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[LadyDamodred]

This story follows what happens to Alistair and Lya, Ferelden and the Grey Wardens after the events in DAO and DAOA.  Rated T for now, will move to M later.

I have attempted to keep this story true as possible to all the lore I know of the game, as well as my own personal RP choices. Some things are changed out of necessity, but I have tried to keep them to a minimum. I appreciate any and all feedback, especially if you see any continuity errors.
I want to give a very big thank you to KnightofPhoenix from the DA forums. He has been gracious enough to serve as a sounding board for my ideas, and has been an immense help to me with the more political aspects of this story. Thank you, my friend.

Again, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.  (FF.net link www.fanfiction.net/s/5837898/1/)
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Prologue: 6 months after the end of the events in DAO.

Osric looked down at the papers on his desk. The last year and a half had been hectic, to say the least. The shortest Blight in history had been defeated by two junior Grey Wardens in a country in the middle of fighting a civil war over the throne. Had he not had all of the communications from the Wardens in Orlais during that year, and the information that came to light once they were finally allowed into Ferelden, he wouldn't have believed it. Not only were the Wardens restored to a position of honor in Ferelden, the throne was held by Wardens. To have this just dropped into his lap like a gift from the Maker was unbelievable.

Not to say there weren't problems. The biggest problem was that Alistair and Lya were somehow both alive. Every Grey Warden knew that slaying the Archdemon meant the Warden who dealt the killing blow had also died. Yet, these two had survived. He might have thought that Riordan was responsible, but he had confirmed that the man died before reaching Fort Drakon and that those two Wardens were the only ones there. It was troubling. The Orlesian Wardens hadn't been able to get an answer from them, saying they both claimed they didn't know how they survived. That was going to have to be dealt with, but not right now. Interrogating them at this time would only hinder his plans.

The other problem was the letter from the queen of Ferelden, though she hadn't been queen when she wrote it. She had written to him asking for information on Grey Wardens and their ability to have children, specifically with each other. He was going to have to be very careful here. While Lya had accomplished extraordinary things, she was still a young, newly married woman. Not only that, she was queen of a country that just fought a war over succession and would be looked at to provide an heir. Coming right out and telling her that it would not happen would not do anyone any good. He would have to have a mage draft a suitable reply about not knowing much and that they would look into it for her.

There was also the matter of the continued darkspawn raids. All accounts of previous Blights talked of how the darkspawn retreated back to the Deep Roads once the Archdemon was slain. But that wasn't happening in Ferelden. Not only that, they were now being spotted in other countries. He wondered if it were related to what happened with the Archdemon. No matter. While savage, these darkspawn parties were still just darkspawn and could be dealt with accordingly. The Wardens would meet the threat the threat of their nemesis the way they always had.

Osric picked up his pen again to finish signing the order appointing Lya Theirin as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. He was pleased that the Order had its own lands to rule, especially in Ferelden. While he could appoint any Warden as Warden-Commander, in reality Lya was his only choice. She and Alistair would be offended if an outsider was sent to take control after everything they had done. The people would also likely take amiss to that action. Besides, they were both Duncan's recruits, and whatever other faults Osric thought the man had possessed, he was an able recruiter.

They could be very useful to him, Osric thought. But first he had to see what they were really like, especially Lya. He hoped she would do well with her command. A dozen Orlesian Wardens were in Amaranthine, setting up Vigil's Keep as needed, but it was going to be up to the girl to begin formal recruiting. He would have to watch her choices and decisions closely. If all went well, the Wardens would be seeing a rise to power that they had never known in Thedas.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 28 novembre 2010 - 01:33 .

[LadyDamodred]

Chapter 1:


It was several hours past sunset when the party finally rode through the palace gates in Denerim. The rain, which had been steady for the last few days, had increased steadily throughout the evening into a downpour. The score of riders were soaked and exhausted, having pushed on in order to reach Denerim that night rather than making camp just a few scant hours short of the city. As the gates closed behind them, grooms and stable boys ran out of the stable to help guide the riders in.

The head of the night watch hurried from his tower to meet them after dispatching a messenger to the palace. "Welcome back, your Majesty," he said. "We were growing worried when you didn't arrive the day before yesterday." The rider at the head of the column just nodded to the man and dismounted. The guard tactfully retreated as the party began dismounting and removing their tack and equipment.

Lya Theirin, formerly Lady Lya Cousland, currently Lady Lya, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Savior of Ferelden, Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, was in a foul mood. That last title was the reason for her more than month long absence from Denerim as she dealt with Grey Warden affairs in Amaranthine. What was supposed to have taken no more than three weeks had stretched into five as everything seemed to go wrong. When she and her escort had finally been ready to depart, the early autumn skies had opened up, turning the roads from Amaranthine to Denerim into mud hock-deep. Not only did it slow their progress, the cold snap that came with the rain caused muscle spasms in three of the horses, forcing them to slow their pace even more unless they wanted to lame the mounts.

She wanted nothing more than to get into the palace, find a hot bath and hot meal, in that order, and go to bed, preferably with her human furnace of a husband beside her. To further those goals, she set about getting Edana unsaddled and brushed down. She could have asked a groom to do it, but she made caring for the horse one of her personal responsibilities. As she brushed the roan mare down, she looked over to Alistair's own sable warhorse, Adair, and smiled fondly, her mood lightening a bit. When Bann Alfstanna had come to present Alistair with the horse and arrow that the Eremon family presented to every monarch, she had also given Lya a horse. Alfstanna hadn't mentioned it in her speech, but they all knew it was in thanks for rescuing her brother, Irminric. After that year spent walking back and forth across Ferelden, the acquisition of horses was sublime.

As she was finishing up and making sure Edana had enough oats and water, Lya noticed something odd. The stable was nearly full. There were always a dozen or so extra stalls, but these all seemed to be filled. Shouldering her saddlebags, she wandered over to the unfamiliar mounts. They were good animals, with clean lines and strong muscles, and obviously well cared for. She frowned as she searched their tack for a clue as to who they belonged to.

A griffin symbol adorned the saddle of the horse in front of her. Moving quickly, she checked the other stalls and found the same thing in each one. Fifteen Grey Warden mounts. In Denerim. Lya didn't like this. She was the Warden-Commander and the Grey Warden base was in Amaranthine. Why would a well armed and provisioned party of Wardens come here and not to the Warden headquarters? She shook her head. Perhaps they had been looking for her, seeing as how she spent most of her time in Denerim. If they arrived only recently, they may have opted to wait out the weather. She needed to find out more. But as she made her way into the palace, she couldn't shake the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong.

She walked quickly down the quiet halls, hoping to get to her chambers and get her armor off before it rusted to her. A familiar voice coming from a side passage stopped her, however. "Ah, my dear Grey Warden. How good it is to see that you have returned. You were gone so long we were beginning to fear you meant to stay in Amaranthine permanently. How cruel you have been to deprive us of your perfect visage! I myself have been desolate in your absence, naturally," the lilting, accented voice said.

Lya turned, a genuine smile curving up the corners of her mouth as she spotted the elf walking towards her. "Zevran," she said warmly, "you have no idea how much I've missed you." And dropping all of her gear, she hugged him. Zevran usually accompanied her on her trips to Amaranthine, but he had been busy with something when she left this time. With all the problems she had experienced, rarely had she missed his wit and humor more.

Zevran returned the hug despite the wet and freezing nature of her armor. "My dear, really, we need to get you into some proper clothes. Embracing you when you are wearing such things is, well quite honestly, not nearly so much fun as it could be." Lya laughed, some of her weariness dissipating at Zevran's banter. She stepped away from him still chuckling, reaching down to get her things, but Zevran beat her to it. He lifted her saddlebags onto his shoulder easily and fell into step beside her.

"Come; let us get you out of that armor and into a hot tub before you freeze to death. Perhaps if you ask nicely I might even wash your back for you. Surely you must be stiff from all that riding." She laughed again and punched him lightly in the shoulder, ignoring his mock cries of pain. The elf fell silent as they continued walking, and Lya shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. For all his banter, he was looking unusually serious.

He saw her looking at him and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Best we wait till you are cleaned up and fed and then you can go see Alistair. He has more answers than I do and best you hear whatever he has to say from him."

"Does this have to do with the Wardens?" she asked.

Zevran thought for a minute. "Like I said, best you hear this from Alistair. But I will say, my dear Warden, that I think I much prefer you Ferelden Wardens to the others."

They finished the walk to the royal bedchambers in silence. Ever the gentleman, Zevran opened the door for her and allowed her to enter first. She spotted the steaming bath in the corner of the room and broke out into a wide grin. "Zevran, have I ever told you I love you?"

He laughed. "I have, on occasion, heard you utter such words. Though not nearly as frequently as I would like, nor with your husband present. Why might that be, I wonder, hm?" Their camaraderie was an easy thing now. It had not always been like that. In the beginning, his outrageous flirting had flustered her, and she considered it wildly inappropriate. He had also meant it in the beginning. If Zevran could have bedded her, he would have. But time had changed the nature of their relationship. Not counting Alistair, Zevran was her best friend and she wouldn't change him for anything.

Zevran set the saddlebags down against a wall and moved to help Lya remove her armor. He had been right about her being stiff and she merely waited quietly while he undid the straps and buckles that would have been nearly impossible for her to reach. She finally stood in the padded rust-splotched undergarments that kept her armor from flaying her skin off. She began to peel those off, but stopped and winced. Sodden as they were, they hadn't done a very good job. There were several spots that had been rubbed raw and she wasn't looking forward to her bath nearly so much anymore.

Sucking his teeth as he saw the sores, Zevran retrieved a small vial from a cabinet in the room. He pressed it into her hand with a terse "Drink." She started to protest that the sores hardly called for a healing poultice, but the look on Zevran's face stopped her. She had thought earlier that she had rarely seen him so grim, but that wasn't true. She had never seen him so grim, not even when they faced the Archdemon. Without another word, she drained the vial, instantly feeling better as the magical potion began healing the wounds. Nodding in approval, Zevran took the vial from her and began collecting her sodden cloak and armor.

As he set them near the fire to dry before too much rust set in, Lya took the opportunity of his turned back to finish peeling her clothes off and hop into the water. The faint chuckle from across the room told her Zevran knew what she was doing. The water was almost too hot and felt absolutely wonderful, and Lya set to work scrubbing the grime of traveling for almost a week from her body. Zevran came over to pick up her sodden clothes, wrinkling his nose at them. "If I may suggest, I would have them burned, my dear. But we may have to wait a week or two for them to dry out." Dumping them in a pile near the armor, he then moved the privacy screen in front of the tub so that she wouldn't be exposed to anyone entering.

Checking to make sure everything was in order, he headed towards the door. "A servant will be coming up with some dinner for you. Take your time. When you feel human again, Alistair will be in his study." She called out her thanks and Zevran went to open the door. He hesitated before he did, saying softly to himself, "I am glad you are home, Lya, but I do not know how happy you will be."

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 24 mars 2010 - 04:51 .

[KnightofPhoenix]

Can't wait for more!

BTW, I just read a codex entry in Awakening about the First Warden. Interesting to say the least

[LadyDamodred]

Longer chapter here.  Again, any and all feedback is much appreciated.
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Chapter 2:


Zevran entered Alistair’s study without knocking. Alistair, still sitting at his desk, was practically buried in papers, writing at a frantic and harried pace. He looked up as the assassin entered and began to rise. “She’s back? How is she?” he asked. Zevran waved him back down and dropped into the chair across from Alistair’s desk.

“She is fine,” he said. “Cold, tired, hungry, irritated. You are in for a thrilling night, I think, your Majesty.” Smiling briefly, Zevran continued, “I’ve taken care of the first three, but I’m afraid both of you disapprove when I try to help her with the last one.” Alistair scrubbed a hand through his already disheveled hair and nodded, not even bothering to scowl at Zevran’s usual comments on his relationship. That was a bad sign, Zevran knew. He could usually get a rise out of the younger man and it was good for a few laughs, but Alistair had far more serious things on his mind.

