Chapter 2
The food prepared by Eamon's cook was not elaborate, but it was good, solid Fereldan fare: a joint of mutton with roasted potatoes and stewed vegetables, all soaked in gravy, and a fruit pie for afters. Aedan tucked in with gusto, wondering how Riordan had managed to survive on the undoubtedly meagre rations in Howe's dungeon. He was too tactful to ask, however.
Anora was not present, but all the others were there, eager to bombard him with questions about his daring escape. He answered them all as briefly as possible, and was about to try and change the subject when a sudden thought struck him. "By the way, what happened to the loot we found at Howe's place? I don't suppose we managed to salvage any of it?"
Zevran chuckled softly. "Why, my friend, have you not heard? In all the chaos at Arl Howe's estate, it seems that a rather handsome rogue slipped in and removed a few items from the treasury. Which had helpfully been left unlocked." He slipped a hand into the leather pouch on his belt and withdrew a glittering handful of gold and gems, holding them out to Aedan with a conspiratorial wink.
"Excellent work." With luck, Aedan thought, that little haul would pay for the new armour and equipment they badly needed. Their war chest was reasonably full at present, but every little helped at a time like this. And when the war was over – assuming he came out of it in one piece, of course – he'd need plenty of coin to take back Highever.
"There was this shield as well," Alistair added, through a mouthful of potato. "Some good enchantments on that one, from the look of it."
Aedan craned his neck to see the shield which lay propped against the wall, and froze. The bear's crest, heraldry of the arls of Amaranthine. He knew that shield; he'd seen it before, half-a-dozen times at least, at a certain person's back.
"Destroy it," he said roughly.
Alistair frowned. "Are you sure? We could get a good price for it if – "
"I said, destroy it."
The others exchanged bemused glances. Alistair looked as if he were about to say something more, but unexpectedly, Sten's gruff voice interrupted him. "Parshaara! If the Warden wishes it destroyed, let it be so."
An uncomfortable silence followed, after which the conversation turned to safer subjects. Aedan turned his attention to the food, feeding a few choice tidbits to Alfric as he ate. The mabari had settled down by his chair, seemingly reluctant to leave his master's side since his narrow escape from captivity.
"Drills in the courtyard in two hours," he announced, when the meal was finished. "Stop whinging!" he added, at the ensuing chorus of groans from his companions. "We can't afford to slack off just because we're in Denerim. You've had your holiday, now back to work."
"Sodding slavedriver," Oghren mumbled, shoving back his chair. "Well, I'm getting a drink while I have the chance. Who's with me?"
The others drifted away – some headed for the tavern, others to visit the market or get armour and weapons repaired. Aedan considered seeking out the banns at the Gnawed Noble, but he decided not to keep Anora waiting. She might take it as a deliberate snub, and the last thing he needed was to alienate a potentially powerful ally.
Alfric padded along behind him as he left the dining room, and he reached down to stroke the mabari's fur. "What do you say, boy? Would you like to meet the Queen?" Alfric's tail wagged cautiously. "Be on your best behaviour, then – or she might have us all executed."
The dog let out a threatening growl, baring sharp, white canines, and Aedan ruffled his fur with a low chuckle. "Only joking. I think you and I can handle one woman, hmm?"
As he set off, Alfric bounding around his heels, Aedan wondered what he was going to say to the Queen. He wished he knew Anora a little better. His mother had liked her, which was a definite point in her favour; he also knew she was popular with both commoners and the nobility, which was another. But for his own part, he'd only met her a handful of times, and his mind had not been on politics.
He remembered the first time she'd visited Highever with her father, a small blonde girl with pigtails that were so tempting to pull. The one time he'd plucked up courage to try, she'd slapped his face and called him a little wretch; otherwise she'd shown no more interest in him than any twelve-year-old would in an eight-year-old. On her next visit she'd been sixteen, and far more interesting to a boy on the cusp of adolescence, but if anything she'd paid him even less attention than before.
