"Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe."
- Abraham Lincoln
Life had taught Aedan Cousland that the cusp of victory often left one wide open to a blow that could spell defeat. He had seen it countless times in countless forms. He saw in the duels from his father's tournaments, when arrogant knights abandoned caution and charged at battered opponents, throwing all their weight behind easily-countered swings of a sword. He saw it in battle, when otherwise disciplined men and women broke formation in the hope of annihilating of the enemy, only to suffer annihilation themselves. But the risk was never greater than in politics, where the clarity and tangibility of steel and slaughter were traded for things far more difficult to control.
And now here he was, in the Landsmeet Chamber wearing heavy dragonbone armour; fully exposed to the tides of battle and diplomacy alike, fully shielded from neither. He was close now, so close. Loghain's support was all but annihilated. Howe was dead, Sighard's son returned to him, Rexel and Irminric were freed, and the proof of elven slave trading was undeniable. But Aedan's mind would not be settled until his victory was absolute. Until the Landsmeet ended, anything was possible.
"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens."
There was one. No surprise; Bryland was a reasonable man. Aedan wished he would stop sweating.
"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!"
Up to two. Aedan's heart was still pounding. How he hated the lack of such basic bodily control. His parents always told him that mastery of anything began with mastery of oneself.
"Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!" cried Sighard.
Three. He couldn't fail now…
"The Warden! I'm with the Warden!" Vaughan spluttered. The heir to the arling of Denerim almost fell over the bannister as he lunged forward, hand in the air like a child trying to show off during a lesson. Aedan suppressed a momentary surge of disgust at having gained the support of such a man.
"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens, Maker help us." Wulff's words came out as an exhausted growl. Reluctant allies were never a thing to outright celebrate, but Aedan was glad for the vote nonetheless.
And then it happened. The very thing Aedan feared the most, and had tried so hard to steel himself against: something that he hadn't accounted for
"The Warden helped me personally in a family matter."
This was not a voice Aedan recognised. It was gravelly and tired-sounding like Wulff's but still stately and fine-tuned for public speaking. The voice of a noble. Aedan's was not the only head sharply swivelling towards this new speaker. A tall, imposing man on Sighard's right stepped out of the shadows. This man wore the fancy garments of Fereldan nobility like a glove, yet was unlike anyone else in the room. His skin was pale and sallow, eyes ringed by the darkened flesh of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. His short black hair was flecked with premature grey, contrasting with a taut, oddly ageless face. Large dark eyes locked with Aedan's before slowly turning back to the irate Loghain. Aedan's gaze then passed to Alistair, who looked as confused as he. Who was this man? Important enough to stand in the upper level of the Landsmeet chamber with the banns and the arls, deciding the fate of the nation, yet unwilling to give his name or the district (in any) that he ruled over. The man's very presence seemed to evoke quite a reaction among the nobles, who were now exchanging a mixture of looks; some confused, some knowing, some frightened, some smug.
Well, there it is, a rare oversight. But an oversight that worked in my favour. This must have been the bonus Ignacio mentioned.
This was a pleasant surprise, and a significant improvement over his previous 'rewards' for Crow contracts. Displeased as he was for being caught off-guard at such a crucial time after months of such thorough preparation, Aedan's mind quickly ascertained the opportunity.
"Zevran!" he hissed, grabbing the wrist of the elf beside him as the banns of White River and Winter's Breath declared their support for the Wardens.
"Yes my friend?"
"Do not leave this building without that man's name, and whatever else you can dig up without rousing too much suspicion."
Zevran nodded and scurried off through the crowd of spectators, soon disappearing.
It was a task better suited for Leliana, but these were still nobility, and an Orlesian bard was still a far less welcome sight than a non-human assassin. At least it would be for a man who had so recently dealt with the Crows.
Aedan was so intrigued by this development, his mind only just registered that wheezy old fool Cerolic's supporting vote for Loghain. It mattered not, as the bann stood alone. Loghain would now be left with no choice but to call a duel: an option even more irrational than all his other blunders.
Aedan's heartbeat slowed and breathing returned to normal as he finally passed the hurdle that required him to relinquish control. He vowed to never again suffer such an indignity.