Alistair looked at the papers before him in disgust and threw the pen down. “Enough. If anything still needs to be done, I’ll finish it in the morning. I might as well go talk to her now.” He stood up, opening a drawer in the desk to remove a single opened letter; a letter which still bore bits of gray sealing wax on it. He paused before opening the door, looking at the elf still lounging in the chair. “Zevran, I would appreciate it if you could meet me here around dawn tomorrow. There are…things I need to discuss with you.”

Zevran’s eyebrows rose. The young man was far more serious than Zevran was used to seeing, grave even. Whatever he wanted to discuss, it would likely be big. “But of course, Alistair. At dawn then,” he said, also getting to his feet and following the king out of the room. The two men walked in companionable silence until reaching the split in the hallway that would take them in different directions. Zevran reached out a hand to stop Alistair before he walked away, and Alistair looked at him questioningly.

“Be gentle with her, Alistair. Our fearless Grey Warden is not always as tough as she seems, especially when it concerns you.” Alistair didn’t reply, just nodded and touched Zevran’s shoulder briefly in thanks.

Alistair’s steps slowed as he neared the royal apartments. He was so tired. The last few days had reminded how deeply he both loved and needed his wife. And now he was only going to be with her for one short night before they were parted again. He wanted nothing more to just go in and hold her until morning, but that wasn’t going to happen. There was a lot he had to tell her, and she wasn’t going to like any of it.

Quietly, he entered and stood for a moment looking at the center of his world. She was sitting at the table in their room with the remains of a veritable feast spread before her.  Wrapped in a soft robe, she was reading one of the missives that had arrived while she was away. The rose he had given her so long ago was held gently in her hand, still as fresh as the day he had picked in Lothering. He wondered what magic kept it like that. Sensing him, she looked up and put both rose and letter on the table. Then she was suddenly in his arms. Her hair was still damp, she smelled of soap, and her hands and mouth were very inquisitive. Alistair allowed himself to be lost in her embrace for awhile, her nearness as intoxicating as ever after a long absence.

Eventually, however, he pulled away and rested his forehead against her own briefly before guiding her back to her chair. He needed some distance from her in order to collect his thoughts. She had the most delightful effect on his brain, but this was one time he needed to think clearly. Lya made a disappointed sound low in her throat and looked towards the high bed meaningfully. “Later,” he whispered huskily. “Later. But first, we need to talk.”

Lya allowed herself to be guided to the table, knowing Alistair wanted to talk about what Zevran had been hinting at earlier. She couldn’t help pouting a little bit though. She had missed him so much, and things had gone so poorly, she felt she deserved a little respite before the rest of the world came crashing back down on them. Alistair pressed her down into the chair, letting his hands linger in a caress along her shoulders and throat. Then fumbling the letter out of his pocket, he gave it to her. “Before anything else, read this.”

She took the letter, noting the remains of the gray wax that had sealed it. Frowning, she looked at the front. No writing marred the surface of the heavy, expensive parchment. She opened the letter, smoothed it flat on the wood in front of her and began to read.
 
To His Most Royal Majesty, King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden,
 
            It is our hope that this missive finds you in good health. The Grey Wardens thank you for all that you have personally done in restoring both honor and prestige to the Order in Ferelden. We sincerely hope that the events of the last couple years will usher in a new age of cooperation between the Order and governments of not just Ferelden but all of Thedas.
            It is much to our regret, then, that there are still matters left unclear concerning the defeat of the most recent Blight. We know you have been much involved with the restoring of your country, and rightfully so. But matters cannot be left as they are indefinitely. We feel that Ferelden is in a position now that it does not need the full time attention of its king.
            Therefore, your presence is needed in Weisshaupt. We understand that such a request is not taken lightly. We have full confidence that the rest of your government will be able to capably handle all matters that come before the throne during your stay here. We shall endeavor to make your journey as brief as possible, and to that end we have arranged for swift ships and fresh mounts to be available at all points in your journey. We do not desire your absence from your kingdom to be any longer than absolutely necessary.
            Furthermore, in order to guarantee your Majesty’s safety, this missive is being delivered by an honor guard of the Grey Wardens’ finest members. They shall escort you for the entirety of your trip to and from Weisshaupt. We look forward to finally meeting the Hero of Ferelden in person.
 
Osric
First Warden
Weisshaupt
 
Lya read the letter through once, and then went back and reread it again slowly. Her brows knit together as she read, her lips moving silently as she went back to certain passages again. Finally, she lowered the letter back to the desk and sat thinking. Alistair let her work through it. It was a testament to her political teaching that he had been able to read through the lines to the more ominous messages hidden in the letter almost instantly.

“They are not actually asking, are they? You don’t have a choice in the matter,” she said slowly.

“No,” he said shaking his head briefly. “That was most apparent from both the letter and the…demeanor of my ‘honor guard’.

Her nostrils flared. “Do they truly think they can simply summon a sitting king any time they wish?! You are not some servant for them to order around!” she said angrily. “But then to them you are not just a king, you are also a Grey Warden. I suppose they think that takes precedence.” She looked at him seriously. “They want to know why we’re both still alive.”

“Yes,” he said heavily. “Playing stupid worked with the Orlesian Wardens for a little while, but I don’t think it will work nearly so well in Weisshaupt. I wish we had been alone on top of that damned tower. Then we could have given all the credit to Riordan.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. Maker, he was tired. “Lya,” he said carefully, “we need to decide what I’m going to tell them.”

She said nothing for a long time, sitting with her eyes closed and rubbing the spot between her eyebrows. It was a habit she had long before he met her and he wondered not for the first time if he should get her a worry token. He had always liked having one when he needed to think and he would rather she didn’t wear the skin off her forehead.

She finally looked at him. “I think…” she began slowly, “I think you need to tell them the truth.”

Alistair said nothing for a long moment, simply accepting her answer. He had known this would probably be her decision and he thought he knew why she decided on it, but he wanted to make sure he understood all of her reasons. “Why?” he asked softly. “And if I do, Lya, what happens if they go looking for Morrigan? She was your friend. Are you really willing to expose her like this?” He harbored no love for Morrigan and he tried not to think of her out there with his child. He wondered sometimes, but in his heart knew he would never set eyes on his firstborn. But for all that, he was grateful to Morrigan. Without her, he would not have this life he had now. The price she asked seemed small in comparison to that.

“Morrigan…” Lya said softly with the same expression of regret that crossed her face whenever the name of her friend was mentioned. They had been an odd pairing. The two women shared little in common, but had somehow found a connection. Lya had always thought of Morrigan as her alter self. Had Morrigan had been raised with a loving family, or had Lya been raised with a mother such as Flemeth, she could easily see them swapping places. While the two disagreed about a lot of things, there had always been the knowledge that each did whatever was necessary to protect what they loved.

“Morrigan can take care of herself,” she said. “If she does not want to be found, I highly doubt the Wardens will be able to find her. And even if they did, she can take deal with it. I’m not worried about her, Alistair. She knew what she was doing. I wish no harm to her, but she is not my primary concern.”

She sighed and waved a hand at the letter on the table before her. “But why are they sending for you, though? I love you, Alistair, but I am the Warden-Commander here. I am the one who slew the Archdemon. I am the one who dealt with that mess in Amaranthine last year.  And while they don’t know it yet, I am the one ultimately responsible for why we’re alive. If anyone should go, it should be me.”

He looked at her, slightly incredulously. “You can’t guess?” he asked. She shook her head, her brows pulling together in confusion. He chuckled. “Ah, Lya my love, you always have a way of making me feel better. Think about it. Think about how those Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt are likely to see the two of us.

“One on hand, there’s me: A bastard prince who only met his father once. A prince who didn’t even set foot inside the palace until he had to in order to decide the crown. I slept in a stable until I was ten and was then sent off for templar training because my guardian’s wife didn’t like me. I irritated everyone there, including the Grand Cleric, and wasn’t thought very highly of. I was recruited in the Grey Wardens just about by chance and only ever fought a handful of darkspawn until Ostagar. After that, the other Grey Warden I was with was kind enough to let me tag along on her grand adventure to save Ferelden. I did get to kill the Hero of Ferelden at the Landsmeet, but only because my fellow Grey Warden let me. After that, she’s the one who insisted I be king.

“And then on the other hand, there’s you: A daughter of Ferelden’s most noble house, a child of two warriors who fought to overthrow the Orlesians. A woman who was raised from the cradle to be both warrior and leader. A woman who then fought her way out of an attempted assassination and survived the battle of Ostagar. And you were just getting started. You then spent a year traveling across Ferelden, gathering an army to defeat the Blight. Doing that required you to save a town from an undead plague, clear the Circle Tower of demons and abominations, find Andraste’s ashes to cure Eamon, and let’s not forget to mention that we killed a high dragon in the process. And you were just getting warmed up. You ended a centuries old werewolf curse and convinced the Dalish to fight alongside humans, went into the Deep Roads to rescue a Paragon and ended up finding two of them. You then chose a king in Orzammar, “rescued” a queen who was being held captive, rallied the nobility of Ferelden to your side, deposed said rescued queen and her regent, named the new king of Ferelden and at the same time put yourself on the throne beside him. And then you brought your army against the darkspawn horde in order to save your capital from being totally destroyed, fought your way through the city slaying darkspawn generals as you went, made it to the top of Fort Drakon where you kicked the Archdemon’s ass for a bit before sticking a giant sword in its head to end the shortest Blight in history. And along the way, you managed to win the love of the common people among all three races by saving families and doing what was right. I think you might have even managed to rescue some kittens from trees. I can’t be sure, though, that year is kind of a blur.”

He grinned down at her, enjoying the embarrassment on her cheeks. She hated having all her accomplishments listed off like that. She always maintained that she only did what had to be done, and while he completely agreed with her, what she had had to do was staggering. His wife was a bit of a paradox like that, doing the impossible and then saying it just needed to be done.

 “I didn’t do those things by myself!” she burst out hotly. “You were there every step of the way and I couldn’t have done most of them without you there! And don’t you dare start with that nonsense about you not being capable or able to lead or any of that!”

“I know, I know, Lya, but this is how they see it. And that’s not even looking at what you did in Amaranthine. When you look at it from their perspective, which of those two Grey Wardens would you want to pull away from their home and all their support to question? Which one are you going to be able to manipulate to your liking?”

Understanding dawned on her face and she looked disgusted with herself. “I’m sorry, Alistair. That didn’t even occur to me and it should have.” He waved off her apology.

“You’re tired, love, and rightfully so. If it makes you feel any better about it, it took me a couple hours before I figured it all out, and I was well rested at the time. Anyway, that’s why I figure they’re sending for me.” He frowned and shook his head as if dismissing a thought. “So we tell them the truth, fine. I have no idea how they’ll react, but at least we won’t have to worry about making sure our stories line up.”

“What about what we told the Orlesians? You know, about how we had no idea?”

“Yes, well, that. I’ll just say that I ordered you not to speak about it.” She gaped at him and he did his best to look haughty. “After all, my dear, I do outrank you, and as you hadn’t yet been appointed Commander, I was still the senior Grey Warden of Ferelden.” She arched an eyebrow at him, her face effortlessly taking on a regal cast as she looked coolly at him.

“So I am to take orders from you now, am I?”

“Yes, I think so. And if you’ve forgotten that, then perhaps it is time for a reminder. Let’s start with a simple order, shall we? As your king, I order you to come over here and give your husband a kiss.”

She sighed as she got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Well, if I must, I suppose I’ll just have to obey a royal command. I am ever your Majesty’s most faithful subject.” He chuckled as their lips met and he slid his hands down her back to press her more firmly against him. They stood locked in their embrace for awhile, and her hands were just starting to do the most interesting things at the waistband of his pants when she said quietly, “You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Alistair stiffened and cursed softly. He had never been a very good liar and he was even worse with Lya. She could read him like a book and she always knew when he was hiding something. It went both ways, though, since he could do the same thing to her. He brushed her hair behind her ears and said, “Yes. They wanted to leave three days ago, but I said I wasn’t going anywhere until you were back. They weren’t happy, but they didn’t try to drag me away by force.”

Lya nodded and rested against his chest, enjoying the warm, solid feel of him. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt before tightening as she asked, “What else aren’t you tell me?”

