Excellent chapter, your bloody good at this ^^
MOAAARRRR
FanFiction/Art - Final Chapter (Aedan), (12/27) Interludes
Débuté par
Sisimka
, févr. 25 2010 05:06
#276
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 04:28
bl00dsh0t
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Yeesss blood ;D Okay im creeping myself out now
Excellent chapter, your bloody good at this ^^
MOAAARRRR
Excellent chapter, your bloody good at this ^^
MOAAARRRR
Retour en haut
#277
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 04:45
Sandtigress
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Stupid assassins. Leave Alistair alone! *shakes a big stick at them*
Great chapter, Sisi, I loved the picnic in the garden!! Alistair definitely needs to have kids so he can piggyback them around! :-D
Great chapter, Sisi, I loved the picnic in the garden!! Alistair definitely needs to have kids so he can piggyback them around! :-D
#279
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 06:12
Maximus741000
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Most excellent! Sisimka, your writings always have the ability to fill me heart with joy in one moment, grief in another, and amazement in the end. Those assasins made a bad move, shooting down an Orlesian man, now Ferelden and Orlais will have to unite to see Anora, or what might be her, put to justice.
#282
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 08:01
Sisimka
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Glad you all enjoyed the chapter. Sorry about the delay! Um...Awakening? Hehe.
#283
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 11:14
Kulkodar
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oh fine. leave us hanging...again! 
Ok, so I'll try to be patient.
Ok, so I'll try to be patient.
#285
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 11:59
Sisimka
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I am hoping to post a new chapter today, but here is what I've been working on in the meantime:
I did this one to go with my story More Than Friends which is about Aedan and Leli's first kiss.
I did this one to go with my story More Than Friends which is about Aedan and Leli's first kiss.
Modifié par Sisimka, 22 mars 2010 - 10:36 .
#286
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 03:11
Sandtigress
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Terrific sketch! And very very sweet. ^-^
#287
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 04:47
Sisimka
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Chapter Nine
Aedan watched with fond amusement as Luke caught his first sight of the underground marvel that was Orzammar. The boy stopped in the Hall of Heroes first and listened with quiet attentiveness as Oghren gruffly pointed out the statues of the various Paragons. As the dwarf approached the statue of Branka he fell silent.
Luke opened his mouth to ask about the Paragon and Aedan laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. When Luke looked up at him he shook his head softly and steered the boy towards the doors that led into Orzammar proper.
Glancing back over his shoulder he said to Luke, “That’s Branka.”
Luke nodded and they waited for Oghren in respectful silence. Luke had heard the story of the companions' adventures in Orzammar and the Deep Roads several times. That and the Siege of Denerim were his favourites. The boy had an insatiable thirst for knowledge regarding the darkspawn and how they were battled.
Oghren joined them shortly and they proceeded into the city. Luke stopped just inside the massive doors and just stared. Aedan’s smile slipped a little as he remembered his first visit to the city of dwarves. No sooner had they stepped through these doors than they’d witnessed Orzammar’s unique take on politics: A scuffle, an exchange of heated words and a brutal slaying all within minutes of their arrival. Given Oghren’s good humour and easy going manner, it was hard to imagine the dwarves as the ruthless and cutthroat political adversaries they were.
Aedan glanced around the commons and appreciated Luke’s perspective. Orzammar was nothing short of amazing. Memories flooded thick and fast – the horror of the Deep Roads, the anguish of crowning Bhelen King and Harrowmont’s subsequent execution. But Orzammar also held some of his most precious memories. He and Leliana had spent their first night together in this city, and it was just over there, behind that merchant’s stall that he’d declared his heart to her. Thoughts of his wife made his spirits lift and Aedan smiled broadly.
“Well, Luke, what do you think?” He looked down at the boy who had yet to stop gaping at the view.
Oghren answered first. “I never thought I’d miss the sodding sky, but there ya have it. Was it always so dark in here?”
“Wow.”
Aedan grinned at Luke’s final response. Though it lacked eloquence, it pretty well matched his own thoughts.
“Commander?”
Aedan turned at the new voice and saw Bhelen’s second standing just to the side of their group. As always the dwarf’s body language exuded a combination of officiousness and suspicion. Aedan raised a brow and approached, extending an arm. “Vartag, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Vartag Gavorn grasped his arm and nodded his head in greeting. He turned to Oghren and the two dwarves exchanged grunts. Vartag’s eyes then rested on Luke and Aedan put a hand on his son’s shoulder and introduced him. “This is my son, Luke. Luke, this is Vartag Gavorn, second to King Bhelen.”
Vartag nodded toward the boy, but responded, “Actually, my official title is ‘Advisor’ now, Commander.”
Aedan’s mouth lifted in a small smile, an elevation in status was something all dwarves desired and Vartag seemed proud to hold such a coveted role in Orzammar politics. Aedan did not envy him…
“You are late! We were worried you might not make the Proving. Bhelen has had me waiting here for you all day.” The advisor’s tone rebuked them.
“An important task for such an important man!” Oghren’s tone was less than flattering and Aedan winced.
“Perhaps we should visit with the King right away, Vartag?” Aedan asked, stepping in front of Oghren and placing a placatory hand on Vartag’s shoulder.
“Follow me.”
Before they reached the entrance to the Diamond Quarter they passed a food vendor and Oghren uttered a low moan. Aedan turned and saw he had stepped up and was placing an order.
“Oghren, I’m not sure if we have time…”
“Warden, I am not going in there on an empty stomach, just gimme a minute here.”
Aedan had to admit to himself that the smell coming from the stall was very enticing. Roasted meat. Besides the one good meal Marin had provided the night they’d camped with his wardens, Aedan had been existing on bread, cheese and fruit. He hated to cook. But despite the cramping in his gut at the sight of real food, Aedan knew he would not be eating any of it, he couldn’t bring himself to try nug.
Oghren stuffed dripping chunks between his lips as they continued walking and the expression on his face approached something disturbingly close to orgasmic. Luke tugged on his sleeve and said, “Can I try some? It smells so good!”
Aedan turned at the words and put out a hand just as a chunk of meat passed Luke’s lips.
“No, Luke, don’t!”
Luke bit down and chewed, his face clearly showing his pleasure in the flavour of that little roasted morsel. He swallowed.
“Aedan, can we buy more? It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted! Please?”
Aedan’s lips twitched and he bit back laughter. Oh, Maker, should he tell Luke what he’d just eaten?
“Glad to see yer appreciatin’ the finest nug this side of the Dead Trenches, lad!”
Oghren heartily clapped Luke on the back and upended the dish he was holding, draining the last of the juices with a noisy slurp.
Luke turned an interesting shade of green. “Um, did you just say…nug?”
Aedan couldn’t hold it back any longer, he laughed. Luke shot him and anguished looked and said, “I just ate Schmooples?”
Aedan bent forward and dropped his hands to his thighs. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t stand upright. The series of expressions passing Luke’s features only added to his amusement. The boy looked in turns sick, betrayed and confused. Aedan wondered which emotion would win out. Luke started swallowing convulsively and he quickly grabbed the boy’s shoulder and let him to a gutter behind the stall.
When they returned to the main thoroughfare Luke glared at Oghren who had helped himself to another portion. The dwarf’s lips and beard were greasy and his eyes were closed in pleasure, oblivious to Luke’s angry look.
Aedan had to bite his lips again, and though he just knew it was the wrong thing to say, he couldn’t help it. “Don’t worry, son, I won’t tell Leli!”
Oghren joined him in laughter then and they slapped each other’s shoulders and then leaned upon one another in support. Luke stomped off in a huff.
Vartag appeared breathless beside Aedan. “Commander? What are you doing? I got all the way to the palace and you were not behind me!”
The advisor glanced at Oghren’s greasy hands and face and added, “We would have fed you.”
They continued toward the Diamond Quarter but stopped once again, much to Vartag’s annoyance.
“Commander, I really must protest, Bhelen is waiting on your attendance!”
“Oh go tell him to stop wetting his sodding knickers. We’ll get there when we get there! And start speakin’ like a dwarf, man, this advisor thing is givin’ you airs!”
Aedan blinked at the exchange and then chose to ignore it. He turned toward the vendor he wanted to see instead.
The dwarven merchant had his back to them, or rather his posterior. He was bent over a chest and appeared to dig frantically within it, muttering loudly.
“What business do you have with this Lyrium-touched fool?” Vartag asked.
Oghren growled and shouldered his way in front of the advisor and called, “Garin, get yer arse out of that chest!”
