamp of the house of a Paragon on the pommel.



"That's Branka's."

[Sandtigress]

I like your Fergus, bt, and I still love your Alistair!!! Zevran with a child...will we get to meet her? Pretty please?

[Sisimka]

"But you know, she always comes back."



This line, I'm REALLY worried about this line. *frowns*



(Fantastic, as usual, BT)

[Kahlmulandr]

Sisimka wrote...

"This line, I'm REALLY worried about this line. *frowns*

Agreed its like starting a game and finding out one of the four party members does not have any special equipment...

[bloodtallow]

Now why would you think I was about to do something awful to Leliana?

After all, she's just going to Orlais...

Thank you all for reading!

[Kulkodar]

Enjoyable tale Blood. Unusual twists and turns here and there... I'll be watching for more, definitely. You're doing well keeping personalities intact. Leli better not get into too much trouble!