Careful, Alistair, the little voice in the back of his head warned. He didn’t want to tell her his other fears, the ones that had plagued him since the Grey Wardens had arrived. With a sudden motion, he swept her into his arms and moved towards the bed.  She threw her arms around his neck at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to resist. Alistair wanted nothing more than to lay her down on that bed and love her with all the tenderness in him, but instead he leaned against the headboard, settling her in his lap.

He held her against him, stroking her hair gently. She knew she wasn’t going to like whatever was coming next. It was his ‘bad news’ position. They had spent many nights like this in the beginning, talking and thinking about how to deal with the myriad problems they faced. Lya just waited.

Finally, he began speaking. “I love you. You know that, right?” She nodded, but inside she shivered at that word choice, hoping it was unconscious and not a deliberate call back to those very same words she had said to him two years ago. “You are a strong woman, Lya. You are smart, cunning and resourceful. You have the respect and support of the Landsmeet. You are well liked by the Circle Magi, the dwarves in Orzammar and the elves, both in the Alienage and the Dalish. The Grey Wardens in Amaranthine are also personally loyal to you, and not just as their Commander. The people there practically worship you. You also have friends and trusted advisors who would give their lives for you.”

“Why are we listing all the reasons I’m awesome, Alistair?” she asked irritably, hoping to goad him into getting to the point.

“I’m listing them because I want you to know that I know Ferelden will be in good hands if I don’t come back.” She twisted out of his arms, turning so she could look at him. She was clearly shocked.

“Don’t come back?! What are you talking about?! Don’t joke like that, Alistair! It’s not funny!”

Alistair reached out to toy with the small braid that hung by her ear. “I’m not joking, Lya. I have the feeling that if this Osric doesn’t like what he hears I’m not going to make it back to Ferelden.”

“They wouldn’t dare!”

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t they? They could make it look like an accident, you know. A large darkspawn raid or perhaps being caught at night by bandits. Maybe my horse will miss a step and I’ll be thrown. A broken neck can certainly happen that way. Or perhaps they’ll go for something closer to home and I’ll be lost as sea like Maric was.” Alistair sighed and pulled her back into his arms. She was upset and he didn’t blame her. He was upset, too. “I’ve discussed this with Zevran and he agrees with me. He’s not a trusting person to begin with, but he said he trusted them about as far as he could throw a chevalier and his horse, to borrow your phrase.”

“But why? What could they possibly hope to gain?” she asked, clearly working her way to find some answer. She hated being this tired and not able to think straight. It made her feel like a child again, being questioned by her father at the dinner table about what she had learned from Brother Aldous that day.

“To punish us, maybe? To show that their power can reach anywhere? They seemed thrilled with what happened in Amaranthine at first; at the power what you accomplished gave the Order. But now?” He shrugged. “I think the blush is off the rose, as it were. The more I learn about them, the more I begin to realize we’re not really like other Wardens, Lya. Besides the fact that if we had to choose, we would choose Ferelden over the Wardens, I think Duncan, Riordan and the others I knew were exceptions rather than the rule.” He frowned. “No, that’s not quite right. I think most regular Wardens are like us. But the ones in charge at Weisshaupt? I think they are very different indeed. And I don’t think they like what we are very much.”

She bristled with righteous anger. “Then you tell them,” she snapped, “that if anything happens to you, then what I did to the Archdemon with seem like one of Zevran’s massages compared to what I will do to them.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, my Lya, I have no doubt that you could assault Weisshaupt Fortress singe-handedly and probably win, but you wouldn’t be free to do that and you know it.” He placed a finger on her lips so he could finish. “And you couldn’t bring an army,” he continued. “We both know Ferelden is too weak to go waging war against the Wardens a thousand miles away right now. And even with relations with Orlais improving to slightly more than chilly, we’re still maintaining close watches in the Frostbacks and all the ports. If something were to happen to the king of Ferelden, we would need its queen here. You are far more dangerous to others looking to exploit our weakness than anyone else I can think of. Even Anora, with all her political skill, wouldn’t be able to protect Ferelden the way you would in that situation.”

His eyes twinkled at her as he tried to lighten the mood. “But I will relay your message, and assure them that if anything happens, then as soon as Ferelden is secure, you will be along shortly to collect heads. And while it might be nice to bring Zevran so he can demonstrate his massage skills, I would feel better leaving him here.” She wasn’t reassured, not at all and his attempts at humor weren’t helping. “It may not come to that, Lya,” he sighed. “I just wanted you to be prepared. Just in case, you know, the worst happened.”

She twisted in his arms so she could sit facing him. Straddling him and glaring, she jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to hurt. “You listen to me, Alistair Theirin,” she said fiercely, “you had better come back to me! If you don’t, I will come looking for you, no matter where you are. Weisshaupt doesn’t scare me, nor do the Wardens. And I fought through the Fade to find you once and I will do it again if I have to!”

She was scared, he realized. Scared and channeling that fear into anger to keep it at bay. And she was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. Her jaw was set at that stubborn angle that said more loudly than words that she meant business. All the twisting around had caused her robe to open, revealing the inner slopes of her breasts. And straddling him the way she was left the gorgeous length of her thighs exposed. He grasped her hips and pulled her more firmly against him. She braced her hands on his shoulders for balance and he leaned forward to kiss her. “Then I think,” he said huskily, “you should give me a reason to come home.”

He wanted to be gentle. Maker help him, he really did. She had been gone for so long and she was worn out and tired, and he wanted to make sure she knew how much he loved her. But neither of them had the patience for that tonight. Their joining was frantic, almost desperate, each seeking to banish their heartache through raw physical intimacy. He knew he was holding her too hard, that bruises would mar the fair skin on her arms and hips in the morning. Just as she knew the scratches on his back and small teeth marks on his shoulder would burn under his armor tomorrow. And while it wasn’t what they may have wanted, it was what they needed.

They both lay breathing heavily in the aftermath. Lya enjoyed feeling the heavy weight of Alistair on her, cradled between her hips. And when he went to move off of her to lie at her side, she tightened her legs and wrapped her arms around him. “Lya,” he murmured, smoothing a damp strand of hair off her brow, “I’m too heavy. Let me move.”

“No,” Lya whispered. She pressed a small kiss to the side of his throat. “Stay right here.” So Alistair settled for shifting his weight to the side, bracing most of it on his arm so that he wouldn’t crush her. They lay like that for a while, and while they were both tired, sleep didn’t come to either of them for a long time. Eventually, Alistair fell asleep first and Lya watched over him. She gently stroked the dark blond hair that never seemed to lay flat, the angles of his face, the smooth muscles of his arms. She didn’t pray very often, but tonight she hoped the Maker wasn’t as absent as the Chantry said and that He was listening now. “Please,” she whispered into the darkness. “Bring him home to me safely.”

[LadyDamodred]

Chapter 3:
 
Zevran approached Alistair’s study and entered without bothering to knock. He looked around and found Alistair standing by the window, dressed in his silver and gold armor. The king’s hands were clasped behind his back as he stood looking out at his city. The only items missing were his sword, shield and gauntlets, all of which lay on his desk. The desk itself was bare except for those items and a small document chest. Alistair turned as Zevran entered and nodded to the elf.

“Morning, Zevran. Thanks for coming.” Alistair moved towards the desk and Zevran followed. He touched the document case briefly before looking up at the assassin. Golden brown eyes met amber ones and Zevran could see the worry in the younger man’s eyes. “Before I say anything else, Zevran,” Alistair began slowly, “I want you to know that I trust you. And I don’t just mean with Lya’s life, but as a friend. I realize our…history has been a little rocky, and I apologize for that. You have done nothing in all the time I have known you to ever make me doubt your loyalty to Lya, yet some part of me continued to doubt you for a long time. You’ve proven yourself to be a true friend countless times and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry for things that I’ve said in the past. I can be stubborn like that.”

Zevran just nodded, accepting the apology. While he suspected the timing of Alistair’s words were due to the current crisis, he did not doubt their sincerity. That was the refreshing thing about Alistair. When the man said something, he meant it. Seeing Zevran wasn’t going to make an issue about it, Alistair blew out a relieved sigh and went on.

“We’ve already discussed what may happen, and I know you will do everything in your power to keep her safe. But if the Wardens are truly the threat we think they might be, there are things you need to know. Lya and I had agreed not to tell anyone, but that doesn’t seem to be an option for us anymore and I want someone I can trust to know in case….” He trailed off, looking grim, but shook his head and continued. “You know, of course, that whoever killed the Archdemon was supposed to die, right?”

“Yes, I had gathered that when you asked me to spy on that first group of Wardens who arrived,” Zevran said dryly.

“Right, well, the thing is Lya and I both survived. And the reason we survived is because Morrigan…helped us.”

“Morrigan helped you, did she? I got the impression she didn’t like you very much, my dear Alistair.”

“I don’t think she did it for me, Zevran,” Alistair said wryly. “Anyway, she helped us with a ritual. I, uh.... Um, well, I sort of helped Morrigan…conceive a child.” He couldn’t keep from blushing and cursed this damned reaction. Anyway,” he hurried on, “because the child carried the taint, it drew the Archdemon’s soul instead of it being drawn to the Grey Warden. So, long story short, there it is.”

Zevran looked at Alistair with faint awe. “You and Morrigan?  Truly, Alistair, I had no idea. Well, well, how interesting. So tell me, how was she?”

“Damn it, Zevran! Now is not the time for this!” Zevran regretted his words, one of the few times he had ever done so. He realized that for all the growth Alistair had shown as a king and leader, part of him was still very much the lovesick boy he had known on the road. And the only woman he had ever been with intimately was the one he loved. That would have made what happened with Morrigan hard on him.

“I apologize, Alistair. Old habits and all that. So now that I know, what am I to do this with this information?”

“Nothing, I hope. But in case I meet with my unfortunate demise, it is prudent that you know.” Alistair touched the case in front of him again. “In here are several documents. Official proclamations, actually. One of them declares Lya the sole monarch of Ferelden in the event of my death. I don’t know if it will do any good with the Landsmeet, but I can hope. Another is an order for all Grey Wardens to be expelled from Ferelden, save those that Lya Theirin, Grey Warden Commander, allows to remain. It also declares that no Wardens may enter Ferelden upon pain of death, again except for those allowed by Lya. I know she’s been preparing to hand over the title of Warden-Commander as soon as Weisshaupt decides on someone. If that order comes, and she is relieved of duty, the order will still stand. I have faith her personal judgment about which Wardens we can trust. A third is an order to release all information pertaining to the Grey Wardens to the public.” He grimaced. “I do not want you to have to use those last two, Zevran. For all that I don’t trust this group of Wardens, I am still a Grey Warden and I believe most of them are good people. Those two orders will hurt the Order deeply and I don’t really want that.

“The last proclamation declares that in the event of the untimely death of both myself and the queen, Fergus Cousland will be named the Heir-Apparent of Ferelden, appointing Arl Eamon as Regent and you as Chancellor.”

Zevran whistled. Their little templar was all grown up. He knew Alistair was growing into his role as king, but he hadn’t realized the depths to which Lya’s teachings had sunk in. “Does Lya know about this?”

Alistair shook his head. “No. And I don’t want her to know unless absolutely necessary. These documents are dangerous, Zevran. If they fell into the wrong hands….”

“Do not worry, Alistair. I can make sure they remain safe. But I must ask, what do you intend to do if I am also eliminated? All these things do no good if I am rotting in a shallow grave.”

“If that were to happen….” Alistair looked back out the window, thinking carefully. “Once I am gone and these documents are hidden, you might want to send letters to Arl Teagan, Arl Bryland, Bann Alfstanna or Bann Sighard; perhaps all four if you really think it’s necessary. I trust all of them and if I had to have this information given to anyone….” He cursed in frustration. “I don’t really know, all right? I’m trying to see all the things that could possibly go wrong and it gets so complicated! Use your best judgment, Zevran. My main priority is keeping Lya safe.” He looked at Zevran in desperation. “Just keep her safe, Zev. That’s all I really want. If anything were to happen to her and it was my fault….”