Aedan idly wondered if it were lack of ale, the roasted nug or the simple act of returning to Orzammar that had caused Oghren to revert to his more gruff personality.
Garin righted himself and looked upon his customers with pleasure. “Commander, Oghren! I have it ready, oh yes, it’s ready!”
The dwarf rubbed his hands together with glee and his eyes took on a faraway look. He stood like that for a few moments before Aedan realized he’d have to catch the merchant’s attention once again.
“Ah, Garin? We’d like to see it please.”
“Hm, what? Oh, yes, right, let me see here.” Once again the dwarf upended himself in the chest and Aedan despaired for the condition of the gift he planned to give Alistair on the occasion of his wedding.
He finally emerged with cloth wrapped bundle held reverently in his hands. He laid it on the table before them and drew the cloth away revealing a sword of breathtaking beauty. Aedan sighed in appreciation, almost afraid to touch the blade. He reached fingers forward and then hesitated. It was Maric’s sword. The one they’d found at Ostagar and the very same sword he’d taken from Alistair’s hands on the roof of Fort Drakon. The sword he had used to slay the archdemon.
The power released from the old God as he thrust the sword between its eye ridges, a strike so forceful he’d hit the stone floor beneath, had all but melted this beautiful sword. The runes had lost their power and the intricate inlay had disappeared.
Alistair had not appeared to mourn the loss of his father’s sword, telling Aedan that Topsider’s Honor was good enough for a Warden and a King, but Aedan knew it was the only thing his friend had of Maric. Now it was restored.
He finally touched the blade and he felt the power of the runes humming beneath his fingers. What a blade, what a sword! He looked up at Garin and offered his heart felt gratitude.
“Garin, it’s beyond perfect, it’s…I have not the words.”
The merchant waved a hand. “It was nothing. I’ve worked more intricate pieces. Would you like to see something else?”
But Aedan barely heard the words as memories of the night he’d used this sword threatened to overtake him. The final battle, the searing pain, the fear of death. Shaking his head he took a deep breath and came back to the moment. Oghren had paid Garin and Vartag was literally hopping up and down as he waited to finish escorting them to the palace. Luke was holding the carefully wrapped sword, his face creased in an expression of seriousness.
Bhelen’s ice blue eyes twinkled with genuine warmth and delight as he enthusiastically greeted Aedan and Oghren. He even extended a hand toward Luke when introduced and made much of the boy. Though marriage and fatherhood appeared to have softened the man, Aedan still recognised the energy and ruthlessness that were the hallmarks of Bhelen’s rule. He was a formidable man and a strong ally.
Refreshments had indeed been laid out for them and he and Luke applied themselves happily to the less adventurous fare while Bhelen and his advisor looked over the trade documents he’d brought with him. They made no mention of the wrinkled state of the pages.
After the business concluded they were finally introduced to Bhelen’s wife and newborn son. Aedan made all the right appreciative noises but couldn’t help thinking Riordan was the superior ‘specimen’. He grinned to himself at the thought and recognised his bias.
They were provided with accommodations at the palace and spent the evening quietly drinking ale in the company of the few deshyrs in attendance. Every time Luke not so subtly reached for a mug of ale Aedan stopped him with a glance.
“Leliana would never forgive me, son.”
“Oh, Warden, lighten up, the lad is nearly sixteen!” Oghren put in.
Aedan raised a brow at Oghren and simply answered, “How thorough a report of your activities do you want Felsi to hear?”
Oghren waved a hand at him and belched. “What harm one taste? I’ve barely had more’n that m’self.”
It was true. Oghren had studiously alternated sips of ale with generous quantities of water and had retained an unusual state of dignity throughout the entire evening.
Aedan studied Luke for a moment before finally nodding, his gut clenching. “One taste.”
Luke’s visage brightened and he eagerly lifted a mug to his lips. “Ugh!” He just as quickly set the mug back down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think I prefer nug.”
The three of them roared with laughter.
+++++
Aedan glanced beside him and just basked in the glow of Luke’s pleasure. Despite the worry they had probably caused Leliana, the boy’s company had been nothing but a delight. Aedan enjoyed experiencing the world afresh through the eyes of a sixteen year old boy and this journey had finally given him the opportunity to spend time with Luke.
They had spent the day before touring Orzammar. They had visited the Shaperate and Luke had been suitably awed by the collection. They shopped for gifts and trinkets with which to bribe Leliana when they returned to Denerim. They visited with the fighters slated to appear in today’s Proving. Finally they spent a quiet evening in Tapsters with old acquaintances of Oghren’s. Aedan had been nervous upon entering the tavern, sure someone would recognise him as the drunken lout who had flung a dagger at the barkeep and fallen in a noble lady’s lap. He had been recognised, but as Warden Commander and the Hero of Ferelden. He endured several toasts to the embarrassing title before retreating to a dark corner with his son. Oghren also appeared to have attained celebrity status as Commander of Ferelden’s army and he modestly accepted congratulatory toasts and pats upon the back. In the spirit of the evening the dwarf had perhaps over indulged.
“My head feels like a genlock is banging against it from the inside. Is this what you surfacers call a hangover?”
Aedan shifted his glance from Luke’s enjoyment of the Proving and gave Oghren a sympathetic pat on the arm. “The match will clear your head. You’re up soon, shouldn’t you go get ready?”
Oghren was slated to fight before him and Aedan couldn’t keep his own excitement from his voice as his hands itched to be upon his swords. His legs bumped and down with energy, ready to engage in the ring.
Oghren grumbled and lumbered to his feet and disappeared behind them. The Proving Master finally announced Oghren’s match and Aedan and Luke leaned forward against the railing. Aedan’s grin and excitement matched that of his son as he waited for Oghren to appear. Announced as the Commander of Ferelden’s armies, the dwarf strutted out with his huge axe held in the air. He was resplendent in the armour of Ferelden’s Commander, Alistair’s heraldry emblazoned upon his chest piece. Aedan’s heart hitched with pride to see this representation and he clapped and cheered enthusiastically.
Oghren acquitted himself well in his match, winning with his unique combination of stamina and bravado. The audience cheered loudly and Oghren bowed before all, declaring his victory to the ancestors.
Aedan leapt to his feet and went to prepare for his own match. His opponent also dual wielded twin weapons, though unusually he favoured an axe in either hand, and held the title of current Proving Champion.
Not given to Oghren’s theatrics Aedan merely strolled into the ring and bowed to the roaring crowd, glad his helm concealed the flushing of his cheeks. A Proving certainly generated more excitement than a battle with the darkspawn.
His opponent was introduced. “Orzammar’s current Champion, veteran of ten Provings, Darat !”
Darat walked into the ring with a sedate and understudied manner and stepped immediately into place. Aedan dipped his head in the dwarf’s direction and said, “It is an honour,” before adopting his fighting stance, weapons at the ready.
The Proving Master yelled, “Fight!”
The dwarf rushed him and Aedan circled quickly to once side, sweeping both of his blades in a low cross, attempting to knock his opponent off balance. He struck steel and received a roar of approval from the crowd for achieving first blow.
Darat spun with uncanny speed and lashed out with a flurry of his wicked axes and Aedan felt the rush of air through the joints of his armour as he neatly sidestepped once again. The match became a game of cat and mouse then as they took each other’s measure and discovered that their speed and skill were fairly evenly paced.
They exchanged strikes and parries then, testing each other’s style. But just as Aedan felt he had a handle on the dwarf’s abilities, his opponent surprised him, sweeping his axes forward in an arc. Aedan leaned back and felt a boot connect with his middle. He landed flat on his back. A pair of axes appeared, crossed, over his exposed neck. He conceded the match.
Aedan inwardly cursed at his own stupidity. The dwarf had cleverly held moves back, not showing his more ruthless streak until he was sure Aedan would be surprised. And he had been.
Darat offered him a hand and Aedan regained his feet. He continued to grasp the other man’s gauntleted fist after he stood. “Thank you for the match, your title is well deserved.”
They both removed their helms and the dwarf replied, “It was honor, Commander.”
They exchanged smiles and turned to face the crowd together, though Aedan stepped to one side as Darat was proclaimed champion once more.
Aedan met Oghren and Luke as he exited the ring and they escorted him to the room provided for the equipping of armour and weapons. Luke recounted every moment of the match and Aedan listened with a grin playing about his mouth as the boy started offering suggestions on what he might have done differently.
“The boy has a talented eye.”
Aedan looked up and saw Darat standing in the doorway. He rose to greet the champion and once again complimented him on his victory.
Darat modestly accepted his praise before saying, “So, you think my skills would have any use against the darkspawn?”
