"Both Eamon and I deeply believe in the vital importance of the Theirin line continuing to rule Ferelden: the true blood of Calenhad. The son of Maric the Savior—and his sons— must be King, not some distant cousin. How can you not see that?
"And my 'sons?'" Alistair stared at him. "I should have known. You've already cooked up some sort of marriage for me, haven't you? Who's the lucky girl?"
"A powerful alliance will be crucial in overcoming resistance—"
"Oh, no." Alistair groaned and blew out a breath. "It's an Orlesian, isn't it? You want me to marry Isolde the Second. I can't begin to describe how that prospect thrills me to the marrow of my bones. Forget it."
Saladin paused, startled to realize that Alistair really did seem to dislike Saladin's beautiful sister-in-law. Saladin had always been quite fond of her, himself—for all her faults— but perhaps she had been a bit sharp with Alistair in the past. That was certainly no reason to reject a perfectly fine match. He lowered his voice.
"We can't. The princess already on her way, with her retinue and a splendid dowry that will assure us victory. We've been promised that she is lovely and intelligent, and in every way a suitable consort for a King of Ferelden."
"Oh, I'm sure she is! Celene wouldn't send her to me if she weren't a very apt pupil!" Alistair bared his teeth in an unnerving grin. "A very apt pupil. She's been taught what to say and what to do, and above all, to make sure she produces a heir. You and your brother have been played by a master."
"What do you mean?" Something was wrong—very wrong, but Saladin had no idea what that could be. Alistair leaned close, and spoke in a sibilant whisper.
"I may not be a good Grey Warden, but I am, nonetheless, a Grey Warden. Been one for years. It's not something you can decide not to be. Maybe you noticed the healthy appetite? Being a Warden changes you. Just as you and Eamon know nothing about the consequences of being a Warden, I'm absolutely sure that Empress Celene knows all about them, and she's laughing her comely Orlesian arse off."
"I don't understand."
Alistair regarded him with contempt, but spoke too softly for the men outside to hear. "Of course you don't. Since I'm a bad Grey Warden, I'm going to tell you a Grey Warden secret: Wardens are short-lived and practically sterile. If they're going to have children at all, they need to get it done within a year or two of Joining, or they'll probably be out of luck. I don't imagine that'll be much of an obstacle to your Orlesian princess, of course. I'm sure she's got two or three handsome blonde knights in her very large "retinue"—if you prefer that word to "occupying army"— who'll come to her rescue if her husband can't deliver. So much for the blood of Calenhad!"
Saladin gaped him, entirely blindsided. Alistair smiled wryly and slapped him on the back.
"Don't worry: if we're lucky, we might be dead in a day or two, and not have to deal with any of it. Did you say dinner was being served? I'm starving! Come on."
Chapter 27: Four Flashfics
Loghain was dead. Freya was under guard, on her way to Fort Drakon. Alistair managed a fairly rousing little speech to the Landsmeet, which predictably applauded the rising sun and ignored the severed head of their former hero, kicked aside under a bench.
Adela Amell was feAstridg pretty good about their chances at the moment. They had Arl Eamon's support, and now the support of most of the nobles. They had the dwarves, the mages, and the Dalish elves. Things were finally going their way.
She had brought Wynne, Zevran, Oghren, and her dog Flash to the Landsmeet. Wanda was too obviously Orlesian, Arvid was too obviously Grendle, and Morrigan was too obviously...Morrigan. Alistair was oblivious to the growing tension. He was flushed with pride, acting as if he'd done the cleverest thing in the world.
They were so busy congratulating each other that the noise outside the Landsmeet Chamber did not sift in until it was very loud indeed. Some of the lords and ladies murmured uncertainly. More guards filled the high-ceilinged room. They were talking among themselves, too, which struck some of the nobles as a breach of decorum.
"This isn't good, my friend," Zevran whispered to the former Circle Mage. "The soldiers aren't happy."
Adela looked at the assassin blankly, not sure what he meant. Still, Zevran was worried, and Adela knew that he had more practical knowledge of the world than anyone else in their little band.