Zevran clasped the man’s arm in his. “I swear to you, Alistair, I will do my best. I can promise nothing, this you know. But believe me when I say she is very nearly as dear to me as she is to you.” Zevran meant it, too. Lya was really his only true friend. To lose her would be unbearable, if for slightly different reasons than it would be for Alistair.

For a moment Alistair returned the grasp on Zevran’s arm. There was nothing more to be said. Both men knew where they stood and what had to be done. Alistair turned back to the window and noticed the lightening of the sky. He handed the chest to Zevran, donned his gauntlets and secured his sword and shield to his back. He took one last look around his study before heading out. “Well, I suppose I should get going. I would so hate to be late to my own party.”
 

[LadyDamodred]

I am just going to assume I am so awesome there needs to be no comment.
*coughs*
Yeah, that's totally it.
*whistles self-consciously*
________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 4:

Despite the early hour, word had gotten out that the king was leaving Ferelden to visit Weisshaupt, and so there were a surprising number of people on the streets. Alistair rode towards the docks astride Adair, waving and nodding graciously to his subjects lining the streets. He always felt like a pompous ass doing this, but Lya assured him he looked quite natural. She had then teased him about it being in his blood and he had grumbled that made two good things about his birthright.

This of course meant that he got to the docks a good deal later than he had planned. The Wardens were waiting for him, their horses and the extra one for him already aboard. They did not look happy. Alistair dismounted and handed the reins to the head of his personal guard. Not very surprised, he saw that Zevran was already there. As Alistair walked by him, he heard the low whisper pitched towards his ears only. “She said she’s coming."

Alistair nodded to the Grey Warden in charge. “Marlon,” he said evenly.

“Ah, Your Majesty, how good of you to join us. We were beginning to fear something unfortunate had happened on your way from the palace,” Marlon drawled, his Orlesian accent dripping with sarcasm.

Marlon’s unctuous tone made Alistair want to dislodge a few teeth from the man’s jaw, but he resisted the urge. Instead he smiled pleasantly, and with an easy laugh replied, “Oh, no need to worry about that. It seems my people universally adore me. Isn’t it nice to be so loved?” He saw Marlon’s jaw tightened and chuckled inwardly to himself. Let them think him a fool. He’d rather be underestimated than overestimated in a situation like this.

“Well, let us be off then. I had hoped to meet the queen, but it seems like I will have to wait for-"

He broke off as a commotion disturbed the crowd at the front of the docks. Alistair turned to see what was going on and had to stifle a laugh. At the same time, he heard Zevran give a low chuckle behind him and say, “Your wife certainly knows how to make an entrance.”

Riding at the head of a score of guards dressed in glittering armor was the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. She was wearing her original Commander armor they had…liberated…from Soldier’s Peak and it reflected the morning light brilliantly. Her helm hung from the pommel of her saddle, allowing the ocean breeze to tug at her hair, and more importantly, making sure she could clearly be seen by everyone. Golanth trotted happily beside her, looking imposing with his fresh coating of kaddis. A long box was lashed behind her saddle, but what was in it, Alistair couldn’t begin to guess. As they drew closer, all could see the Grey Warden insignia emblazoned on the guards’ armor or stitched into their cloaks.

Lya rode up to where Alistair’s party waited and dismounted. As she did so, Alistair noticed she was armed with Maric’s Blade and Cailan’s Crest. It was a subtle and powerful message; a Grey Warden Commander wielding the might of her order and holding the power of Ferelden at her back. Very good, my love, he thought. Let them see who you really are. She turned to Alistair, completely ignoring the Wardens beside him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she saluted him. “Your Majesty,” she said.

“Commander,” he replied, trying very hard to keep his lips from twitching.

Only then turning to the man next to him, she nodded at Marlon. “Warden,” she greeted him impassively. Everything in her bearing and manner bespoke of the fact that she outranked him, and she wanted everyone there to know it. Marlon stiffened and his eyes went flat with dislike. If he clenched his jaw any harder, he was going to save Alistair the trouble of breaking his teeth for him.

“Commander,” Marlon returned icily, crossing his arms and saluting her. Lya inclined her head at the response and turned back towards Alistair.

“Your Majesty,” she declared in a voice that carried effortlessly over the crowd, “the Grey Wardens are here to bid you farewell and wish you speed and good fortune on your travels. May your absence from Ferelden’s shores be brief. I have full confidence that the Grey Wardens will show you all due respect and courtesy during your stay in Weisshaupt, and I know they shall guard well the heir to the line of Calenhad.”

Lya turned to let her gaze travel over all of the Wardens this time, and while her voice still carried to the crowd, her words were meant for them. “Safe journey, Wardens. I know well the prowess of warriors such as yourselves, and know that in your care we have no need to fear for the safety of our king.”

Zevran watched Marlon’s hands clench into fists, though he relaxed them nearly as quickly. So quickly Zevran doubted anyone but he saw it. Behind Marlon, the other Wardens shifted slightly. This was not what the plan had been. Their opening strike had been to been to get Alistair out of Ferelden quickly and quietly, and it had failed. Lya’s little performance not only deflected that attack, but had slipped under their guard and drawn blood. In a few neat sentences she had told them that she knew what they were trying to do, and threatened them with spectacular amounts of violence if they tried it. He rather enjoyed this part.

And then, as if on cue, and it probably was, one of her Grey Warden guards dismounted from his horse and removed the box from behind Lya’s saddle. Bringing it to her, Lya opened the box to reveal Starfang nestled within. Lya, Alistair and Zevran clearly heard the gasps that came from not only the crowd but from some of the Wardens. The blade was exquisite, and as far as anyone knew, the only one of its kind in all of Thedas, having been forged from star-metal specifically for her hand. It was the blade Lya carried in the war against the Blight, and there were already legends surrounding it.

Taking the sword by the blade, Lya dropped to one knee before Alistair, extending Starfang’s hilt to him from across her forearm. “You Majesty,” she said in a ringing voice, “I would be honored if you carried my blade with you. I can offer no greater protection short of going myself.”

“I would be honored, Commander,” Alistair said gravely. He loved her like this; his fierce warrior queen. He wanted nothing more than to say to the Black City with everyone there and sweep her into his arms. But he couldn’t. This little show required both of them to play their parts. He took Starfang from her, and turning to hand it to Zevran, unsheathed Duncan’s sword from his back. “In exchange, I ask that you keep my blade for me until I return to claim it.” She extended her hands to take the blade and placed it reverently in the box as he slid Starfang home into his own scabbard.

Facing him one last time, Lya extended her sword arm to Alistair and he grasped it with his own. Only Zevran was close enough to hear their whispered exchange.

“I love you, Alistair.”

“And I love you. Always.”

Alistair turned from her with no sign of the pain it must have caused him and walked towards the gangplank of the ship. The other Wardens fell into step behind him and they all boarded. The crowds, which had grown even more by now, cheered as the royal banner was run to the top of the mast, the sails were raised and the ship began to cast off lines. There were calls and well wishes for some time and then the crowd began to disperse. But Lya stood at the end of the dock, hands clasped behind her back, unmoving. She watched the ship and her husband sail away. Alistair stood at the stern of the ship, hands braced on the railing watching as his city and his wife slowly faded in the distance. Both continued to stand there long after they ceased being able to see anything.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 27 mars 2010 - 05:27 .

[KnightofPhoenix]

Are people too lazy to read? Or too lazy to comment? lol

Or maybe because it's flawless, so there is little to comment about

[ladyphoenix23]

*waiting*......*waiting*..... hehe fans want to see the next chapter! I have to admit, I tried my hand at writing a fanfic on my FHN and must say yours far exceeds mine. Keep it up and looking forward to the next installment!

[LadyDamodred]

Well, damnit people, if you want more and like it, say so!  I was beginning to feel unloved and unwanted over here.  This is really only my second fanfic and I am terribly unsure of it.  I don't want to beg, but I really, really, really want feedback.  Feedback on anything, really.  Praise is great, but if you see room for improvement, especially in writing style, please let me know.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 5:

The weeks passed slowly for Lya. The day after Alistair left, Zevran procured a map of Thedas for Lya and they traced the trip they had been told Alistair and the Wardens would take. The ship would sail from Denerim to Cumberland, where the party would disembark. They would then make for the Imperial Highway. Once there, they would follow it north through Nevarra until it split just past the Silent Plains, and then continue northwest. They were to stop at Vol Dorma to rest briefly and then head west to Weisshaupt. With the fresh horses as promised, they could make excellent time if they pushed. Allowing for a week at sea, they could hopefully make Weisshaupt in four weeks.

They didn't receive any confirmation of this until two weeks after Alistair left. A messenger arrived at the palace with a letter from Alistair. It had been sent by him when his party landed in Cumberland six days after they left. And while it was brief, it at least let her know the beginning of his trip was on schedule.

Lya,

So far, so good. Calm weather at sea. No bandits or darkspawn sightings; I checked. The horses they have for us seem more than capable of the grueling pace Marlon intends to set, especially if we're changing them at every stop. Very well trained horses, too, I might add. The Grey Wardens have all been very polite. They remind me very much of how fondly Lady Isolde treated me as a child. Good times. I'll send word as I can.
I'd forgotten how uncomfortable armor is to sleep in. And I let the Wardens know that I'd be more than happy to pitch in with the cooking duties. I figure I shouldn't let my skills get rusty.

Love,
Alistair

She smiled at his hidden references. To anyone else, the letter seemed like innocuous chitchat. But given the conversation they had the night before he left, it let her know they hadn't attempted anything yet. Lya hadn't expected them to, at least not until they got a chance to question him at Weisshaupt. But it was reassuring all the same.

The reference to Isolde was not reassuring, however. Since Isolde was specifically known for her active dislike of Alistair, it meant the Wardens had dropped all pretenses once they left Ferelden. Well, at least he was confirming there was no hostile activity on the roads. And sleeping in his armor was probably prudent. She giggled slightly at the mention of his cooking though. They decided fairly early on to put Alistair on occasional breakfast duty. At least porridge was supposed to look grey and unappetizing.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow at her giggle and she extended the letter to him. He read it quickly and chuckled himself. "Oh, my. Are you certain Alistair is not trying to get himself killed, my dear Warden?"

"Maybe he figures they'll be too sick to try anything," she replied laughingly. The laughter faded quickly though as she took back the letter and reread it. Moving to where the map was spread across a table, she marked off Cumberland with the date on the letter. She knew Alistair would send more if he could. He had enough money to pay for swift messengers, but each new letter would take longer to reach Denerim. She wouldn't get some of them until long after Alistair had hopefully left Weisshaupt.

They received a couple more letters from Alistair in rapid succession, clearly sent within days of the first. Lya faithfully marked the locations and dates on her map and observed that they were making good time. And then nothing beyond another two letters that arrived; one four weeks after Alistair left and the other nearly six weeks. The last one said they were less than a week from Weisshaupt and that hopefully he would be able to write more once he arrived.

The last letter had upset her. She had held it close to her and looked at Zevran worriedly. "By the time I got this, Zev, he had already been there for two weeks. He could have already been dead before this reached my hand."
Zevran had become concerned about Lya over the last few weeks. The strain of trying to juggle running a kingdom and her Warden-Commander duties was taking a toll on her. She was a strong woman, tough and resilient, but even she had her limits. He was already pushing her to hand most of the Warden-Commander duties to Nathaniel and Anders, but she and her damned sense of responsibility were resisting him. When Alistair first left, he had taken to sparring with her daily to help keep her focused and on her toes. They continued to spar, but he could see the fatigue setting in. She tired more easily and from the circles under her eyes, she wasn't sleeping well.

She looked like Alistair had a year ago when she was in Amaranthine dealing with the latest darkspawn threat. He had said as much one day while watching her pace. She had seemed surprised. "Alistair worried about me like this?"

"Does that really shock you, my dear? The two of you are remarkably similar. You don't handle not being around to protect those you love very well. You should have seen him when he returned from telling you you were on your own." She smiled a little sadly at that.