Oghren raised a brow and said, “Lookin’ to become a warden are you?”
Darat nodded. “Aye.” He then turned his attention back to Aedan and added, “I’ve been waiting to meet you for some time, Commander.”
Aedan replied, “Please, call me Aedan.”
Darat shook his head. “No, if I become a warden I’ll be needin’ to be more respectful than that. Commander it is!”
Aedan took the man’s measure. There was no doubt he was skilled and his attitude was just right. He smiled as he realized he’d somehow managed to achieve every purpose he’d had in mind. He had delivered the trade agreements, he’d collected the wedding gift and he’d just recruited another Grey Warden.
He held out a hand and said, “I am honored to accept, Darat. Ferelden will always need wardens of your skill.”
Aedan watched with fond amusement as Luke caught his first sight of the underground marvel that was Orzammar. The boy stopped in the Hall of Heroes first and listened with quiet attentiveness as Oghren gruffly pointed out the statues of the various Paragons. As the dwarf approached the statue of Branka he fell silent.
Luke opened his mouth to ask about the Paragon and Aedan laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. When Luke looked up at him he shook his head softly and steered the boy towards the doors that led into Orzammar proper.
Glancing back over his shoulder he said to Luke, “That’s Branka.”
Luke nodded and they waited for Oghren in respectful silence. Luke had heard the story of the companions' adventures in Orzammar and the Deep Roads several times. That and the Siege of Denerim were his favourites. The boy had an insatiable thirst for knowledge regarding the darkspawn and how they were battled.
Oghren joined them shortly and they proceeded into the city. Luke stopped just inside the massive doors and just stared. Aedan’s smile slipped a little as he remembered his first visit to the city of dwarves. No sooner had they stepped through these doors than they’d witnessed Orzammar’s unique take on politics: A scuffle, an exchange of heated words and a brutal slaying all within minutes of their arrival. Given Oghren’s good humour and easy going manner, it was hard to imagine the dwarves as the ruthless and cutthroat political adversaries they were.
Aedan glanced around the commons and appreciated Luke’s perspective. Orzammar was nothing short of amazing. Memories flooded thick and fast – the horror of the Deep Roads, the anguish of crowning Bhelen King and Harrowmont’s subsequent execution. But Orzammar also held some of his most precious memories. He and Leliana had spent their first night together in this city, and it was just over there, behind that merchant’s stall that he’d declared his heart to her. Thoughts of his wife made his spirits lift and Aedan smiled broadly.
“Well, Luke, what do you think?” He looked down at the boy who had yet to stop gaping at the view.
Oghren answered first. “I never thought I’d miss the sodding sky, but there ya have it. Was it always so dark in here?”
“Wow.”
Aedan grinned at Luke’s final response. Though it lacked eloquence, it pretty well matched his own thoughts.
“Commander?”
Aedan turned at the new voice and saw Bhelen’s second standing just to the side of their group. As always the dwarf’s body language exuded a combination of officiousness and suspicion. Aedan raised a brow and approached, extending an arm. “Vartag, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Vartag Gavorn grasped his arm and nodded his head in greeting. He turned to Oghren and the two dwarves exchanged grunts. Vartag’s eyes then rested on Luke and Aedan put a hand on his son’s shoulder and introduced him. “This is my son, Luke. Luke, this is Vartag Gavorn, second to King Bhelen.”
Vartag nodded toward the boy, but responded, “Actually, my official title is ‘Advisor’ now, Commander.”
Aedan’s mouth lifted in a small smile, an elevation in status was something all dwarves desired and Vartag seemed proud to hold such a coveted role in Orzammar politics. Aedan did not envy him…
“You are late! We were worried you might not make the Proving. Bhelen has had me waiting here for you all day.” The advisor’s tone rebuked them.
“An important task for such an important man!” Oghren’s tone was less than flattering and Aedan winced.
“Perhaps we should visit with the King right away, Vartag?” Aedan asked, stepping in front of Oghren and placing a placatory hand on Vartag’s shoulder.
“Follow me.”
Before they reached the entrance to the Diamond Quarter they passed a food vendor and Oghren uttered a low moan. Aedan turned and saw he had stepped up and was placing an order.
“Oghren, I’m not sure if we have time…”
“Warden, I am not going in there on an empty stomach, just gimme a minute here.”
Aedan had to admit to himself that the smell coming from the stall was very enticing. Roasted meat. Besides the one good meal Marin had provided the night they’d camped with his wardens, Aedan had been existing on bread, cheese and fruit. He hated to cook. But despite the cramping in his gut at the sight of real food, Aedan knew he would not be eating any of it, he couldn’t bring himself to try nug.
Oghren stuffed dripping chunks between his lips as they continued walking and the expression on his face approached something disturbingly close to orgasmic. Luke tugged on his sleeve and said, “Can I try some? It smells so good!”
Aedan turned at the words and put out a hand just as a chunk of meat passed Luke’s lips.
“No, Luke, don’t!”
Luke bit down and chewed, his face clearly showing his pleasure in the flavour of that little roasted morsel. He swallowed.
“Aedan, can we buy more? It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted! Please?”
Aedan’s lips twitched and he bit back laughter. Oh, Maker, should he tell Luke what he’d just eaten?
“Glad to see yer appreciatin’ the finest nug this side of the Dead Trenches, lad!”
Oghren heartily clapped Luke on the back and upended the dish he was holding, draining the last of the juices with a noisy slurp.
Luke turned an interesting shade of green. “Um, did you just say…nug?”
Aedan couldn’t hold it back any longer, he laughed. Luke shot him and anguished looked and said, “I just ate Schmooples?”
Aedan bent forward and dropped his hands to his thighs. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t stand upright. The series of expressions passing Luke’s features only added to his amusement. The boy looked in turns sick, betrayed and confused. Aedan wondered which emotion would win out. Luke started swallowing convulsively and he quickly grabbed the boy’s shoulder and let him to a gutter behind the stall.
When they returned to the main thoroughfare Luke glared at Oghren who had helped himself to another portion. The dwarf’s lips and beard were greasy and his eyes were closed in pleasure, oblivious to Luke’s angry look.
Aedan had to bite his lips again, and though he just knew it was the wrong thing to say, he couldn’t help it. “Don’t worry, son, I won’t tell Leli!”
Oghren joined him in laughter then and they slapped each other’s shoulders and then leaned upon one another in support. Luke stomped off in a huff.
Vartag appeared breathless beside Aedan. “Commander? What are you doing? I got all the way to the palace and you were not behind me!”
The advisor glanced at Oghren’s greasy hands and face and added, “We would have fed you.”
They continued toward the Diamond Quarter but stopped once again, much to Vartag’s annoyance.
“Commander, I really must protest, Bhelen is waiting on your attendance!”
“Oh go tell him to stop wetting his sodding knickers. We’ll get there when we get there! And start speakin’ like a dwarf, man, this advisor thing is givin’ you airs!”
Aedan blinked at the exchange and then chose to ignore it. He turned toward the vendor he wanted to see instead.
The dwarven merchant had his back to them, or rather his posterior. He was bent over a chest and appeared to dig frantically within it, muttering loudly.
“What business do you have with this Lyrium-touched fool?” Vartag asked.
Oghren growled and shouldered his way in front of the advisor and called, “Garin, get yer arse out of that chest!”
Aedan idly wondered if it were lack of ale, the roasted nug or the simple act of returning to Orzammar that had caused Oghren to revert to his more gruff personality.
Garin righted himself and looked upon his customers with pleasure. “Commander, Oghren! I have it ready, oh yes, it’s ready!”
The dwarf rubbed his hands together with glee and his eyes took on a faraway look. He stood like that for a few moments before Aedan realized he’d have to catch the merchant’s attention once again.
“Ah, Garin? We’d like to see it please.”
“Hm, what? Oh, yes, right, let me see here.” Once again the dwarf upended himself in the chest and Aedan despaired for the condition of the gift he planned to give Alistair on the occasion of his wedding.
He finally emerged with cloth wrapped bundle held reverently in his hands. He laid it on the table before them and drew the cloth away revealing a sword of breathtaking beauty. Aedan sighed in appreciation, almost afraid to touch the blade. He reached fingers forward and then hesitated. It was Maric’s sword. The one they’d found at Ostagar and the very same sword he’d taken from Alistair’s hands on the roof of Fort Drakon. The sword he had used to slay the archdemon.
The power released from the old God as he thrust the sword between its eye ridges, a strike so forceful he’d hit the stone floor beneath, had all but melted this beautiful sword. The runes had lost their power and the intricate inlay had disappeared.