"But we've got the Landsmeet," she whispered. "They have all the power."
Zevran made a curious face. "So they certainly think. However..."
More soldiers wearing the insignia of Maric's Shield flooded in, their faces grim and intent. Some were muttering and pointing at the bloody object under the bench. Yes, Loghain had commanded the army, and probably his soldiers liked him, but he was dead now. Surely the soldiers would have to do what Alistair told them.
Quite suddenly, the doors slammed open. Framed in them was Ser Cauthrien, looking murderous. She glared across the room at Adela.
"I begged you on my knees," she snarled, "to be merciful."
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Arl Eamon. "You are no member of the Landsmeet! Leave here at once."
Cauthrien ignored him.
"I am here," she declared, "on behalf of Queen Freya, whom the loyal soldiers of Maric's Shield have just rescued from that—" she waved her hand at Alistair — "lying pretender. If any of you still honor your oaths, I suggest you leave this room at once, because it's about to get fairly grim in here."
Arl Bryland tried to mediate.
"Ser Cauthrien, the Landsmeet has voted to support the Warden."
Cauthrien was unimpressed.
"Supporting the Warden is one thing. Murdering the man who saved this country, imprisoning your rightful Queen, and making that fraud King of Ferelden are entirely different matters. The army will not stand for it. I advise you to go to your homes at once."
Eamon exploded. "The King commands the army!"
"The army," coldly countered Ser Cauthrien, "will obey its leaders. You have less than a minute to disperse."
A tremor of panic gathered itself into buzzing chatter, then a frantic debate, punctuated with screams. In twos and threes, nobles began bustling out of the Chamber, clutching their valuables. Others prepared to fight. The Wardens' companions began pulling together in a tight little defensive knot in the center of the room. Adela felt horribly exposed. Together, she and Wynne lifted their staffs...
Cauthrien's gaze swept the room, into the corners and up to the galleries. Scores of archers and swordsmen stood ready.
"Now!"
* * *
See, that's the thing about standing armies, and why many medieval countries were afraid to have them. Standing armies are usually not passive bodies. Most medieval kingdoms relied on the nobles to raise levies for personal militias. Ferelden, however, does have a standing army, crafted and led by Loghain Mac Tir for thirty years. I find it difficult to believe that they would be fine with his death. Even today, national armies can act as kingmakers, so to speak. Sometimes those pawns in the background actually have thoughts and feAstridgs of their own.
* * *
2. Never Again
Or, Tabris doesn't stand there waiting to be arrested
The City Elf Origin without Duncan, Dragon 9:30
Declan Tabris lay flat on the roof, watching the scene below him. The guards were huffing and puffing, looking for scapegoats, but no one down there in the single muddy lane of the Alienage knew anything.
The young elf grinned, teeth bared like a back alley dog. He and Soris had left no witnesses behind them. Mother Boann had seen the girls taken, but her Templar guards had hustled her away before the worst. All she could swear to was that Vaughan had made a pig of himself in the Alienage. The girls were long gone, and the dead men at the Arl of Denerim's estate were telling no tales.
In fact, Declan had had something of an inspiration on the way out, leaving marks that he had heard were used by the Crows, the Antivan Assassins
' Guild. It should confuse things quite a bit. After all, wasn't it more likely that Bann Vaughan and all his friends and guards would be killed by professionals than by a pair of despised, cowardly elves? It made sense even to Declan. Surely Vaughan had plenty of other, more powerful enemies.
Shianni and the other girls were staying out of sight and keeping absolutely silent about the events of twenty days past. They had been forced to leave Nola's dead body on the spot, but there would be no reason for the guards investigating the deaths to think anything but that she was yet another victim of the anonymous assassins. The handful of elven servants who had fled the estate were also in hiding. They knew better than to turn informer: they would be presumed guilty of collusion in the attack, and racked for information.