Apart from the Royal Wedding five years back, their only other meeting had been at the previous year's Landsmeet. He recalled watching her glide elegantly around the room, pausing here and there to join a conversation or whisper directions to a servant, and pointedly ignoring her husband's flirtations with several of the younger, more attractive women. He'd felt a little sorry for her, yet she seemed to be in her element; perhaps she considered an unsatisfying marriage a price worth paying for the influence it gave her. If so, that might make his task a little easier.
One of the maids was just leaving Anora's room as he approached, carrying a pile of plates. After she assured him that the Queen had finished her meal, he raised a hand to the door and knocked cautiously.
"Enter," called a voice from inside, and he opened the door to find Anora and Erlina playing chess at a small table – both down to a handful of pieces, he noted with interest. A fire burned low in the grate, and the room smelled faintly of perfume and fresh flowers. The Queen stood to greet him as soon as he entered; clearly she had been waiting for him.
"Hello again, Warden. It is good that you came to speak with me." She broke off suddenly as she saw Alfric. "Oh, what a beautiful animal! A purebred mabari?" She stretched out a hand towards him, but he backed away with a faint growl, placing himself firmly between Anora and his master.
"Alfric! This is our Queen, and you will show her respect!" The dog whined, but subsided a little. "My apologies, your Majesty. He's been a little… over-protective of me since I was captured by your father's men."
"You are lucky to have such a faithful protector, my lord. I've felt the want of one myself recently, I must admit." She turned to her maid. "Erlina, would you care to take… Alfric? …out of the room, so that the Warden and I can continue our discussion in private?"
"Of course, my lady."
The young elven woman hurried to Alfric's side, murmuring soothingly to him in Orlesian. Alfric whimpered, but allowed himself to be led out of the room, and Aedan closed the door firmly behind them. He turned back to find Queen Anora's gaze fixed on him intently – not cold or unfriendly, but searching. It lasted only seconds, and her eyes barely moved, yet he had the feeling that he was being examined in minute detail.
Not disconcerted, he took the opportunity to scrutinise her in return, careful not to let his eyes linger below her neckline. She was slightly built, and gave the impression of being tall, though the top of her head barely reached his chin. Pale, smooth skin and delicate features lent her an air of fragility very much at odds with her self-assured manner. Her hair was the colour of ripe wheat, and those large, deep-blue eyes regarded him with a hint of amusement.
Feeling a familiar heat steal over him, Aedan suddenly understood why all those young courtiers would risk a King's wrath to her win favour. How in the Maker's name had a hulking brute like Loghain managed to produce a daughter like this? The late Celia Mac Tir, he thought, must have been a very lovely woman.
"Do sit down, Warden," she said at last, before the silence could grow oppressive. He complied, seating himself on one of the sofas, and she settled down on the one opposite.
"First," she began, "let me say that I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did… was unforgivable. How fitting he died at your hands."
She spoke a little stiffly, as if the mention of Eleanor Cousland made her uncomfortable. Aedan wasn't surprised; while he didn't suspect her of complicity in Howe's crimes, she'd certainly done nothing to punish him or counter the accusations of treason against the Couslands. He suspected that she was regretting that now, and with good reason.
"Thank you, my lady," he replied, forcing a smile. "My mother always spoke highly of you. I was just remembering the first time you visited us at Highever."
"Ah yes." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You pulled my hair, as I recall."
"And received a well-deserved slap for it." Despite himself, he couldn't suppress a grin at her stony expression. "I take it I'm still not forgiven?"
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and he felt the ice between them thaw a little. "Even I don't bear grudges for that long. In any case, I think you have more than redeemed yourself with your actions yesterday."
"Howe didn't harm you at all, I take it?"
"Apart from the wound to my pride, no. But come, let us get to business." He nodded. "I will be blunt: I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason."
I only wish he would, Aedan thought – but he said nothing, watching her attentively. "My father must be stopped," Anora continued, "but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne."
"You're proposing an alliance, then?"
"That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne." She leaned forward. "You will be seen as my father's enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see?"