Alistair had not appeared to mourn the loss of his father’s sword, telling Aedan that Topsider’s Honor was good enough for a Warden and a King, but Aedan knew it was the only thing his friend had of Maric. Now it was restored.
He finally touched the blade and he felt the power of the runes humming beneath his fingers. What a blade, what a sword! He looked up at Garin and offered his heart felt gratitude.
“Garin, it’s beyond perfect, it’s…I have not the words.”
The merchant waved a hand. “It was nothing. I’ve worked more intricate pieces. Would you like to see something else?”
But Aedan barely heard the words as memories of the night he’d used this sword threatened to overtake him. The final battle, the searing pain, the fear of death. Shaking his head he took a deep breath and came back to the moment. Oghren had paid Garin and Vartag was literally hopping up and down as he waited to finish escorting them to the palace. Luke was holding the carefully wrapped sword, his face creased in an expression of seriousness.
Bhelen’s ice blue eyes twinkled with genuine warmth and delight as he enthusiastically greeted Aedan and Oghren. He even extended a hand toward Luke when introduced and made much of the boy. Though marriage and fatherhood appeared to have softened the man, Aedan still recognised the energy and ruthlessness that were the hallmarks of Bhelen’s rule. He was a formidable man and a strong ally.
Refreshments had indeed been laid out for them and he and Luke applied themselves happily to the less adventurous fare while Bhelen and his advisor looked over the trade documents he’d brought with him. They made no mention of the wrinkled state of the pages.
After the business concluded they were finally introduced to Bhelen’s wife and newborn son. Aedan made all the right appreciative noises but couldn’t help thinking Riordan was the superior ‘specimen’. He grinned to himself at the thought and recognised his bias.
They were provided with accommodations at the palace and spent the evening quietly drinking ale in the company of the few deshyrs in attendance. Every time Luke not so subtly reached for a mug of ale Aedan stopped him with a glance.
“Leliana would never forgive me, son.”
“Oh, Warden, lighten up, the lad is nearly sixteen!” Oghren put in.
Aedan raised a brow at Oghren and simply answered, “How thorough a report of your activities do you want Felsi to hear?”
Oghren waved a hand at him and belched. “What harm one taste? I’ve barely had more’n that m’self.”
It was true. Oghren had studiously alternated sips of ale with generous quantities of water and had retained an unusual state of dignity throughout the entire evening.
Aedan studied Luke for a moment before finally nodding, his gut clenching. “One taste.”
Luke’s visage brightened and he eagerly lifted a mug to his lips. “Ugh!” He just as quickly set the mug back down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think I prefer nug.”
The three of them roared with laughter.
+++++
Aedan glanced beside him and just basked in the glow of Luke’s pleasure. Despite the worry they had probably caused Leliana, the boy’s company had been nothing but a delight. Aedan enjoyed experiencing the world afresh through the eyes of a sixteen year old boy and this journey had finally given him the opportunity to spend time with Luke.
They had spent the day before touring Orzammar. They had visited the Shaperate and Luke had been suitably awed by the collection. They shopped for gifts and trinkets with which to bribe Leliana when they returned to Denerim. They visited with the fighters slated to appear in today’s Proving. Finally they spent a quiet evening in Tapsters with old acquaintances of Oghren’s. Aedan had been nervous upon entering the tavern, sure someone would recognise him as the drunken lout who had flung a dagger at the barkeep and fallen in a noble lady’s lap. He had been recognised, but as Warden Commander and the Hero of Ferelden. He endured several toasts to the embarrassing title before retreating to a dark corner with his son. Oghren also appeared to have attained celebrity status as Commander of Ferelden’s army and he modestly accepted congratulatory toasts and pats upon the back. In the spirit of the evening the dwarf had perhaps over indulged.
“My head feels like a genlock is banging against it from the inside. Is this what you surfacers call a hangover?”
Aedan shifted his glance from Luke’s enjoyment of the Proving and gave Oghren a sympathetic pat on the arm. “The match will clear your head. You’re up soon, shouldn’t you go get ready?”
Oghren was slated to fight before him and Aedan couldn’t keep his own excitement from his voice as his hands itched to be upon his swords. His legs bumped and down with energy, ready to engage in the ring.
Oghren grumbled and lumbered to his feet and disappeared behind them. The Proving Master finally announced Oghren’s match and Aedan and Luke leaned forward against the railing. Aedan’s grin and excitement matched that of his son as he waited for Oghren to appear. Announced as the Commander of Ferelden’s armies, the dwarf strutted out with his huge axe held in the air. He was resplendent in the armour of Ferelden’s Commander, Alistair’s heraldry emblazoned upon his chest piece. Aedan’s heart hitched with pride to see this representation and he clapped and cheered enthusiastically.
Oghren acquitted himself well in his match, winning with his unique combination of stamina and bravado. The audience cheered loudly and Oghren bowed before all, declaring his victory to the ancestors.
Aedan leapt to his feet and went to prepare for his own match. His opponent also dual wielded twin weapons, though unusually he favoured an axe in either hand, and held the title of current Proving Champion.
Not given to Oghren’s theatrics Aedan merely strolled into the ring and bowed to the roaring crowd, glad his helm concealed the flushing of his cheeks. A Proving certainly generated more excitement than a battle with the darkspawn.
His opponent was introduced. “Orzammar’s current Champion, veteran of ten Provings, Darat !”
Darat walked into the ring with a sedate and understudied manner and stepped immediately into place. Aedan dipped his head in the dwarf’s direction and said, “It is an honour,” before adopting his fighting stance, weapons at the ready.
The Proving Master yelled, “Fight!”
The dwarf rushed him and Aedan circled quickly to once side, sweeping both of his blades in a low cross, attempting to knock his opponent off balance. He struck steel and received a roar of approval from the crowd for achieving first blow.
Darat spun with uncanny speed and lashed out with a flurry of his wicked axes and Aedan felt the rush of air through the joints of his armour as he neatly sidestepped once again. The match became a game of cat and mouse then as they took each other’s measure and discovered that their speed and skill were fairly evenly paced.
They exchanged strikes and parries then, testing each other’s style. But just as Aedan felt he had a handle on the dwarf’s abilities, his opponent surprised him, sweeping his axes forward in an arc. Aedan leaned back and felt a boot connect with his middle. He landed flat on his back. A pair of axes appeared, crossed, over his exposed neck. He conceded the match.
Aedan inwardly cursed at his own stupidity. The dwarf had cleverly held moves back, not showing his more ruthless streak until he was sure Aedan would be surprised. And he had been.
Darat offered him a hand and Aedan regained his feet. He continued to grasp the other man’s gauntleted fist after he stood. “Thank you for the match, your title is well deserved.”
They both removed their helms and the dwarf replied, “It was honor, Commander.”
They exchanged smiles and turned to face the crowd together, though Aedan stepped to one side as Darat was proclaimed champion once more.
Aedan met Oghren and Luke as he exited the ring and they escorted him to the room provided for the equipping of armour and weapons. Luke recounted every moment of the match and Aedan listened with a grin playing about his mouth as the boy started offering suggestions on what he might have done differently.
“The boy has a talented eye.”
Aedan looked up and saw Darat standing in the doorway. He rose to greet the champion and once again complimented him on his victory.
Darat modestly accepted his praise before saying, “So, you think my skills would have any use against the darkspawn?”
Oghren raised a brow and said, “Lookin’ to become a warden are you?”
Darat nodded. “Aye.” He then turned his attention back to Aedan and added, “I’ve been waiting to meet you for some time, Commander.”
Aedan replied, “Please, call me Aedan.”
Darat shook his head. “No, if I become a warden I’ll be needin’ to be more respectful than that. Commander it is!”
Aedan took the man’s measure. There was no doubt he was skilled and his attitude was just right. He smiled as he realized he’d somehow managed to achieve every purpose he’d had in mind. He had delivered the trade agreements, he’d collected the wedding gift and he’d just recruited another Grey Warden.
He held out a hand and said, “I am honored to accept, Darat. Ferelden will always need wardens of your skill.”
Modifié par Sisimka, 19 mars 2010 - 06:28 .
#288
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 05:25
Freckles04
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Very nice chapter! I loved how much Aedan enjoyed spending time with Luke. And this line, this!!
I just ate Schmooples?
Too funny!!
I just ate Schmooples?
Too funny!!