"I suppose you're right. I just got so used to being right there whenever one of you needed me." She sighed. "I don't even know how the others are, Zevran. We get occasional messages from Leliana about how things are going in Orzammar, and of course from Oghren. But beyond that…." She hadn't heard from Wynne since that brief meeting in Amaranthine, and not at all from Sten or Shale at all since the company had parted ways after the celebration. Zevran knew she worried about them, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Plucking the letter from her hand, he laid it on the desk. "Come, my dear," he said. "Let you and I repair to the dining room. We both need something to eat and these maudlin thoughts do you no good."
She sighed and pushed away from the desk. "I suppose you're right," she said as she started to get up.
"But of course I am right, my dear Warden. One as perfect as I can hardly be otherwise," he jested easily.
But as Lya was getting to her feet, Zevran's voice suddenly became distant. She felt the blood draining from her head and her vision started to gray over. I'm fainting, she had time to think as she tried to keep on her feet. I'm actually fainting. And then her knees came unbuckled and she collapsed.

Zevran was looking at her as it happened and he realized instantly that something was wrong, even before the mabari by her side began to bark frantically. He was moving before he was even aware of it, throwing himself under her arm to break her fall and keep her from slamming her face on the desk or floor. He quickly guided her down into the chair and pushed her head between her knees. The door to the room burst open as the guards outside recognized Golanth's frantic tone.

By the time Lya came to, there were a half dozen guards in the room and Zevran was still holding her head down. She struggled against him to sit up, and he eased her back slowly. Still not letting her go, he gently grasped her wrist in his fingers feeling for her pulse. As he was doing that, he was checking her eyes intently, feeling her cheeks and forehead. Golanth pawed frantically at her, whining, and she tried to reach out a hand to reassure him.

Zevran snapped a few orders to the guards, and then swept Lya up into his arms. She was a couple inches taller than him, but he carried her as if she were a child. She started to say something, but he said, "Hush, Lya, not one word." And she fell silent. She was too disoriented to argue with him and somewhere along the way back to her rooms, she blacked out again. A pair of guards walked before Zevran with more following. They arrived at Lya's rooms and one guard opened the doors while others moved into make sure it was secure.
He moved towards the bed, depositing Lya down on it gently. Gently he removed the soft half-boots she customarily wore around the palace and deftly tugged the blankets from under her. And then as if she really were a child, he pulled the covers up and tucked her in. She was so pale. He turned to find Eamon bursting into the room.

"What happened?!"

Zevran motioned for the man to be quiet and pulled him away, both from the sleeping Lya and out of earshot of the guards. "I want a healer here now," he hissed. "We usually keep a mage or two around. Where are they?"
Eamon gaped at him for a moment before gathering his wits. "The mage usually in the palace is in Amaranthine at the moment. There was that accident with the new recruits and so he was called there." Zevran cursed silently. He had forgotten about that. A bunch of new recruits had gone exploring in the underground caverns and gotten caught in a collapse. The mages in Amaranthine and Denerim had all been called upon to heal the injured when word got out.

"How convenient. Then we need to send to Kinloch Hold for more, Eamon. Right now," he insisted.

Eamon's eyes widened. "Do you truly think it so serious?" he asked. "To send all the way to the Circle Tower doesn't seem excessive to you?"

Zevran glares at the older man. "I have been watching her get weaker for several weeks now. At first I thought it was just stress, but now I am not so sure." He gave the older man a meaningful look.

"Surely you don't think…? Poison?" Eamon seemed shocked, somewhat surprising for a man was had been on the receiving end of a poisoned chalice himself.

He nodded grimly. "I hope I am wrong, but if I am not…." He left it hanging, the implications clear.

Eamon snapped back into his normal take charge self. "I will dispatch a messenger immediately," he said. "Until then, she is not to be left alone. I will entrust her safety to you."

Trying to keep from rolling his eyes at the thought of this man telling him how to protect Lya, Zevran readily agreed. Eamon headed out the door, snapping orders to the guards waiting outside. Golanth settled himself beside Lya's bed, his entire attention focused on her and giving worried little whines. Outside the palace, a swift rider was being sent to Kinloch Hold requesting aid from the mages.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. Zevran opened it quickly, ushering the slight figure inside. When Lya had asked him to stay in Denerim, he hadn't really known what he was going to do after he took a well deserved rest. That problem had been solved when he was approached by both Lya and Alistair with an unusual request. They needed eyes and ears in the city to keep them advised; people that could gather information and move unseen. They didn't want him to start a ring of assassins, but he had the ability to do what they asked. More importantly, he could train others. They made it clear that he would have full autonomy to operate as he wished.

The opportunity was too tempting to resist and Zevran had set about looking for those he could use. It was slow going at first, but he finally found and cultivated about a dozen he felt were suited to the task. Made up of humans, elves, and even one very cunning dwarf, they allowed Zevran access to whatever information he wanted as quickly as possible. Standing before him now was his best agent. Daevanya was a slight, waif-like elf with golden blonde hair and wide, innocent blue eyes. Appearances were deceiving however as he had felt both the bite of her tongue and blade before. He gave her a few quick instructions and she left silently. If Lya had been poisoned, he would hopefully know within a day or two.

Zevran pulled a chair over to Lya's bed and sat down, suddenly feeling older than he ever had in his life. Lya remained unconscious, her cheeks slightly flushed. He leaned over to touch them gently. Yes, she was running a fever. Needing something to keep his hands busy, he drew one of his daggers and took a whetstone from his belt pouch. If Lya had been poisoned, whoever it was would live long enough to regret it.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 30 mars 2010 - 02:08 .

[Tausret]

 Really nice story so far, looking forward to read more of it hehe :happy:

[LadyDamodred]

Ask and ye shall receive.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 6:
Alistair tried to remember the last time he had been so miserable and failed. He would rather spend a multitude of lifetimes living with Isolde before having to take another journey with these Grey Wardens again. Or maybe trying to stop another Blight with only Morrigan, Sten and the golem for company. That would probably even be fun compared to this. Andraste's flaming sword, he had never met a dourer, more humorless group in his life. To be fair, when it became clear that they weren't going to make any attempt to be more civil, he had started talking and hadn't stopped since. At first it had simply been to see how long it would take for them to tell him to shut up. But when that didn't happen, he did it just to irritate them. It certainly wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done, but Maker's breath, he couldn't help it.

So it was with a great deal of relief when Weisshaupt finally came into view. It wasn't quite winter yet, but it was cold here. The land was rugged and stark; beautiful in its own way, but not exactly cheery. Marlon called a brief halt to confer with his second in command, a grim faced woman by the name of Bemia. When they finished talking he announced, "We'll pushing on in order to make Weisshaupt by tonight." and the party started off again.

None of his traveling companions seemed at all gladdened by this news. He wondered idly if they even enjoyed being Wardens. Maker help him if all the Wardens in Weisshaupt were like this. They wouldn't have to kill him; he'd probably throw himself off some tower out of sheer boredom. It wasn't until now that he fully appreciated Riordan's comments that he never wanted to go back to Weisshaupt. Well, at least he got that wish, Alistair thought, and immediately felt a little ashamed. That wasn't worthy of him. Riordan had been a good man and had tried to save both Lya and himself. He wondered if maybe the others were rubbing off on him.

As they got closer to the fortress, Alistair allowed himself to fall silent. He was going to be doing enough talking shortly that he should probably take a break while he could. He studied the fortress as they rode. It was big, with great soaring towers and arches. From a distance, it did indeed look impressive, but the closer they got, the less impressed he was. It looked…dead. There was no life, no warmth to it. People actually lived here? He shuddered at the thought.

He caught some of the other Wardens eyeing him. Did they think he was quiet because he was awed or cowed by the great aerie? Fine. It was probably better they thought him a simpleton. He certainly hadn't tried to give them any other impression over the last month. It galled him a little, though, when he thought about it. He wasn't stupid, he knew that, but it had never bothered him to pretend before. Why now?

Lya certainly had something to do with it, he knew. So did being king and having all that responsibility. He couldn't afford to look stupid with so much riding on him. But he thought it was more because of Duncan. He didn't want the Grey Wardens to think Duncan a fool for recruiting him, and then he wondered why he cared. Duncan was a better man, a better Grey Warden, than any of these people. Duncan had recruited Alistair despite of his personality, and if Duncan had thought him worthy, then that was all that mattered. Maker take them, he didn't care what these Wardens thought.

Well, unless they decided to kill him because of it. That would be…bad.

The party came to a stop before the imposing doors to the fortress and they dismounted. One of the Wardens took the reins of Alistair's horse, and Marlon flung his at one of the others. Marlon gestured for Alistair to follow as the remaining Wardens took care of the horses. He led Alistair into the fortress and Alistair tried to take in as much as he could.

The inside of Weisshaupt was made of stone just as the outside was. Smooth gray stone, worn in places from centuries of use, seemed to stretch in all directions. The uniform gray was occasionally broken by various decorations. Weapons mounted here, a painting there, faded banners hanging from overhead. There were other Wardens in the hallways, some alone and some talking quietly. But as he and Marlon passed, they all looked. Whatever they were doing, they all stopped to take stock of their newest guest.

Reactions varied. Some of the Wardens remained impassive, not as much as an eyelid twitching as they evaluated him. Others though, mainly the younger ones, looked at him with wide eyes. He heard a few gasps, watched mouths drop open and in one case, saw a young man barely catch himself before beginning to salute. Their expressions showed something he had seen often enough just after the Blight ended. Awe. If this was how they felt about him, he could only imagine the reaction Lya would get if she were here. He could practically hear the vast clatter of metal that would sound as they all fell on their faces. He chuckled to himself. This could be useful, he thought. The leadership at Weisshaupt might already have their minds made up, but if he could get to know some of the others….

Marlon suddenly stopped in front of a door. "These will be your quarters, your Majesty. Someone will be along shortly to tend to any needs you might have. I expect the First Warden will want to see you in the morning. Get some rest." And he stalked off down the hallway.

* * *

Osric watched Marlon slam into his office with private amusement. The man was positively enraged, not doubt due to the company of the Ferelden king. What had the man done to rile Marlon up so much? Osric had chosen Marlon because the man was logical and kept a cool head. Usually. He would have to make note of this for his own dealings with the king.

"Marlon, please, sit down. You look tired." A gesture to a junior Warden waiting off to the side brought a tray with wine and food to the First's desk, and Osric waved the young man out of his office. Marlon bowed to Osric, deeply and respectfully.

"Ser, I have returned with the king of Ferelden, as you ordered."

"Excellent, Marlon, I knew you would not fail in your duty. Now, refresh yourself. You have had a long journey and there is still much to discuss yet." Osric rose to pour the man a goblet of wine and Marlon took it gratefully. He waited until the man had drained the goblet and then refilled it for him before again taking his seat. Steepling his fingers before him as he settled back into his chair, he gave Marlon a minute to settle in before he asked, "So, what is he like?"

"That man!" Marlon snarled. "I wish there was a way to undo the Joining so we could remove filth like that from our ranks! The man is a fool! He besmirches the very name of the Grey Wardens!" Osric was slightly taken aback by the vitriol. Their reports had indicated that this Alistair was not the most serious of men, but for Marlon to be this unbalanced by him…. This was very interesting indeed. Perhaps Marlon had not been the correct choice to send after all. And Osric had had such high hopes for him.

Sensing that Marlon would not be a good source of information at this moment, he changed topics. "What about the Commander? Did you get to meet her while in Denerim?"

Marlon calmed himself and frowned thoughtfully. "We did, though we tried to avoid it, per your orders. Our reports had not accurately gauged just how revered she actually is Ferelden. She is dangerous, ser." Marlon quickly retold the scene that had played out on the docks.

Osric listened carefully. "Do you think we should have brought her here instead of Alistair?"

Marlon thought before finally shaking his head. "I do not know. Normally I would say yes, as she is more dangerous to have in Denerim than Alistair would be. But she knows we are up to something. I think the implied threat to her husband's life might be the only thing keeping her feet nailed to the floor."

"And if something did happen to her husband?"

Marlon answered slowly, "If that were to happen, I think it might be best to reinforce the Fortress."

Osric laughed, the sound surprisingly free and easy. "Marlon," he chided, "be serious. No one has ever assaulted Weisshaupt. To even think such a thing is madness!" He laughed again, thoroughly amused by the idea until the saw the complete seriousness in Marlon's face. "You think she would?" he asked incredulously. "You honestly think she would attempt to bring war to our doorstep?"