In the end, Vaughan had tried to buy his life with twenty gold sovereigns. That windfall had been thriftily retrieved, and was hidden in the cellar of the Tabris house. Declan and Soris were well equipped now: they had clad themselves in guard's armor—complete with helmets—taken a sword, shield, and dagger, a good bow and a quiver packed with arrows apiece, and had passed for very short guardsmen as they trudged back home. The girls had wrapped themselves in decent cloaks and clung to the shadows, and each carried a good dagger or two. They had managed to get nearly across the Alienage bridge before the off-duty guards had returned to the estate and sounded the great horn in alarm. The elves had forced themselves not to run. Besides, Shianni could not have run to save her life.
She was doing better now. Declan's new wife, Nesiara—and Declan smiled to himself at the word—was very kind and knew quite a bit about healing.
Valendrian, their hahren, had been quietly informed.
"He's a good man," Cyrion, Declan's father, insisted. "And he's smart. That's why he's hahren."
That was true. Valendrian had come through for them, telling Declan about a secret passage that not even he and Soris had discovered. It was a way to get into a maze of forgotten cellars and ultimately out of the city by way of the sewer and the river. The sewer and the cellars were not in the Alienage proper, but could be reached through a concealed opening in the orphanage. Declan and his friends used the biggest cellar for daily weapons training.
"Open rebellion is madness," Valendrian always said, "but there are things even an elf can do."
What Declan had decided to do was not let the shems purge the Alienage ever again without a fight. They had strong gates, which they could shut on rioters. Their growing network of friends kept watch on the gate ramparts. If the City Guard came in force, they could fight long enough to let their people escape into their ever-expanding hideaways. They were stockpiling food, helped by Alarith, who let them store it all in the secret cellar of his illegal shop.
Varel Baern, with his loose ties to the Blackstone Irregulars, had easy access to weapons, and could give them quite a bit of information about gangs operating in Denerim. Declan, Soris, Varel, and their friend Taeodor were not strong enough yet to pick fights with the likes of the White Falcons or the Red Oars, but Taeodor could stop by the Chanter's Board in front of the Cathedral and learn about small jobs. They could not afterwards appear to be paid by the Chantry, of course. No elf could. But they could find the thugs, kill them, and loot them down to their bare hides.
Shianni was learning to use a shortbow, eyes narrowed vengefully. She swore she would join them as soon as she could hit the moving targets nine times out of ten. Declan was not inclined to deny her the opportunity. Nessa, whose family had been saved from homelessness by Declan's generosity on his wedding day, had joined their band as well. Her work as a seamstress took her to houses of the well-to-do, where she heard no end of useful gossip. No one noticed an elf.
Killing Vaughan and his bullies had filled Declan with a sense of hope and validation. Elves could stand up to shems and win, even in an unfair fight, which was how it was always going to be. He and his friends called themselves the Alienage Watch, and they were growing strong.
No: they would not submit without a fight.
Never again.
* * *
My point being that if Tabris can be forged into a leader by his slaughter of Vaughan and subsequent conscription by Duncan, why couldn't he be forged into a different kind of leader if Duncan wasn't there? And if he's smart enough not to leave witnesses and he leaves a false trail, the guards might not automatically focus on the Alienage. A heavy company of guards appearing at the Alienage on Tabris' heels seemed just too convenient. Considering the extent of the massacre, I think the presumption would be an attack by professionals, and not by a few elves! And Tabris just standing there seems idiotic. He and Soris could hide out elsewhere, or leave the city.
I rather like Declan. I might consider expanding his story. A number of things could happen. The Alienage could fight for survival like the Warsaw Ghetto, or, conversely, the Alienage elders might toss Declan and his fellow hellions out altogether, causing them to wander into the countryside where they meet up with a Dalish tribe.
* * *
3. Loghain's Warden
Or, Flemeth Does Not Trouble Herself with a Female Warden Unsuitable for Her Purpose
Post-Ostagar. Dragon 9:30
"Wake her up."
"My lord, her head... she must not become too agitated..."
"Enough. Wake her up."
Deirdre Cousland opened her eyes. That alone surprised her. She was supposed to be dead.
Not yet, apparently, judging from the pain in her bandaged chest. Her head throbbed slowly. Perhaps she had a fever; she felt sick and dizzy enough.