"I think I do, yes." Aedan settled back against the cushions, relaxing slightly. He did see, but he wasn't about to let himself be won over so easily. "Very well, your Majesty, make your case. Why should I support you over Alistair?"
"Because I would make a better ruler." She spoke calmly, and with complete authority. "Alistair seems like a kind, well-meaning man, and biddable enough, but I have ruled this nation on Cailan's behalf for many years. I am a great queen, and as beloved by my people as I love them. Ferelden needs an effective ruler with experience to see it through the Blight and after; that is not Alistair."
"And you think my support would help? As far as most of the nobility are concerned, I'm a rebel and an outlaw."
"So you are. And yet look what you have achieved, while my father and the Bannorn squabble uselessly over the succession." Her eyes locked on to his. "You are a man who makes things happen, Warden. You are competent and powerful, and in the right place at the right time. Used to your advantage… these things could bring you far."
That sky-blue gaze held his unflinchingly. There was nothing seductive about it, at least in the traditional sense, yet it sent a jolt of heat straight to Aedan's groin. Suddenly he understood what made Anora so formidable: not just her beauty or intelligence, but her ability to read people, to sense what they wanted and turn it to her advantage. Without warning, this dry political discussion had become a battle of wills.
Whenever he had a similar clash with Morrigan – which was very frequently – it usually ended with him shoving her down onto a bedroll, taking her mercilessly until both of them were exhausted. For a brief moment, before sanity set in, he had a sudden powerful vision of doing the same to Anora – her slender body pinned beneath his, his hands tangled in her hair…
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate. "Then I take it you are offering more than just your support in the Landsmeet?"
"Indeed I am. Once I am queen, I will be in a position to grant you whatever you wish – and I shall." She paused. "This is in addition to Highever being properly restored to you; that should go without saying, I trust. For the rest… well, what is it you would ask for? Lands, wealth, power… or something more?"
"How about justice?" he said softly, his voice suddenly edged with steel. "Answer me honestly, if you will, my lady. Do you think your father knew in advance what Howe had planned for my family?"
"No," she said instantly, then hesitated. "I am not saying my father wouldn't have acted against Bryce, if he'd opposed him at the Landsmeet. But to order the cold-blooded butchery of everyone in the castle… no. Even now, after everything that's happened… I cannot believe it."
She sounded, he thought, as if she desperately wanted not to believe it. He couldn't blame her for that, for he did not want to, either. Didn't want to believe that his father's old friend and comrade-in-arms, who'd fought at his side in victory and defeat, could have sat down with that monster Howe and calmly plotted out the extermination of his entire family line.
"Very well," he said at last. "I'll take your word for it. But your father's other crimes can't be so easily dismissed, your Majesty. He declared war on his own people, at the very time he should have been trying to unite them against the darkspawn. He conspired with a blood mage to poison Eamon, and almost destroyed Redcliffe as a result. He sent another maleficar to negotiate with the Circle of Magi…" Aedan paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. "I'm sure you take my point."
"I do," she said quietly. "I will always be my father's daughter, but even I know he must pay for his crimes. So yes, I am willing to offer justice alongside more… tangible rewards." She smiled slightly. "Alistair might promise you the same, I suppose, but I would ask which is better: the gratitude of a weak king, or of a strong queen?"
"I see your point," he said, "but promises are easily made, your Majesty. Alistair may be weak, but at least I know I can trust him. Can I trust you?"
He'd expected one of two reactions: offended protests, or hasty reassurances. Her response surprised him, however. "You don't need to trust me. We have the same goal – that is far better than trust."
Aedan couldn't help smiling. "That's an interesting way of looking at things."
"Trust is always in very short supply at court, Warden. What you should be considering is whether I have any reason to betray you." Once again, those shrewd blue eyes stared unblinkingly into his. "You and I both know there is nothing I can say that would convince you of my sincerity; only my actions can do that. If we can reach an agreement, I will do my part – that is all I can promise you."