"You were not there, ser. You have not seen her. She knows she has power and isn't afraid to use it. Considering the king, I have the feeling most of Ferelden's decisions are made in the royal bedchamber and not the throne room. She probably could answer your questions better than Alistair, but it would be more difficult to get those answers. Believe me when I say she is dangerous. She all but threatened us directly on the docks. Her first loyalty is not to the Wardens, no matter what title she carries."

This was a development he had not expected. Osric suspected Lya was the true ruling force in Ferelden and that she placed that power first, but for Marlon to believe she would openly oppose the Wardens, so far as to threaten to engage them in battle, was enlightening. He would have to talk to the others, and to their new guest, before he decided his next steps. He rose suddenly, and Marlon hastily scrambled to his feet. "Go get some rest, Marlon. We shall talk more later. I need to prepare to question our guest." Marlon bowed again and left quickly. Osric stood for a long moment before sitting back down at his desk and began to write.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 31 mars 2010 - 12:34 .

[Crixt]

Great so far

[LadyDamodred]

Chapter 7
 
Alistair was quickly growing very bored with the routine at Weisshaupt. He had been there for three days and he considered it two and half days too long. His mornings were spent recounting exactly what he and Lya had done in the year before the Archdemon was slain. The boring questions, repeated over and over to make sure every detail was correct, were grating on his nerves. When he suggested that they could have simply asked for a written report, Osric had replied that they wanted a detailed first hand account taken by their own scribes.

Osric. Alistair didn’t like the man. He hadn’t liked the letter the man had sent and he liked him even less in person. He was a snake, cold and slippery and with eyes that couldn’t be read. He knew Osric wanted to ask him what happened in that last battle, but he was trying to wear Alistair down first. He chafed as much as Alistair at what he saw as a needless delay. Oh, the irony of the situation. Alistair would have told him everything the first day, but no, he had insisted on this damn report. Well, he would get it.

With his mornings thusly occupied, the afternoons and evenings were his. But what was there to do? He had already explored the various libraries and monuments. The most interesting thing had been the monument to the other Grey Wardens who died defeating Archdemons. Four silent tombs to honor four Grey Wardens. Alistair had stood there for a long time, thinking how close it had come to being five; how close it had come to Lya being there alongside the others. He touched each tomb with a respectful hand, thanking those men for their sacrifice with quiet words, and thanking Morrigan in his heart for keeping it from being five.

After several more days of this, Alistair finally had enough. He grabbed his sword and shield and marched out of his room. The young Grey Warden who was assigned to him that day, and it seemed to be a different one each day, hurried after him. “Uh, ser, wh-where are you going?”

“I’m going to find somewhere to practice. I assume you do have some place around here for training, right?”

“Well, yes, we do, but I don’t know if that’s a-” Alistair cut him off quickly.

“Excellent! Lead on, my good man! It’ll be good to get some exercise and see what sort of training Grey Wardens get.” The young man stood flustered. He had been told not to let the king wander around, but how exactly was he supposed to stop him? Alistair smiled at the dark-skinned man. “What’s your name, by the way? I never got it earlier and it seems like everyday there’s a different one of you helping me.”

“Dario, ser.”

“Well, Dario, let’s at least you and I get some practice in. It must be boring for you to have to stand here all day with nothing to do.” Alistair smiled charmingly at the man, his manner easy and confidant. Dario weighed his options. It couldn’t hurt to go spar, could it? What trouble could the king possibly get in? He finally nodded and pointed down the hallway.

“This way, ser.” Alistair smiled broadly and clapped the young man on the shoulder. The training yard was actually not far away and they found a number of Wardens practicing with various weapons. Some were shooting arrows at straw dummies down a long corridor; others were sparring with each other using swords and daggers or working forms against other dummies. Activity in the courtyard slowed and stopped as the men and women there recognized their visitor.

Alistair waved cheerfully to the people looking at him. They were for the most part fairly young, he noted; close to his own age or perhaps a little older. This might make it easier. “Don’t let me interrupt. I just wanted a bit of fresh air and to work out some kinks. Of course, I’d love to spar against some of you, if you’re willing to.” They all looked at each other without saying anything. Finally, a young brown haired woman stepped forward. Like Alistair, she also wore a sword and shield.

“I would be honored to spar against you, your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Alistair, my dear. No need to be so formal. Might I know your name?”

“Undine, ser,” she answered with a slight bow. Her eyes widened as Alistair unlimbered Starfang from his back. “I-Is that…?”

Alistair looked at the sword in his hands, the swirls of magic in it glowing with the same pale blue fire as they always did. He was so familiar with the sword that he often forgot how it looked to others. He extended the blade to Undine. “Yes, this is Starfang. Here, give it a try.”

Undine stared at him in shock. “Oh, no, ser, I couldn’t!” Alistair continued to hold the sword out.

“Of course you can. Lya won’t mind. Go on, give it a try.” He smiled encouragingly at the girl, nodding as she finally took it from him. She nearly dropped the blade, expecting it to be much heavier than it was. She took a few steps away from the others and took a few tentative swings. As her confidence increased, so did the surety of her forms. The blue runes of the sword traced graceful arcs in the air, leaving after images that made it seem like Undine was surrounded by pale ribbons for a few seconds. She finally stopped and handed the blade back to Alistair.

“Thank you, ser. The blade is marvelous. I am honored that you allowed me to try it.”

He laughed gently. “Anytime. I was taught that it’s only polite to share your toys with others. Now, how about we get some real practice in?” She looked around at her fellows, and a couple nodded in encouragement. In an unspoken agreement, the Wardens surrounding them back away, forming a loose circle around them to watch as Alistair and Undine equipped their shields and began to circle cautiously. The girl was good, but still a little raw. Alistair could have overwhelmed her easily, but didn’t. He wasn’t trying to embarrass anyone.

After a few rounds, other Wardens began asking for a chance and Alistair found himself giving impromptu lessons; correcting a stance or showing how to follow through with a particular twist to keep your enemy down. The Wardens, who had been told to keep their distance, found it impossible to ignore Alistair’s joking and camaraderie. He was a Grey Warden who helped to slay an Archdemon and defeat a Blight. His skills would have to have been good, but in person they were far more impressive than any story could tell. He was also an excellent teacher, correcting and showing gently without embarrassing them, and the Wardens warmed up to him.

This routine would continue for the next few weeks, and each day found more Wardens in the practice yard, hoping for a chance to spar against the king of Ferelden. Alistair was more than happy to oblige. He found these Wardens to be much like the ones he had known when he first joined, and he liked them. They were good people and none seemed to judge him. They enjoyed his company and began joining him at meals in the dining hall. For the first time since he arrived, Alistair didn’t feel as if he were staying in a mausoleum.

From a window high above the practice yard, Osric watched. The Wardens who had escorted Alistair had all said the same thing about him, save one. They all said he was a fool who babbled constantly; that there was nothing between his ears but a yawning chasm and a desire to hear his own voice. Harva was the only one who disagreed. She had been a Grey Warden for fifteen years and was unusually perceptive.

“He is not a fool,” she said quietly. “He may not be quite as sharp or dangerous as his wife, but he is perceptive in his own way. He knew what would irritate the others, and it was irritating, but I believe he did it deliberately. I do not think he could have won the love of the Savior of Ferelden, nor been accepted by the Landsmeet if he really were stupid. And while in Denerim, it was apparent that they ruled equally. Alistair is not some puppet king who actions are dictated from behind the throne. He is respected by his people and it is clear that he cares about them. He has a natural touch with them, for lack of a better term; an ability to understand them. And the lords treat him the same way. There is no false deference to him solely because he is the king.”

Osric was watching that now. He had underestimated the man, he saw that now. The Wardens down in the yard were practically in the man’s thrall, he grimaced. Within days they had gone from being wary of him to practically worshipping them. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was one of them, completely and truly. He treated them as equals and they responded in kind. Osric frowned. This was not turning out the way he had anticipated. Once he finished getting his answers, he was going to have to come to a decision, one that would not endanger the Grey Wardens or himself.
 

[Miri1984]

I just want to say that this is awesome. I have been reading it and haven't been commenting because I can't think of much to say except - this is awesome.



Awesome.

[LadyDamodred]

\\o/

Thank you very much. I will take any and all feedback, honestly. I've been trying really, really hard to keep all the characters in character, so if you notice me slipping in that regard, please tell me. Thank you again!

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 01 avril 2010 - 01:20 .

[LadyDamodred]

Even Zevran needs some lovin' now and again.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 8
 
Zevran walked back to his rooms tiredly. Lya’s fever had broken and she was alert again. She seemed better, but that was to be expected after spending two days in bed. Kylon, the captain of the guard, had relieved Zevran, telling him to go get some rest, and Zevran had reluctantly agreed. He was no good to Lya if he was falling over himself from exhaustion.

He pushed opened the door to his room, not even surprised as the figure on the bed rose. “Dae,” he greeted her, entering and moving to the wardrobe to get a fresh set of clothes. A towel and his toiletry kit joined the small pile of clothes. He would use the baths in the lower levels of the palace. He would fall asleep better if he were clean.

Daevanya fell into step beside him as he gathered his belongings and headed back out the door. She said nothing until they were down in the baths and she had made sure no one was around to listen. When she was satisfied, she leaned against the door to block it. Zevran stripped off the clothes he had been wearing for the past two days and sank gratefully into the tub. Daevayna watched him idly, her eyes lingering over his form appreciatively.

“Care to join me, my little one?”

“I think you’re a little too tired for me tonight, Zevran. I like my men a bit more…vigorous.”

He chuckled. He was definitely going to have to bed her. She was a tease, of course, but he had picked up on the signals she was sending a long time ago. He would have done it sooner, but he hadn’t wanted Dae to feel pressured or for it to interfere in their master/student role. Zevran wondered when exactly he had picked that up. He had tried to grind the edges of nobility off Lya and Alistair and it seemed like they had rubbed off on him instead. Alas.

Lathering himself up, he glanced at the elf standing against the door, watching him. “So what did you find?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Nothing? Come, Dae, we both know that things are never perfect. There must be something.”

She sighed in frustration. “Of course it’s not totally nothing. There’s the usual plotting among the various factions, naturally, but it’s all designed to further their own goals. We can’t find anything specifically directed at the queen. If there is something behind this, it’s from outside the city, probably outside the country. If that’s the case, then our chances of discovering anything are slim.” He nodded slowly. That made sense.

“Keep looking. If it is from outside, there should still be traces, though they will get harder to find with each passing day.” He finished washing, and hurriedly dried off and got dressed. He was tired. Sleep would be good. Dae accompanied him back to his room and they discussed more of what he wanted her to do as they walked.

Daevanya simply nodded at his final instructions, but instead of heading back out as Zevran expected, she remained standing in his room. He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not to be left alone. We discussed it and decided that someone needs to guard the guard.”

“You think I need protection? How you wound me, my dear.”

She made an annoyed sound. “You’re an excellent teacher, Zevran, but you forget your own lessons sometimes. Right now, you are really the only one that can truly protect her. If something happens to you, what chance does she have?”

Zevran muttered curses under his breath. Perhaps when Alistair returned, he would leave for awhile. All these political games were beginning to wear on him. “So you are to watch over me? I am most fortunate indeed to have such a lovely protector.”

“Indeed,” she repeated dryly. “Now go to sleep. Your little shadow will keep you safe.” There was something in her voice, the angle in which she held herself, the way she looked at him. It all told him that even if he ordered her out, she wouldn’t comply. So no longer master and student then? Well, if they were to be equals…. He was tired, but not that tired.

“Mia piccolo ombra, is it?” He crossed the room to stand in front of her, leaning towards her but not quite touching. “And tell me, how is mia ombra going to protect me when she is all the way across the room from me? I think I might feel safer if my protector spent the night, shall we say, closer to me.”

Daevanya tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyelids sliding halfway shut as she began tugging Zevran’s shirt out of his pants. “Do you really want to talk, Zevran?” she asked throatily.