#289
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 05:29
Sandtigress
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Yay, a new Warden, and a nice present for Alistair. :-) I was wondering what Aedan was going to get him. And I laughed when Luke tried nug! Plus, his reaction to ale about matches my own. :-P
Great chapter, Sisi! You guys need to stop posting new things when I'm supposed to be shooting worms. ;-)
Great chapter, Sisi! You guys need to stop posting new things when I'm supposed to be shooting worms. ;-)
#290
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 11:30
bl00dsh0t
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Aedan gets a beating, neat
Great chapter, moaarrr ^^
Great chapter, moaarrr ^^
#291
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 11:59
MireliA
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I like the wedding present.
Great chapter.
Great chapter.
Modifié par MireliA, 19 mars 2010 - 11:59 .
#292
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 12:19
Sisimka
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bl00dsh0t wrote...
Aedan gets a beating, neat
Great chapter, moaarrr ^^
Can't have him winning them all, eh?
MireliA wrote...
I like the wedding present.
Great chapter.
Thanks! I liked the idea of it too.
Modifié par Sisimka, 20 mars 2010 - 12:20 .
#293
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 10:25
Maximus741000
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Excellent Chapter, light-hearted yet melded with the same seriousness of Orzammar. You're also brilliant at weaving elements of humour into the story, especially Luke's famous; "I just ate Schmooples?"
As for Maric's Sword; well, the words 'worthy gift' don't seem to cover it. In short, great work
As for Maric's Sword; well, the words 'worthy gift' don't seem to cover it. In short, great work
#294
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 06:39
Sisimka
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Chapter Ten
Fort Drakon now housed two unremarkable looking men. Alistair was beginning to understand why the Brethren had never recruited Zevran. The elf was far too memorable. Despite the fact Zevran could slip through shadow like any rogue, he could not slip through a crowd unnoticed.
They caught the archer due to an extraordinary stroke of luck. The panicked crowd blocked the exits to the tournament for close to an hour allowing Runir to weave stealthily through the tightly packed people until he caught sight of a likely suspect, which he did. The archer had not been stupid enough to try and leave with his bow, no, it was by an odd turn of chance that Runir recognised the fellow. Another Antivan was escorted to the dungeons.
The archer almost didn’t make it inside the fort alive. Celene’s chevaliers confronted Alistair’s soldiers outside the arena and a standoff ensued.
“This man is responsible for the death of the Chancellor, Bertram Avene. In the name of the Empress, I demand satisfaction!” The woman who had won the tournament stood before her chevaliers as she laid down her challenge.
A line of chevaliers formed in front of the prisoner and his guards. Alistair and Celene were sent for and when they arrived the discussion had spiraled out of control leaving tempers frayed.
Leliana stepped forward and with her voice, trained from years of storytelling, calmed both sides of the argument, calling for reason. “Gentlemen, ladies, let us work together here. This man gave insult to both our nations and caused much grief.”
She nodded towards the chevaliers and indicated that they should fall in with the guard. “We will all escort this prisoner to the dungeons where he will be questioned to the satisfaction of both parties. Then we shall mediate upon his punishment.”
Alistair glanced at Celene and winced at the dried blood that still streaked her cheek, though she had rubbed at it with a damp cloth. Her dress was ruined. Her eyes were clouded with grief, but she nodded at Leliana’s words and added her assent to the plan.
Alistair indicated his approval also and the assassin had the dubious honour of being escorted to the fort by twenty men, two monarchs, a chancellor and a Grey Warden.
The questioning proved fruitless. As with the first assassin caught, these two men had obviously been paid for silence. Neither the threat of twenty men nor the massive torturer could sway them.
Alistair, Brenna, Celene and Leliana waiting in one of the sitting rooms toward the front of the fort. Leliana called for a basin of warm water and Brenna arranged for refreshments. The bard set to helping Celene clean her face and Brenna took the Empress’s hands and spoke softly to her. Alistair sat awkwardly aside with the feeling he’d intruded upon some female ritual.
Glad of the few moments to himself Alistair ran over the past week in his mind. Maker, he was tired. The constant threat of assassination was wearing them all down. The flared tempers outside the arena had not been the first he’d witnessed over the past few days. Rubbing his temples with his fingers Alistair gave thanks those near and dear to him remained as yet unharmed and sent a quick prayer to the Maker for Bertram. They had a second funeral to plan.
Runir slipped into the room and stepped to Alistair’s side. Alistair looked up and saw no answers in the rogue’s expression. “Let me guess, they’re not talking.”
Runir shook his head and sat beside him. “Your Majesty we could tear these men apart, limb from limb, and not discover their secrets.
Brenna glanced over at the quiet words, her eyes wide in fear and Alistair attempted a small smile. He knew it sat awkwardly upon his lips, but she nodded silently and returned her attention to the empress.
“Then how did Zevran obtain as much information as he did?” As he asked the question, Alistair could not help the involuntary shiver that traveled down his spine. Zevran was a dangerous man, definitely, but the Crow had been a friend and confidant for so long the memory of his former profession tended to fade.
Runir’s brows raised and he considered Alistair thoughtfully for several seconds before responding. “He did not tell you. No, I can see he did not.”
The warden’s gaze returned to his hands a moment, his brow creased in concentration. Alistair could see the man struggled with the urge to tell him something and waited patiently.
When he finally looked up his eyes held a faraway look. “Zevran is a man of many talents, but torture does not number among them. It is not his style. He favours the quick and painless kill. In his own way he is merciful.”
This confirmed Alistair’s own thoughts about the elf and though relieved to hear it, knew this did not answer his question. He nodded for Runir to continue.
“I know this because despite the fact I am not a Crow, I did grow up in the same brothel as Zevran. I have known him all my life. We have managed to maintain a friendship, of a sort, despite the divergence of our respective careers. There is only one man that knows Zevran better than I do, his brother, Juilden.”
Shock barely covered the buzzing that crowded all thoughts from Alistair’s mind. When Brenna glanced up and Leliana turned about sharply Alistair realized he’d gasped out loud at the news. He pulled himself together and nodded as reassuringly as he could at them before returning his attention to Runir.
“Are you sure? You know this for a fact?” His hands gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. A new fear crept into his mind. He had just sent Zevran to Tevinter with the one man that may mean more to the elf than either himself or Aedan.
Runir reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Your Majesty, I did not mean to alarm you. Perhaps I should have held my tongue.”
“No, Runir, all information is valuable.” Alistair glanced at the warden and their eyes met. He tried to read the rogue’s expression, to determine if his fear was ill founded.
“Zevran swore and oath to the Commander, to Aedan, did he not?” Runir asked.
“Yes, but Aedan released him from it years ago.”
“That is of little consequence. Zevran will honour it until the day he dies. Do not fear his purpose, Your Majesty.”
Alistair’s mind acknowledged these words, but his heart still held tightly to his fear.
The activity around Celene ceased and all three women stared across at them curiously. Alistair and Runir had conversed in low tones and their words had not reached beyond their chairs.
Celene arched a perfectly manicured brow and said, “What news, Alistair?”
“Nothing more than we already know, Celene. These assassins will not talk. Let us hope Zevran succeeds were we fail.”
“Their silence assures their fate then. You will have them executed?”
Alistair swallowed over the lump in his throat and nodded mutely. Then, gathering his strength he nodded again, more forcefully. These men would die for their crimes, though he derived no pleasure or sense of satisfaction from such a duty.
+++++
Acrid smoke curled through the air causing Alistair’s eyes to water. He made no attempt to dash the unwanted tears away, they were fitting to the occasion. Bertram’s body had been reduced to little more than ash as the pyre burned low. Against all reason, the day was gloriously sunny with the lightest of breezes, the sort that would normally cool sun-kissed skin, which stirred the smoke just enough that the gathered crowd was shrouded in its haze.
Alistair felt a gentle nudge and looked down to find Brenna’s fingers entwining with his. He glanced at her and noticed how pale her skin had become. She looked tired, her beautiful eyes ringed with dark circles and her cheeks hollowed. He knew just how she felt. In the two nights since the tournament no one had enjoyed a full night of sleep.
A festival in celebration of his upcoming wedding had been planned for today. They attended a funeral instead. The more somber occasion had not deterred the crowds, however, and most of Denerim had turned out to pay their respects to the Orlesian chancellor. Celene appeared taken aback by this showing and Leliana took the opportunity to assure her that all Ferelden felt her grief as if it were their own.
Afterwards they retired to the Landsmeet chamber for yet another reception. Ferelden’s nobles took the time to pay their respects to the Orlesian empress, and she graciously accepted their offers of sympathy.