"I see." Enough of this game, he thought. "Very well, your Majesty, I'll be honest with you: I agree that Alistair would make a poor ruler. If it were solely my decision, I would be happy to see you as Queen. Unfortunately, I think there are many amongst the Bannorn who wouldn't agree."
"Oh, there are some who would follow Alistair out of respect for his Theirin blood," she agreed. "The others would see this as Eamon grabbing for power. But do you have a better alternative?"
Aedan hesitated. "May I ask you a rather personal question, my lady?" She nodded. "Did you love your husband?"
The Queen raised her eyebrows, clearly a little surprised by the question, but she didn't seem offended. "It seems a strange word to describe a marriage our parents arranged when he was newly born and I still in swaddling clothes. But yes, I loved him." Just for a moment, her face softened a little. "He was reckless, impetuous and charming. Had he not been king, he would have made a dashing rogue for a band of players. And we were a good pairing – he would not have wanted the burden of ruling any more than I would have liked remaining the silent wife in my husband's shadow."
She was silent for a moment, apparently lost in the memory of happier times. Only when Aedan softly cleared his throat did her eyes lose their faraway expression. "What makes you ask, Warden?"
"I was simply wondering how you would feel about marrying Alistair."
She didn't react with horror or disgust, as he had feared, but nor did she look enthusiastic. "Ignoring that the man looks so much like Cailan," she said slowly, "my main fear is that he might govern like Cailan as well. But it is true that he has Theirin blood… and to some, this is more important even than practical considerations." She heaved a sigh. "A union might be considered a compromise, but… is this something Alistair even desires?"
"Probably not, but think I could talk him around to it. Assuming you yourself would be willing, your Majesty?"
After a long pause, she slowly nodded. "If Alistair is willing to stand back and allow me to continue governing the nation, then I would be willing to have him as my king."
Aedan had to hide his surprise; he hadn't expected her to agree so readily. If nothing else, he had to respect her pragmatism. Of course, she'd been betrothed to her first husband as an infant; it was hardly surprising that she should see marriage as a continuation of politics by other means.
"I think he would be all too happy to let you do that," he said wryly. "Very well, I'll speak to him and bring you his answer tomorrow morning."
"Do so. I will be interested to hear what he has to say." She stood, and so did he. "Thank you for your time, Warden. Will I see you at dinner tonight?"
"I certainly hope so," he said with a smile. "Is there anything else I can do for you, your Majesty?"
For the first time, she looked taken aback. "I… no," she said at last. "And while I know your concern is hardly disinterested, still… thank you."
"A pleasure, my lady." He bowed low, crossing his arms over his chest in a formal salute. Anora gave him a cool nod, her expression unreadable.
The conversation had gone a lot more smoothly than Aedan had expected, yet as he left the room, he felt anything but satisfied. He'd amused himself by imagining a mild flirtation with the Queen; he certainly hadn't expected to feel such a powerful attraction to her. He would have to be careful there, very careful.
It was a pity, he thought, to compel her to marry Alistair for the sake of politics. His Warden 'brother' was a good man, for all his faults, but he could hardly imagine two people less suited to each other. Anora had steel in her, like his own mother – and she was a damned beautiful woman to boot. She deserved better than another Cailan, which was essentially what she'd be getting in Alistair – though at least with his Chantry upbringing, he'd probably be more faithful to her than Cailan had.
In the meantime, Aedan had other problems – such as a pair of breeches that suddenly felt far too tight. He set out for the room he shared with the other Wardens, hoping to get a few minutes' privacy there, but he wasn't alone; a slim, dark-haired figure was sitting hunched up on the bed, absorbed in a book.
Morrigan. She hadn't gone out with the others; she rarely did. Instead she'd stayed behind to study one of those impenetrable grimoires she'd 'borrowed' from the Circle tower.
It had been over three weeks since they'd last slept together. The last time he'd asked to join her in her tent, he'd been rudely rebuffed – just one of her whims, he'd thought at the time, but he'd be damned if he'd dance to her tune. So he'd waited for her to come to him, and she hadn't done so. Well, he'd waited long enough; time to show her who was boss.