“No. In fact, talking is one of the last things I want to do with you right now.”

“Then shut up.”

 
*          *          *
 
Zevran and Eamon were going over recent happenings while Lya sat in a chair before the fire in her sitting room. The bed rest had been good for Lya; she looked better, though still not entirely well. The third day after her collapse she had insisted on getting up, but they were restricting her activities to listening to reports and making less crucial decisions. Eamon had quite firmly taken over most of the necessary duties Lya had been taking care of for Alistair, and Zevran had taken over her Grey Warden duties. He had been with her often enough in Amaranthine that he knew what needed to be done without asking her too much. And he really wasn’t going to be doing the work, just sending orders for Nathaniel to take over.

They were wrapping up the things they needed to discuss together when there was a knock and the door opened to admit a winded guard. “Your Majesty! My lords! Mages…you said…let you know…as soon as they arrived!” he managed to gasp out. Eamon and Zevran exchanged a glance. They had only sent a messenger five days ago. There was no way help from the Circle could possibly have arrived yet. The missive might have made it to the Circle by now, but for a party to have made it back to Denerim?

“Thank you, lad, but I could have brought the message myself,” said a gravelly voice as First Enchanter Irving entered behind the guard.

“First Enchanter!”

Lya stood up from her chair and moved to greet the elderly mage, but Zevran quickly stepped over and guided her back down. She started to protest and he whispered into her ear, “Do not argue with me, my dear Warden, or you shall find yourself back in your bed. And there you will stay, even if I have to tie you to it.”

Eamon was shaking hands with the mage, and after greetings had been given all around and everyone settled back down, Eamon asked, “How did you respond to our message so quickly, Irving? We had not expected to see anyone from the Tower for at least another week.”

Irving nodded. “It is a most fortunate coincidence that I am here, my lord.” He looked over at Lya and smiled. “I did not mean fortunate for you, your Majesty. I apologize for my words.”

She waved off his apology. “Please, Irving, there’s no need. I understand what you meant. So why are you here if not in response to Eamon’s and Zevran’s pleas?”

“Quite honestly, I was already coming here to ask for your help in a certain…delicate matter that has come up in the Circle. It concerns a mage that we need to place somewhere besides the Tower. Since you and Alistair have made sure we have more freedom than we did before, things have been better, but there are still situations that we find we cannot quite handle on our own.”

Lya was curious. She and Alistair had pushed for the mages to have more freedom, if not complete autonomy. They believed that if you didn’t treat people as prisoners, they were less likely to turn to extreme measures to break out of their prison. Templars were still needed, of course, but the mages now had a level of privacy and freedom they had not known before.

“Since your Majesties have been gracious enough to allow a mage to live in the palace at all times as a sign of good faith, we were hoping to fill that position more or less permanently. We have a mage, a very talented healer, who cannot remain at the Tower any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Zevran asked bluntly. “If this mage is too dangerous to be kept at the Tower, why would we even consider keeping them here?”

“No, no, you misunderstand me. She is not dangerous. That is not the problem. Here, let me bring her in and we shall attempt to explain.” He went to the door and beckoned for someone to enter. As he returned to his seat, two people entered the room. One was a red haired mage and the other a tall man in leather armor. Zevran would have expected a templar, but unless the uniforms had changed, this man was no templar. Irving gestured to the mage. “This is Shayelyn Emorin.” The mage bowed respectfully to Lya. “And the gentleman is Kaden Emorin, her husband.” The man also bowed respectfully, ignoring the raised eyebrows and shocked looks.

“Your…husband? But, how did you convince the Chantry to marry you?” Lya bit her tongue at her complete lack of manners, but neither seemed to take offense.

“We lied,” Kaden said blithely, grinning at Shayelyn. “You’d be remarkably surprised at how normal mages look when you take their robes away. And even more normal when you put regular clothes on them.”

“I’m really getting too old for this,” Irving muttered under his breath. “So this is why we need your help, your Majesty,” he said. “It makes the other mages uncomfortable and we have no desire to part them.”

“Indeed,” Shayelyn agreed. “What Irving fails to mention is that they’ve yet to build a prison that can keep me in or Kaden out. It would be easier on everyone if we didn’t have to resort to all this sneaking around.”

Irving sighed wearily. “And so you see our problem. I choose to look at it as a fortuitous turn of events. You are in need of a resident healer and I am in need of a residence for a healer. I do not ask for an answer now, but seeing as how you requested a healer, I think it is a good time for you to get to know them.”

Lya looked at the couple and they returned her gaze. Neither seemed intimidated or cowed. They simply looked relaxed and happy; maybe even a bit excited. Lya sensed nothing duplicitous or deceitful, but it might not be a bad idea to have Zevran keep an eye on them.

She finally nodded. “All right. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Then in that case,” Zevran interjected, “I think the mage should begin upholding her end of the deal right now. We want a full examination of the queen.”

Shayelyn nodded. “Of course. I shall be more than happy to help in any way I can.” She flapped her hands in a shooing gesture at the men. “Now out, all of you.” Eamon, Irving and Kaden immediately rose and went for the door, but Zevran merely crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Shayelyn pointed a finger at the door. “Out,” she directed Zevran.

“Oh, I do not think so. I take the queen’s safety very seriously. I think I will stay while you examine her to make sure nothing happens.”

Shayelyn crossed her arms and a stubborn look settled on her face. “It appears we are at an impasse then, because I am not going to give the queen a thorough examination while there are others present. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Zev, please,” Lya said. “I will be fine. I think this is ridiculous anyway. I was just sick, but I will do it if it makes you feel better. If she doesn’t want anyone else in the room, then it’s fine with me.” Zevran looked ready to argue, but he didn’t want to wear Lya out any more than she already was. He finally moved to the door.

“Fine. But if anything happens to her….” Shayelyn waved off his warning with an impatient gesture and closed the door in his face.

Outside the room, the men waited uncomfortably. The only one completely unbothered was Kaden, who just leaned against the wall looking bored. The minutes dragged on into an hour before the door finally opened and Shayelyn came out. She smiled at them. “She is fine. I can detect no trace of poison and there aren’t any lingering effects from her illness. And it appears to have been just that. A combination of pushing herself to her physical limits for several months and an inordinate amount stress and anxiety. Couple that with not enough food and rest and it simply weakened her enough for a fever to catch hold.

“You’ve been doing an excellent job this last week in lessening her workload, and I would strongly recommend that you continue doing so. She will get stronger, but it will be a while. It took time to get her into this state and so it will take time for her to fully recover. I will check on her at least twice a day, though, to make sure. A relapse at this time would not be a good thing. And while I can and will use magic to help speed her recovery, it would be best if her body does most of the work.”

Zevran nodded. He would need to tell Dae to have this Shayelyn and Kaden watched, but for now he would take her at her word. If she lied, she would pay for it.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 02 avril 2010 - 04:59 .

[LadyAly]

This is awesome stuff - I  to read this and hope you continue as soon as possible. 

[LadyDamodred]

Angry Alistair is angry.  Feedback about the pacing of this chapter would be helpful.  Not sure if it's too rushed.
_______________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9

Alistair leaned back in his chair and fell silent. He had just finished recounting what had happened when he and Lya had spoken to Riordan at Redcliffe. The two scribes in the room were writing down his words and waited for him to continue. When Alistair continued to sit there in silence, Osric looked up from the sheets of paper in front of him. "And?" he asked.

"And now we come to the part that everyone is so curious about," Alistair replied calmly. Osric's manner instantly changed. With an abrupt gesture, he sent the two scribes out, leaving only himself and Alistair in the room. He studied Alistair for a moment before telling to guard outside the door to summon someone. In a few minutes, two mages entered the room, neither one of them sparing him more than a glance as they entered. They were both older, a female elf whose black hair was graying at the temples and a thin, ascetic man who was almost completely bald. They seated themselves and looked at Osric.

"Continue," the First Warden gestured.

Alistair shifted in his seat, crossing his arms. He hadn't been looking forward to this and wondered if he could get through the story with blushing like he had when he told Zevran. "Right, well, Riordan finished telling us that one of us was going to get to die and we went to bed. Not that I thought I was actually going to sleep, mind you. I had a lot on my mind." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I was pacing in my room, actually, trying to figure out what we were going to do when Lya came in."

He grinned. "I was glad to see her, as I'm sure you can imagine. But that didn't last long." Alistair looked up, squinting at the ceiling. "You've never met her, so it's hard to explain. Lya gets this look on her face whenever she's making a big decision or has to do something unpleasant. I'd gotten to know it quite well during the last year, and it was not reassuring when she came in looking like that.

"I told you about Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds who was with us, right? Anyway, Lya said that Morrigan had a way out for us. A ritual that would prevent a Grey Warden from being killed when they Archdemon was slain." Alistair leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. "In order to do this ritual, Lya needed me to…participate." The change in his demeanor and tone immediately perked the two mages up. They, too, were leaning forward, listening intently and Alistair shifted uncomfortably again.

"So, long story short, Lya asked me to sleep with Morrigan in order to conceive a child. The child would bear the taint, and through the ritual, when the Archdemon was slain, the soul of the Old God would be drawn to the child instead of killing whoever struck the final blow. And I did it," he finished simply.

He looked up to see three identical expressions of shock on the faces of the other Wardens. The silence filled the room until it was almost unbearable. Finally Osric looked at the mages. "Is that even possible?"

Alistair snorted. "Well, since Lya and I are still alive, I would say yes, it is possible."

Osric shot him a furious glance. "I am not talking to you. Do you have any idea what you may have done?"
"Do you?" Alistair shot back. "Tell me, First Warden, what may have I done? I know what I did do. I helped end a Blight without losing any more Grey Wardens than necessary. I made sure that even if Lya and I died before getting to it, anyone could slay it and it would still end the Blight."

"You fool!" Osric ground out. "You arrogant, blind fool! Don't sit there and pretend you did this for the Grey Wardens! You did it for yourself! You, in your selfish cowardice, made a decision you didn't understand and we might all have to pay for it!"

Alistair felt the anger rising in him and he slowly got to his feet. "If it comes to that, we will deal with the consequences. Lya and I. If there must be something done, we will do it. We have not shirked our duty before and we will not do it in the future."

"Never shirked your duty?! If you truly wanted to do your duty, you would have died in Denerim. But no! Instead you were too besotted with some **** to think ab-!" That was as far as Osric got because Alistair was suddenly moving. In a single fluid movement, he crossed the room, grabbed Osric and threw him against the wall. The man hit with a resounding crash of armor. As Alistair was picking him up to pin him to the wall, he heard the male mage begin to cast. Without stopping to even think about it, he called upon his templar training and released a burst of draining energy at the man. The mage collapsed to the floor, clutching his head and Alistair shot a glance at the elf. She was still sitting in her seat, arms crossed, and making no move to cast. She didn't even look angry. In fact, she looked…curious?

Osric was beginning to struggle and Alistair refocused his attention on the man. Gripping him by the throat, he leaned into the man's face and growled, "Now, listen to me carefully because I am only going to say this once: If you insult my wife again, I will kill you." Osric was clawing at Alistair's gauntleted hand, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Alistair was powerfully aware of how much bigger, how much younger, how much stronger he was than the man in front of him.

"Your Majesty," said a quiet voice behind him and he turned. The elf was regarding him calmly. "I think the First Warden might be better able to listen to what you have to say if he is conscious." Alistair turned back to Osric and released him with disgust. He stalked away, needing to get as far as he could away from the man. Osric slowly regained his feet, gasping and rubbing his throat. The mage was also coming back to his senses, but didn't look like he was going to be able to cast anything anytime soon.

"Tell me, First Warden," Alistair sneered, "when was the last time you watched a Blight slowly destroy your land? When was the last time you passed farms and villages that had fallen to darkspawn? Have you seen what they look like? The bodies desecrated and ruined, left to rot if they weren't eaten first. Having to look at the faces of women and children who died in agony and fear as their last minutes were spent in the hands of things their worst nightmares couldn't begin to conjure." He swallowed convulsively, willing himself not to be sick as those memories came back. He focused instead on his anger at the man in front of him.