Alistair finally found a few moments alone with Celene. They sat quietly side by side for a short while, letting the murmur of gathered voices fill the silence. Celene turned to look at him.
“Your chancellor has a silvered tongue, Alistair. You did well in choosing a bard for this role.”
Alistair nodded at the compliment. “Yet she speaks only the truth, Celene. Our countries are allies now, and I hope friends.”
The empress took his hand. “This has certainly been the most interesting diplomatic visit of my career. There may be a call for vengeance when I return to Orlais. Not all of my own Lords and Ladies hold the same equanimity towards Ferelden as I do.”
Alistair could not help his sharp intake of breath at her words. Not that he did not expect them, but because Celene openly discussed this with him now.
“Perhaps now is not the best time to discuss…”
“Worry not, dear Alistair, though I will have to soothe many ruffled feathers when I return to Orlais, I am Empress. I was not elected to this role. Like you, I fought for it. My will shall prevail.”
A small curl of tension knotted in his gut. Thank the Maker he was friends with this woman and not enemies. She regarded him solemnly. “I do not blame Ferelden for the loss of my chancellor.”
“I thank you for your words, Celene. We have worked too hard to forge this fragile peace. I will not let it be shattered by the foolish whim of an exiled and disgraced traitor. You have my word on that.”
She patted the hand she still held and then released it. “Then our business is concluded and our diplomatic ties have been strengthened, Alistair.”
In the back of Alistair’s mind floated the offhand comment he had tossed at Leliana, had it only been days before? ‘We do things differently here in Ferelden.’ He allowed himself a smile and was heartened when Celene returned it.
+++++
No one had spoken for a couple of minutes and Alistair looked up from his plate. Everyone’s face pointed downward as they concentrated on their food. The dinner party hosted only a few guests and would not be remarked upon as the most riotous of occasions.
Celene had elected not to stay for his wedding. Tomorrow she would return to Orlais. Alistair understood her reluctance to attend a celebration so soon after the death of her chancellor. That Bertram had been more than an advisor to Celene had not been immediately apparent. Leliana pointed it out to him.
“Would you not grieve for me in the same way, Alistair?”
Alistair’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course I would Leliana, you are my dear friend!”
She nodded. “As Bertram was to Celene. A most taciturn fellow, certainly, but they were firm friends. In a country where no one says exactly what they mean, he was the rare man who spoke his mind. Her court will not miss him, but she will.”
Leliana’s face had clearly shown her sorrow and Alistair could only nod in quiet acknowledgement of her words.
He glanced at her now. She looked up and caught his eye. Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. What was there to say? The tragic events of the previous two weeks had silenced even a bard.
Brenna spoke into the silence and her quiet voice seemed unnaturally high and girlish.
“To honour the peace between our two nations I have asked the kitchens to prepare a special dessert, Celene. A known Orlesian delicacy. It is a small gesture, but one I hope you will take as a token of the friendship we continue to share.”
Celene looked up and smiled at Brenna. “My dear, you are a treasure. I shall miss your company as I journey home.”
The women regarded one another fondly and Alistair felt a small sense of peace as the spirits around the room began to lift. Even Isolde looked interested in the dessert being carried carefully into the dining room.
The silver tray bore an assortment of small dishes, each one of them subtly different to the other. The server set the tray beside the table and spoke quietly, her voice hushed with the shyness of addressing two monarchs.
“Would Your Majesty care for dessert?”
Brenna spoke up. “It is mousse, Alistair, and so delicately flavoured. Each of these dishes is just a little different from the other, a variety of chocolates enhanced with sweetness and bitterness. I hope you find them to your liking Celene.”
The Empress smiled widely. “Another passion we share, Brenna, and such a wonderful gesture. Thank you.”
Alistair glanced about the table and noted that all the women, particularly Isolde and Leliana were eyeing the tray with interest. Obviously this dish was known and well liked in Orlais. Everyone chose their flavour as each dish was described by the nervous young serving woman.
Alistair raised his glass in a final toast and everyone joined him. “To friendship.”
He reached for his spoon.
“Alistair, no!” Runir’s voice was thick and his lips appeared to be swollen.
Runir rose from his position across the table and strode toward Alistair, whisking the dish from the table and tossing it to the floor. The rogue then dropped to his knees, his face purpling as he clutched at his throat.
Leliana knocked her chair back in her haste and ran for the door. “Summon the healer, the mage, now!”
She ran over to Runir and knelt beside him, brushing the hair back from his face. “Sh, Runir, calm your breath, the healer is coming.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and drew out a potion which she unstoppered and dribbled across his swollen lips.
Alistair witnessed all of this in stunned silence. He quickly glanced around the table and noted that everyone had dropped their spoons. Most of them had been in the act of replacing their glasses and had only just picked up their utensils when Runir had shouted. Most of them. Alistair looked to Brenna last and his heart pounded and rage exploded within him as he saw her drop her spoon. The merest smear of chocolate decorated her lower lip and her eyes widened. Her face began to suffuse with colour and she coughed and raised her hands to her throat.
“Alistair.” Her voice croaked with panic and her shoulders hitched as she struggled to draw breath.
“No!” He stood, knocking his own chair back to the floor with a loud crash as he leaned down and swept her into his arms. He bent his head and whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “Brenna, my love, hold on.”
Leliana rose, her face twisted in anguish as she attempted to administer some of the same potion to Brenna.
“She barely tasted it, Alistair. Hold her still. Don’t panic, Brenna, steady your breath.”
Brenna’s lips did not appear to be swelling to the same extent as Runir’s and her face retained a semblance of normal colour. Alistair gathered her against his chest. At first she weighed little in his arms but as she began to let go her body grew heavier.
The mage arrived and immediately stepped to Alistair’s side. He encouraged Alistair to set Brenna on the floor and crouched beside her. He felt at her throat and passed his hands over her face and down the centre of her torso. He looked up and nodded toward Leliana.
“The potion is good, she will recover.”
Runir had started to convulse and the healer immediately shifted his attention to the rogue. He waved his hands up and down the man’s body, chanting loudly. Sweat stood out upon his brow and his shoulders trembled as he waged war with the poison coursing through Runir’s system. Finally he slumped forward, resting his hands upon his patient for support and took a deep shuddering breath.
Runir had stopped jerking about and his eyes opened as he gasped in a short breath.
“Runir, are you well? Can you draw breath?” Leliana’s voice was tinged with deep concern.
The rogue took a few more experimental breaths and flicked his eyes toward Leliana. He nodded and his voice rasped quietly.
“I always knew my love of chocolate would be the death of me.” His eyes lost their focus and his head dropped to the side. He was alive, but barely.
Though Leliana’s face bore a tremulous smile Alistair failed to see the humour in the situation. Rage and fury flared within him, building until he could no longer hold it in.
“I have had enough! I refuse to be under siege in my own home!”
He stepped to the silver platter and swept it from the small table, the clatter and shatter of dishes barely registering as he spun towards the guards clustered about the door to the dining room.
“Dismiss all the staff from the castle. Now! Have all the guards brought to the Landsmeet chamber. I would meet with each and every one of my men.”
Isolde cleared her throat. “Alistair, is that wise?”
He wheeled upon her. “If you believe our poisoner is still among us, you are a bigger fool than I have been.”
Alistair then dropped to the floor beside Brenna and slipped his arms beneath her shoulders and hips once again, lifting her. He cradled her against his chest. Her eyes were open but unfocused and her face was entirely too pale. He dropped kisses onto her forehead and cheek. He was about to touch his lips to hers when Leliana dropped hand on his shoulder.
“Alistair, don’t, we must clean her mouth first.”
Being denied the taste of his love’s lips was the final straw. His shoulders shook, his breath caught and Alistair cried.
A/N: It’s been a temptation to switch to Zevran’s point of view throughout this tale, but the familiar Alistair/Aedan swap lulled me into complacency. Zevran’s story has been developing in the back of my mind as I write this, however, and I intend to do him justice! I will write a companion piece to this when I am done.
How tempting was it to kill Isolde in this chapter? VERY. But though I knew most of your would cheer my vindictiveness, such an act would serve little purpose in the story. So she lives, for now.
Fort Drakon now housed two unremarkable looking men. Alistair was beginning to understand why the Brethren had never recruited Zevran. The elf was far too memorable. Despite the fact Zevran could slip through shadow like any rogue, he could not slip through a crowd unnoticed.
They caught the archer due to an extraordinary stroke of luck. The panicked crowd blocked the exits to the tournament for close to an hour allowing Runir to weave stealthily through the tightly packed people until he caught sight of a likely suspect, which he did. The archer had not been stupid enough to try and leave with his bow, no, it was by an odd turn of chance that Runir recognised the fellow. Another Antivan was escorted to the dungeons.