He closed the door behind him, quietly turning the key in the lock, and began to remove his armour piece by piece. She didn't look round at him. When he'd finished, he sat down beside her on the bed and leaned into her, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. One arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him; the other hand slid underneath the flimsy strip of cloth that covered her breasts. She stiffened, but didn't resist.
"You haven't thanked me yet, you know," he murmured against her neck. "For sacrificing myself so that you could escape."
"So that poor little Leliana could escape, you mean. I was in no danger."
"Even so." His roughened fingers gently stroked her nipple, felt it harden under his touch. "I think I deserve a reward, don't you?"
She didn't answer, but he felt her pulse quicken beneath heated skin, and her breaths grew slower and deeper. Still holding her firmly with one arm, he let his other hand wander slowly downwards and slide beneath her skirt, probing gently until he found the spot he wanted. She let out a soft gasp and squirmed in his arms, but he ignored her; if she really objected to anything he was doing, he'd be an icicle or a ball of magical fire by now.
He pushed her down onto the bed, swiftly enough that she had no time to react, and captured her mouth hungrily beneath his. She was so warm and smooth and soft – her lips, her skin, her hair. Just for a second he closed his eyes, briefly picturing golden hair in place of the black – and suddenly she was wrenching herself away from his grasp, digging her fingernails into his arms to loosen his grip.
" 'Tis not me you want, is it?" She laughed scornfully at his expression. "You are easier to read than a picture-book. Who is it you desire, then – our little bard, or the ice-queen? Mayhap even the old woman?"
Aedan couldn't stem the rush of blood to his face, but he wasn't about to give her the upper hand. "Jealousy, Morrigan? Is this why you've been in such high dudgeon these past few weeks?"
" 'Tis not jealousy!" The golden eyes flashed with unexpected rage. " 'Tis merely that I will not be used like this! If you seek only a warm body to ease your frustrations, find yourself a tavern-wench or a serving maid. I have told you before that I do not share – "
"And what was your excuse last time?" he demanded. "I wouldn't have expected this nonsense from you, of all people! If you're getting tired of me, Morrigan, all you need to do is tell me so."
She glowered at him, but said nothing – a response which made him suspect he'd hit on the truth. "We had an agreement," he continued, in a lower voice. "No entanglements. You know damn well I haven't touched another woman since you told me you objected to it. But you've no right to keep me tied to you if you don't want me any longer."
Morrigan opened her mouth to speak – and then, suddenly, her expression changed. The anger and indignation seemed to drain from her face as quickly as they had appeared, leaving only a look of weariness he'd seldom seen in her before.
"Perhaps you are right," she said at last. "I suddenly find myself acting the possessive wife. I do not enjoy it, and I have little doubt that 'tis just as unappealing to you." She sighed. "Very well, let us end this. It will be for the best, no doubt."
"Fine," he said curtly, pushing himself up off the bed and struggling to his feet. He was tempted to walk out of the room without a backward glance, but pride as well as a vague sense of guilt made him hesitate. "If I've done anything to hurt you," he said gruffly, "I apologise. It wasn't my intent."
"Think nothing of it." She was not looking at him. "I certainly shall not."
Aedan left the room with gritted teeth and a stiff, awkward gait, even more frustrated than before. He couldn't put the blame entirely on Morrigan – he had been using her, in a sense – but they both knew this was only an excuse. At some point he must have said or done something to upset her, though he couldn't imagine what that might be. Women!
And the day was only half over. He still had a difficult task ahead of him, convincing the Gnawed Noble mob to support the Wardens' cause – to say nothing of investigating Loghain's dealings in the Alienage. What was more, the true test of his persuasive abilities was yet to come: getting Anora to agree to his plan had been the easy part. Now he just needed to convince Alistair, the world's most reluctant monarch, that he wanted to marry his worst enemy's daughter for the good of Ferelden.
It was a good thing he enjoyed a challenge.