This man, this weak, spineless man had the gall to judge him; who thought he could tear him from his life, the life he had fought for, just because he didn't like it. He would be damned if a man such as this took everything he loved from him. He went on, his voice flat with rage. "You know nothing! Have you ever even been to the Deep Roads? I have. I know what's waiting for each of us down there, and I think you will meet your death screaming in fear." He felt his lip curling in contempt. "Do not talk to me of duty, Osric. There is only one Grey Warden still living who has ever upheld their duty more than I have, and I would die a thousand deaths, face an Archdemon every day for the rest of my life before I will ever let any harm come to her."

Alistair was suddenly so sure that he was never supposed to return to Denerim alive. He knew it with every fiber of his being. Osric, for whatever reason, had decided that whatever they had done needed to be punished. "And tell me now, Osric, how were you planning to kill me? What was going to happen to me on my way home? What message would you send to Lya to remind her of her place?" He heard a gasp. The elf was sitting straight up in her chair, looking at Osric in disbelief. So, not all the senior Wardens were in on it. That was something, at least.

Osric was glaring at him in rage, the outline of Alistair's gauntlet etched on his throat in vivid red. Alistair got a grip on his anger, forcing it away. He called upon his templar discipline to calm his mind. He wrapped the lessons of the last two years of being a king around him. Drawing himself up, he recalled all those lessons on regal bearing and was grateful for it now. The change was impressive. He stood tall in his armor, his face cold as he looked at Osric. He was in control of this situation now. It wasn't going to last, but for this moment it was he who would dictate what happened.

"Before you make any hasty decisions, let me tell you what will happen if I don't return to Denerim exactly as I left. First, everything we know about the Grey Wardens will be released to the public. And I mean everything. The Joining, the taint and what it does to us, how an Archdemon is slain, the shortened lifespan that ends in the Deep Roads, all of it. Secondly, the Grey Wardens will be banned from Ferelden. Again. And the reasons why will also be told to everyone. How much support will you find in other courts then? How many will trust the Wardens if they fear for their lives?"

Osric was looking at him in horror. "You will destroy the Order! If that ever got out, there would be no Wardens. No one would consent to it. They would fight rather than be conscripted."

Alistair smiled coldly, thinly. There was nothing of the smiling, charming king in him now. "I know. This is why you should consider what you're going to do very carefully. And I haven't even gotten to the most important reason yet. If I don't return home, Lya will come for me. If you don't believe that, you truly know nothing of her. If you're the least bit doubtful that she could do it, read through everything I've told you about how we fought the Blight. We did all that because she had the will to do it and see it through. And others will follow her. You'll wake up one morning to find an army outside, Osric, with her at its head. The last time that happened, an Archdemon died. Do you think you would fair any better?"

Alistair took a deep breath. "I think I have overstayed my welcome at Weisshaupt. I will be leaving in the morning. I do not think we should speak again. Just remember, I am a Grey Warden. I have no desire to do what I've threatened. I do not want to do it. But if you force the issue, I will. Think about it." And he left the room. The guards outside were staring at the door, hands on their hilts of their weapons, but Alistair just looked at them coolly. They made no attempt to stop him as he made his way back to his room. Once the door was securely locked, he sank down onto the bed, his hands shaking. It had been an ugly scene, but he was done at Weisshaupt. He was going home.

Back in Osric's office, the elf was directing the guards to help her fellow mage back to his quarters. Osric sat slumped at his desk, disbelief that things had gone so wrong written on his face. She felt no sympathy for him; he deserved it. "There is something you should remember, First Warden."

"Oh? And what is that?" he asked thickly, looking into brown eyes so similar to the ones that were promising him ruin and death minutes ago.

Fiona shrugged a shoulder. "He is his father's son," she said simply, and she left.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 02 avril 2010 - 07:59 .

[Maria13]

Good plot.

[nos_astra]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawesome!



Really, I love when political stuff is going on.

[Ilvra]

Dammit. Another story to add to my already-too-large collection of fanfics to follow.

Good work, I'm enjoying it immensely. Keep it coming.

Modifié par Ilvra, 03 avril 2010 - 04:18 .

[LadyDamodred]

I want to thank everyone for the really great response to the last chapter.  It feels good to know that what I write resonates with people, and that the characters are believable enough to touch people.  Please, please the feedback coming.

Author's Note:  I said in the beginning I would keep this as true to the lore as I could, except for certain exceptions.  This chapter is an exception, but one that I feel you will forgive me for.
________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 10

"Zevran, enough! Just enough already!" Lya snapped. "You've had a constant watch on me for two weeks and nothing has happened. I haven't had a single minute alone since I passed out. You are making too much of this and I need some time by myself!" She was so frustrated with this whole situation. She knew Zevran was just doing his job, but he was doing it far too well at the moment. She lowered her voice, trying to keep the angry edge out of it. "Please, Zev. I just need some time alone. I'm not even going to leave my room. You can wait right outside the door if you want, just let me be alone for a little while." She looked at him pleadingly, trying to make him understand.

He looked at her for a long moment, before shaking his head angrily and gathering his papers. "In that case, I'm going to take the rest of the day off. I will see you in the morning." He walked out of the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door behind him harder than necessary.

Lya sighed. What was wrong with her? Zevran was her friend and had done so much for her, and she was being a child. He was only concerned about her. She had been so moody and off balance lately. Was it lingering after effects of the fever she had or something else? She wasn't normally susceptible to the mood swings some women had every month, but it happened sometimes. If that was it, she hoped her cycle would just start already so she could get it done with.

Suddenly her eyes shot open and her hands flew to her mouth. Her cycle! How long had it been? She thought back frantically to the last time she had had one. How long? Her mind raced as she thought. Amaranthine, she suddenly remembered. It had been in Amaranthine. That's what had made one of her last weeks there so miserable. She hadn't had a cycle in two and a half months, and in all the worry and stress she hadn't even noticed.

She flew across the room to floor length mirror, shedding clothes as she went. She stood before the mirror, naked as the day she was born, looking at herself sideways. Was she seeing what she thought? Yes, she was. A slight roundness in her lower abdomen; a firmness there that was more than muscle. She fell to her knees as her legs became suddenly unable to support her.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart racing as she fought against the urge to be sick. The night before Alistair left, there was no other possibility. She had been pregnant for two months and she hadn't known it. Oh, Maker, what if she had hurt the baby with her stubborn pride by trying to do too much? She had never been so scared in her life, and she had never wished so desperately for her mother.

Golanth came over and whined softly, trying to ease her distress. She threw her around his neck, leaning on his huge body for support. He panted happily, wagging his tail and giving her face a swipe with his tongue. Something was wrong with his mistress, but he was making it better. She sat there for a long time, holding onto her oldest friend as thoughts raced through her mind. She was so absorbed that she didn't hear the knock on her door.

"Lya?" Shaye's gentle voice brought her back to reality. Shaye had poked her head in the room when she didn't get a response to her knock. She saw Lya kneeling on the floor, hugging her mabari with her clothes in a trail across the room. She slipped into the room and shut the door. She went quickly to the queen's side. As soon as she was kneeling beside her, Lya flung herself into the mage's arms, the tears already falling.

Shaye rocked Lya as she cried, shushing her with soft soothing words. Eventually, the tears slowed and stopped, and Shaye gently smoothed Lya's hair back into place. "Hush, it's all right, Lya. Everything's going to be all right." She gave Lya a crooked smile. "I guess you've finally noticed, then?"

Lya stared at her in shock. "You knew?" she gasped. "You knew and you didn't tell me? How could you? What if I had done something to hurt…?" She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

"I suspected, Lya. I wasn't sure, but I thought this might be the case. I didn't want to give you false hope. And I've been watching out for you. I would never have let you do anything to hurt yourself or the baby." She helped the young queen get to her feet. "Come, let's get you dressed and we can talk about it." Lya dressed slowly, still dazed. When Shaye made sure she was safely sitting, she went to the door and asked the guard if he could please have a servant bring some tea and something to eat.

A servant was at the door in minutes and Shaye took the tray, gently but firmly preventing the elven maid from entering. She poured Lya a cup of tea and added a few herbs from a pouch on her belt before pressing it into her hand. "Drink, Lya, it will make you feel better." Lya drank almost absently, the hot tea and herbs immediately relaxing her. Shaye pressed her to finish the cup, and when it was empty, poured her another, without herbs this time. Shaye poured herself her own cup and sat back waiting. Lya would talk when she was ready.

Eventually, Lya looked up from her tea into the calm gray eyes of her newest friend. "What am I going to do, Shaye?"

Shaye laughed softy. "Well, I would say first we might need to think about finding a suitable nursery, start looking at names, maybe even start knitting some booties."

"No, that's not-!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Lya, I was only teasing. Friends can do that, can't they? You want to know what you should do about the baby. Well, first I would say just make sure you get plenty of food and rest. I'm not saying stuff yourself or take to your bed, mind you. Just don't skip meals or stay up too late trying to do work. Listen to your body. When it tells you something, do it."

Lya nodded. "That makes sense, I guess. Are you sure I shouldn't spend more time resting? I pushed myself so hard earlier…?

Shaye laughed gently. "No, Lya, I'm sure. Excessive rest would probably do more harm than good. In fact, I would suggest making sure you got some light exercise everyday. Perhaps not sparring like you're used to, but working with the forms and motions and some vigorous walking would be good."

"But won't that…? I don't know. Wouldn't that be bad?"

"You're healthy and strong, Lya. Remaining that way will be better for both you and the baby. None of those things will hurt the baby. If you feel like you can't handle it, just stop and we'll find something else. But I don't think either of those will be too taxing." Lya absorbed her words thoughtfully, her mind beginning to get used to the shock and starting to react normally.

Shaye phrased her next question carefully. "Lya, is there anyone you want to tell? Anyone you want to know about this?" Lya's eyes flew back to meet hers before she shook her head.

"No. I want…I want to tell him first. I don't want you to say a word to anyone, Shaye! Not a word!" Lya was suddenly terrified that it would all be for naught; that Alistair would never come home, that he would never know he was going to get to be a father.

"Very well, Lya," she agreed. "I have no problem with that. But if you wait too long, you will have to tell people. It's not a secret you can keep forever, you know."

Lya looked down at the vest, loose shirt and soft pants she normally wore. She was suddenly grateful that these outfits didn't reveal her figure very much. She grinned crookedly at Shaye. "But I can still keep the secret for awhile, right?" Shaye laughed again softy.

"Of course, Lya. I'll even help you alter your pants so we don't have to trouble any of the maids and start any unseemly gossip that the queen is getting fat."

The women shared a chuckle before slipping into silence. Lya's thought were wandering again and Shaye let her think. Lya finally looked back at her and her eyes were a little scared again. "I want Wynne, Shaye. You've been very kind to me this last week or so, and I truly have come to think of you as a friend, but I want Wynne." Shaye looked sympathetically at the younger woman. Lya had almost no family and Shaye knew Wynne was the closest thing to a mother she had left. Shaye didn't even know if the elderly mage still lived, but she would try to find her for Lya is she could.

"I will do my best, Lya. Truly, I will. But even if we cannot find her, you will be fine. You've come through far more difficult things than this." Lya nodded at her reassurances, but when she looked away her eyes were still troubled.

Modifié par LadyDamodred, 03 avril 2010 - 06:22 .

[Sandtigress]

Just now reading this, and you're really doing a great job. You write Zevran very well, and Alistair is in character as well.

Pacing on the last chapter felt fine to me, and I adore angry Alistair, I always have.

Keep it up!

ETA: Make that the "second to last chapter" above.  :-P

And I knew it!!  I knew she was pregnant the moment she collapsed!

Modifié par Sandtigress, 03 avril 2010 - 07:55 .

[LadyDamodred]

Hehe. Thank you. I love Zevran lots, too, and I try to give him some levity to balance the seriousness in his life. At least he has stability in his life. I think he deserves it.

[flanad]

I just recently discovered this section of the forums. You are a gifted writer. I can only make one possible suggestion for you....don't stop. The dialogue is engaging and the story line is naturally progressive and consistent with the lore. As far as character lines go, they are spot on. Keep up the good work and I can't wait for more installments.