The archer almost didn’t make it inside the fort alive. Celene’s chevaliers confronted Alistair’s soldiers outside the arena and a standoff ensued.
“This man is responsible for the death of the Chancellor, Bertram Avene. In the name of the Empress, I demand satisfaction!” The woman who had won the tournament stood before her chevaliers as she laid down her challenge.
A line of chevaliers formed in front of the prisoner and his guards. Alistair and Celene were sent for and when they arrived the discussion had spiraled out of control leaving tempers frayed.
Leliana stepped forward and with her voice, trained from years of storytelling, calmed both sides of the argument, calling for reason. “Gentlemen, ladies, let us work together here. This man gave insult to both our nations and caused much grief.”
She nodded towards the chevaliers and indicated that they should fall in with the guard. “We will all escort this prisoner to the dungeons where he will be questioned to the satisfaction of both parties. Then we shall mediate upon his punishment.”
Alistair glanced at Celene and winced at the dried blood that still streaked her cheek, though she had rubbed at it with a damp cloth. Her dress was ruined. Her eyes were clouded with grief, but she nodded at Leliana’s words and added her assent to the plan.
Alistair indicated his approval also and the assassin had the dubious honour of being escorted to the fort by twenty men, two monarchs, a chancellor and a Grey Warden.
The questioning proved fruitless. As with the first assassin caught, these two men had obviously been paid for silence. Neither the threat of twenty men nor the massive torturer could sway them.
Alistair, Brenna, Celene and Leliana waiting in one of the sitting rooms toward the front of the fort. Leliana called for a basin of warm water and Brenna arranged for refreshments. The bard set to helping Celene clean her face and Brenna took the Empress’s hands and spoke softly to her. Alistair sat awkwardly aside with the feeling he’d intruded upon some female ritual.
Glad of the few moments to himself Alistair ran over the past week in his mind. Maker, he was tired. The constant threat of assassination was wearing them all down. The flared tempers outside the arena had not been the first he’d witnessed over the past few days. Rubbing his temples with his fingers Alistair gave thanks those near and dear to him remained as yet unharmed and sent a quick prayer to the Maker for Bertram. They had a second funeral to plan.
Runir slipped into the room and stepped to Alistair’s side. Alistair looked up and saw no answers in the rogue’s expression. “Let me guess, they’re not talking.”
Runir shook his head and sat beside him. “Your Majesty we could tear these men apart, limb from limb, and not discover their secrets.
Brenna glanced over at the quiet words, her eyes wide in fear and Alistair attempted a small smile. He knew it sat awkwardly upon his lips, but she nodded silently and returned her attention to the empress.
“Then how did Zevran obtain as much information as he did?” As he asked the question, Alistair could not help the involuntary shiver that traveled down his spine. Zevran was a dangerous man, definitely, but the Crow had been a friend and confidant for so long the memory of his former profession tended to fade.
Runir’s brows raised and he considered Alistair thoughtfully for several seconds before responding. “He did not tell you. No, I can see he did not.”
The warden’s gaze returned to his hands a moment, his brow creased in concentration. Alistair could see the man struggled with the urge to tell him something and waited patiently.
When he finally looked up his eyes held a faraway look. “Zevran is a man of many talents, but torture does not number among them. It is not his style. He favours the quick and painless kill. In his own way he is merciful.”
This confirmed Alistair’s own thoughts about the elf and though relieved to hear it, knew this did not answer his question. He nodded for Runir to continue.
“I know this because despite the fact I am not a Crow, I did grow up in the same brothel as Zevran. I have known him all my life. We have managed to maintain a friendship, of a sort, despite the divergence of our respective careers. There is only one man that knows Zevran better than I do, his brother, Juilden.”
Shock barely covered the buzzing that crowded all thoughts from Alistair’s mind. When Brenna glanced up and Leliana turned about sharply Alistair realized he’d gasped out loud at the news. He pulled himself together and nodded as reassuringly as he could at them before returning his attention to Runir.
“Are you sure? You know this for a fact?” His hands gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. A new fear crept into his mind. He had just sent Zevran to Tevinter with the one man that may mean more to the elf than either himself or Aedan.
Runir reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Your Majesty, I did not mean to alarm you. Perhaps I should have held my tongue.”
“No, Runir, all information is valuable.” Alistair glanced at the warden and their eyes met. He tried to read the rogue’s expression, to determine if his fear was ill founded.
“Zevran swore and oath to the Commander, to Aedan, did he not?” Runir asked.
“Yes, but Aedan released him from it years ago.”
“That is of little consequence. Zevran will honour it until the day he dies. Do not fear his purpose, Your Majesty.”
Alistair’s mind acknowledged these words, but his heart still held tightly to his fear.
The activity around Celene ceased and all three women stared across at them curiously. Alistair and Runir had conversed in low tones and their words had not reached beyond their chairs.
Celene arched a perfectly manicured brow and said, “What news, Alistair?”
“Nothing more than we already know, Celene. These assassins will not talk. Let us hope Zevran succeeds were we fail.”
“Their silence assures their fate then. You will have them executed?”
Alistair swallowed over the lump in his throat and nodded mutely. Then, gathering his strength he nodded again, more forcefully. These men would die for their crimes, though he derived no pleasure or sense of satisfaction from such a duty.
+++++
Acrid smoke curled through the air causing Alistair’s eyes to water. He made no attempt to dash the unwanted tears away, they were fitting to the occasion. Bertram’s body had been reduced to little more than ash as the pyre burned low. Against all reason, the day was gloriously sunny with the lightest of breezes, the sort that would normally cool sun-kissed skin, which stirred the smoke just enough that the gathered crowd was shrouded in its haze.
Alistair felt a gentle nudge and looked down to find Brenna’s fingers entwining with his. He glanced at her and noticed how pale her skin had become. She looked tired, her beautiful eyes ringed with dark circles and her cheeks hollowed. He knew just how she felt. In the two nights since the tournament no one had enjoyed a full night of sleep.
A festival in celebration of his upcoming wedding had been planned for today. They attended a funeral instead. The more somber occasion had not deterred the crowds, however, and most of Denerim had turned out to pay their respects to the Orlesian chancellor. Celene appeared taken aback by this showing and Leliana took the opportunity to assure her that all Ferelden felt her grief as if it were their own.
Afterwards they retired to the Landsmeet chamber for yet another reception. Ferelden’s nobles took the time to pay their respects to the Orlesian empress, and she graciously accepted their offers of sympathy.
Alistair finally found a few moments alone with Celene. They sat quietly side by side for a short while, letting the murmur of gathered voices fill the silence. Celene turned to look at him.
“Your chancellor has a silvered tongue, Alistair. You did well in choosing a bard for this role.”
Alistair nodded at the compliment. “Yet she speaks only the truth, Celene. Our countries are allies now, and I hope friends.”
The empress took his hand. “This has certainly been the most interesting diplomatic visit of my career. There may be a call for vengeance when I return to Orlais. Not all of my own Lords and Ladies hold the same equanimity towards Ferelden as I do.”
Alistair could not help his sharp intake of breath at her words. Not that he did not expect them, but because Celene openly discussed this with him now.
“Perhaps now is not the best time to discuss…”
“Worry not, dear Alistair, though I will have to soothe many ruffled feathers when I return to Orlais, I am Empress. I was not elected to this role. Like you, I fought for it. My will shall prevail.”
A small curl of tension knotted in his gut. Thank the Maker he was friends with this woman and not enemies. She regarded him solemnly. “I do not blame Ferelden for the loss of my chancellor.”
“I thank you for your words, Celene. We have worked too hard to forge this fragile peace. I will not let it be shattered by the foolish whim of an exiled and disgraced traitor. You have my word on that.”
She patted the hand she still held and then released it. “Then our business is concluded and our diplomatic ties have been strengthened, Alistair.”
In the back of Alistair’s mind floated the offhand comment he had tossed at Leliana, had it only been days before? ‘We do things differently here in Ferelden.’ He allowed himself a smile and was heartened when Celene returned it.
+++++
No one had spoken for a couple of minutes and Alistair looked up from his plate. Everyone’s face pointed downward as they concentrated on their food. The dinner party hosted only a few guests and would not be remarked upon as the most riotous of occasions.
Celene had elected not to stay for his wedding. Tomorrow she would return to Orlais. Alistair understood her reluctance to attend a celebration so soon after the death of her chancellor. That Bertram had been more than an advisor to Celene had not been immediately apparent. Leliana pointed it out to him.