She was in a bed. In a room unknown to her. Three people were bending over her: one was a mage, the second, Ser Cauthrien, she knew by sight, and the last she knew quite well indeed..
"T'rrr Logh...?" she croaked, and then cleared her throat, wincing at how it hurt. "Teyrn Loghain? Where are we?"
Loghain frowned. "Castle Turlogh, north of Lothering, Lady Cousland."
A scrabble and a whine, and her mabari Dash was licking at her face. Deirdre smiled, too weak to do more than lift a languid hand to his silky head. Then she frowned.
"Wait? The battle? What happened?"
Thus Deirdre Cousland learned of the disaster at Ostagar and the death of King Cailan. The cry forced from Deirdre sparked an eruption of pain so intense that she fainted.
The next time she awakened, Loghain was still there, lounging in a camp chair, watching her like a hungry wolf.
She squeezed her eyes open and winced. Dash nudged her anxiously.
"Your dog has never left your side," Loghain remarked. "The men who found you think he saved your life."
"No surprise there," Deirdre managed. Carefully, she tested her head and chest. She was feAstridg much better. The mage was nowhere in sight, but must have done his work well.
"Someone gave you a fierce knock on the head, Lady Cousland."
"Don't remember anything about that, my lord," Deirdre admitted.
"What happened in the Tower of Ishal? Why was the beacon late? My people said it was clear."
Deirdre tried not to laugh. "No..." she managed. "It was crawling. A couple of your people ran out to get our help as soon as we reached the doors. Said the darkspawn came up from beneath. There was nothing to do but fight our way up."
"Describe the men."
Deirdre could do that, more or less. She even remembered one of their names. Loghain's face did not alter, but she sensed that he believed this much.
"So you climbed the tower and lit the beacon, after killing the darkspawn. What then?"
"Not much more. Alistair and I were congratulating each other when a mob of darkspawn came through the door. I was shot... I thought I was dying. I don't remember anything else until I woke up here."
"Was Alistair shot, too?"
She thought about that. "I presume they must have got him. How did I get down from the Tower?"
"The dog dragged you part of the way, and some of
my soldiers found you as they were retreating. You were lucky. They recognized you as someone important and loaded you into a cart. They had a remarkable tale to tell, but perhaps that will keep. Perhaps I should tell you that with the exception of Alistair, whose fate is uncertain, the rest of your order is dead with the King, including Duncan."
Deirdre thought about that. "I don't give a hang about Duncan. Are you sure the King is lost? Has anyone seen Fergus?"
His composure cracked a little. "Cailan's death is... certain. Your brother has not yet reported in. You really don't care about your commander?"
"No. I hate him for dragging me away from my parents. He blackmailed my dying father into consenting to my conscription. Bastard." A crease appeared between her brows. "I did have some old Warden treaties on me. They might be important."
Loghain relaxed minutely. "The treaties were found on you, and may indeed prove useful. You do not feel bound to the Wardens?"
"Not in the least. I need to find Fergus. Can we pretend that my Joining never happened? All the witnesses appear to be gone: Duncan, Alistair, and of course the two other recruits, both of whom died on the spot."
She told him the whole story, but first warned him to be discreet: the one thing she did know about Wardens was that they were absolutely ruthless about their secrets. Then it all came out: collecting darkspawn blood, and then actually drinking it, mixed with something else; the horrible demise of Daveth; the subsequent murder of Jory; her own acceptance of certain death.
"But I didn't die. I had hideous dreams...or visions... I saw what the Duncan later told me was the Archdemon..."
She had to describe that too: a huge dragon, foul and diseased, mocking her. Under Loghain's probing, she remembered details that had slipped her mind. Loghain then quizzed her about the Wardens' plans. She could tell him very little.
"I tried to get Duncan to talk about the Wardens on our way south. He did tell me about an old Warden fortress in the Coast Mountains, but mostly he was unbearably condescending. He told me that Wardens aren't told the full story for a whole year after the Joining, but he did tell me that the Wardens were essential to killing the Archdemon. And I know Wardens can sense darkspawn and have awful nightmares, but that's just about it."
Dragon's Era- No Man's Land Page 35