“Would you not grieve for me in the same way, Alistair?”
Alistair’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course I would Leliana, you are my dear friend!”
She nodded. “As Bertram was to Celene. A most taciturn fellow, certainly, but they were firm friends. In a country where no one says exactly what they mean, he was the rare man who spoke his mind. Her court will not miss him, but she will.”
Leliana’s face had clearly shown her sorrow and Alistair could only nod in quiet acknowledgement of her words.
He glanced at her now. She looked up and caught his eye. Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. What was there to say? The tragic events of the previous two weeks had silenced even a bard.
Brenna spoke into the silence and her quiet voice seemed unnaturally high and girlish.
“To honour the peace between our two nations I have asked the kitchens to prepare a special dessert, Celene. A known Orlesian delicacy. It is a small gesture, but one I hope you will take as a token of the friendship we continue to share.”
Celene looked up and smiled at Brenna. “My dear, you are a treasure. I shall miss your company as I journey home.”
The women regarded one another fondly and Alistair felt a small sense of peace as the spirits around the room began to lift. Even Isolde looked interested in the dessert being carried carefully into the dining room.
The silver tray bore an assortment of small dishes, each one of them subtly different to the other. The server set the tray beside the table and spoke quietly, her voice hushed with the shyness of addressing two monarchs.
“Would Your Majesty care for dessert?”
Brenna spoke up. “It is mousse, Alistair, and so delicately flavoured. Each of these dishes is just a little different from the other, a variety of chocolates enhanced with sweetness and bitterness. I hope you find them to your liking Celene.”
The Empress smiled widely. “Another passion we share, Brenna, and such a wonderful gesture. Thank you.”
Alistair glanced about the table and noted that all the women, particularly Isolde and Leliana were eyeing the tray with interest. Obviously this dish was known and well liked in Orlais. Everyone chose their flavour as each dish was described by the nervous young serving woman.
Alistair raised his glass in a final toast and everyone joined him. “To friendship.”
He reached for his spoon.
“Alistair, no!” Runir’s voice was thick and his lips appeared to be swollen.
Runir rose from his position across the table and strode toward Alistair, whisking the dish from the table and tossing it to the floor. The rogue then dropped to his knees, his face purpling as he clutched at his throat.
Leliana knocked her chair back in her haste and ran for the door. “Summon the healer, the mage, now!”
She ran over to Runir and knelt beside him, brushing the hair back from his face. “Sh, Runir, calm your breath, the healer is coming.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and drew out a potion which she unstoppered and dribbled across his swollen lips.
Alistair witnessed all of this in stunned silence. He quickly glanced around the table and noted that everyone had dropped their spoons. Most of them had been in the act of replacing their glasses and had only just picked up their utensils when Runir had shouted. Most of them. Alistair looked to Brenna last and his heart pounded and rage exploded within him as he saw her drop her spoon. The merest smear of chocolate decorated her lower lip and her eyes widened. Her face began to suffuse with colour and she coughed and raised her hands to her throat.
“Alistair.” Her voice croaked with panic and her shoulders hitched as she struggled to draw breath.
“No!” He stood, knocking his own chair back to the floor with a loud crash as he leaned down and swept her into his arms. He bent his head and whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, “Brenna, my love, hold on.”
Leliana rose, her face twisted in anguish as she attempted to administer some of the same potion to Brenna.
“She barely tasted it, Alistair. Hold her still. Don’t panic, Brenna, steady your breath.”
Brenna’s lips did not appear to be swelling to the same extent as Runir’s and her face retained a semblance of normal colour. Alistair gathered her against his chest. At first she weighed little in his arms but as she began to let go her body grew heavier.
The mage arrived and immediately stepped to Alistair’s side. He encouraged Alistair to set Brenna on the floor and crouched beside her. He felt at her throat and passed his hands over her face and down the centre of her torso. He looked up and nodded toward Leliana.
“The potion is good, she will recover.”
Runir had started to convulse and the healer immediately shifted his attention to the rogue. He waved his hands up and down the man’s body, chanting loudly. Sweat stood out upon his brow and his shoulders trembled as he waged war with the poison coursing through Runir’s system. Finally he slumped forward, resting his hands upon his patient for support and took a deep shuddering breath.
Runir had stopped jerking about and his eyes opened as he gasped in a short breath.
“Runir, are you well? Can you draw breath?” Leliana’s voice was tinged with deep concern.
The rogue took a few more experimental breaths and flicked his eyes toward Leliana. He nodded and his voice rasped quietly.
“I always knew my love of chocolate would be the death of me.” His eyes lost their focus and his head dropped to the side. He was alive, but barely.
Though Leliana’s face bore a tremulous smile Alistair failed to see the humour in the situation. Rage and fury flared within him, building until he could no longer hold it in.
“I have had enough! I refuse to be under siege in my own home!”
He stepped to the silver platter and swept it from the small table, the clatter and shatter of dishes barely registering as he spun towards the guards clustered about the door to the dining room.
“Dismiss all the staff from the castle. Now! Have all the guards brought to the Landsmeet chamber. I would meet with each and every one of my men.”
Isolde cleared her throat. “Alistair, is that wise?”
He wheeled upon her. “If you believe our poisoner is still among us, you are a bigger fool than I have been.”
Alistair then dropped to the floor beside Brenna and slipped his arms beneath her shoulders and hips once again, lifting her. He cradled her against his chest. Her eyes were open but unfocused and her face was entirely too pale. He dropped kisses onto her forehead and cheek. He was about to touch his lips to hers when Leliana dropped hand on his shoulder.
“Alistair, don’t, we must clean her mouth first.”
Being denied the taste of his love’s lips was the final straw. His shoulders shook, his breath caught and Alistair cried.
A/N: It’s been a temptation to switch to Zevran’s point of view throughout this tale, but the familiar Alistair/Aedan swap lulled me into complacency. Zevran’s story has been developing in the back of my mind as I write this, however, and I intend to do him justice! I will write a companion piece to this when I am done.
How tempting was it to kill Isolde in this chapter? VERY. But though I knew most of your would cheer my vindictiveness, such an act would serve little purpose in the story. So she lives, for now.
#295
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 06:51
Freckles04
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Oh...oh! I thought for a minute you were going to kill Brenna! You...you... **shakes fist**
I'm glad to see Alistair have a fit here. I think it's long overdue. Angry Alistair is looking for vengeance...! (Hurray!)
I'm glad to see Alistair have a fit here. I think it's long overdue. Angry Alistair is looking for vengeance...! (Hurray!)
#296
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 06:57
Maximus741000
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Now that was a good chapter, and an intense one too. With the growing number of attacks taking place, Aedan's return is imperative, lets hope he returns in time to end this threat. It was certainly a good sight to see Alistair taking charge of the dire situation, the reason is clear: NO ONE HARMS BRENNA!
#297
Posté 20 mars 2010 - 10:03
MireliA
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For a second you had me believing Brenna was dying too...
I hope she doesn't change her mind about marrying him after all this!
I hope she doesn't change her mind about marrying him after all this!
#298
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 12:44
Sisimka
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MireliA wrote...
For a second you had me believing Brenna was dying too...
I hope she doesn't change her mind about marrying him after all this!
I was too afraid to let Brenna die. There were certain people who might have hunted me down! To be honest, though the idea was HORRIBLY tempting, I did not create her to die. I created her to marry Al.
I have wondered on and off as I write Al's chapters if this kind of tension would scare her off marrying him... it would be intimidating enough to marry a king without the whole assassination thing.
Modifié par Sisimka, 21 mars 2010 - 12:45 .
#299
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 12:48
MireliA
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Sisimka wrote...
MireliA wrote...
For a second you had me believing Brenna was dying too...
I hope she doesn't change her mind about marrying him after all this!
I was too afraid to let Brenna die. There were certain people who might have hunted me down! To be honest, though the idea was HORRIBLY tempting, I did not create her to die. I created her to marry Al.
I have wondered on and off as I write Al's chapters if this kind of tension would scare her off marrying him... it would be intimidating enough to marry a king without the whole assassination thing.
On the other hand though, if they can get through this together they can survive anything. At least that's what the romantic in me wants to believe
#300
Posté 21 mars 2010 - 02:26
Sisimka
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MireliA wrote...
On the other hand though, if they can get through this together they can survive anything. At least that's what the romantic in me wants to believe
Me too! Maker knows I like to test my characters, this time it's Alistair and Brenna's turn.
