A/N - Another clean chapter! We're on a roll, here, but sadly, that might change next time. If this Teagan doesn't seem as responsible as the one in-game, that was the intent. The goal for this is for him to grow in the brief time between now and the events of origins, which, with this timeline, will be happening in a few months. Anyway, enjoy, reviews are wonderful and encouraging.
Unlike most younger siblings, Teagan was perfectly happy that he wasn't firstborn. Being a bann, a minor noble of a mostly forgotten little township tucked away in Redcliffe's shadow, was hard enough. He had managed—he was a smart man, or at the very least, he held a great deal of common sense, and a sense of honor that drove him to do what he could for the people that he was in charge of. For that, he was well liked and respected. His township was prosperous, and his people never went hungry, not even during the worst of famines.
Despite his success in running his part of the bannorn, however, Teagan, along with every other nobleman, was required to attend the Landsmeets whenever they were called.
The Teyrns and Arls suffered the worst of it, with as much weighted responsibilities as they held. Nobles that were smaller, like Bann Teagan, were able to coast by during political schemes and arguments, unaffected by one lord's jealous rages or another's paranoid impulses. Even better—he wasn't expected to say anything.
His older brother had gone grey in the hair as nothing more than a young man. His life had been turned on its head, and the only thing he seemed to be able to claim for himself was a wife that brought him more trouble than good fortune, and a boy that remained… odd. In his thirties, Teagan didn't have a single spec of grey in his hair, and his body hadn't been racked with worry and bent to the figure of an old man. He was able to spend his days hunting in the forests, riding across his lands, and if he became bored enough—he might even go fishing.
As far as he could tell, anyone who wanted to be one of the head noblemen of Ferelden was either dim-witted or sick somewhere inside of their head.
Sitting inside the grand royal hall, Teagan lowered his head into the crook of his elbow, nestling his forehead down into the fine silks he had managed to wiggle his way into for all of the pomp and prestige. Everyone was shouting about something, carrying on about the evils of Orlais—a bitter grudge that everyone refused to let go of. As much as he hated the flitting and fluttering of every man and woman in Orlais, he didn't believe that if Ferelden so much as spoke about trade agreements that they would fall into servitude just the same as they had before. It was ignorant.
"Come on, come on…" Teagan mumbled, bringing his head up and cupping his chin in the palm of his hand, if only to look out at the shadows falling across the walls. The meeting had to end soon, the sunlight could barely get through the windows with how low it had sunk! Glancing over his shoulder, Teagan's fingers picked at the beard growth he had been supporting for the last few weeks. The servant's passage wasn't more than fifteen paces behind him. If he chose a moment when they were in the heat of discussion (Orlais? An alliance? Some new evil in the South?), he could slip away before they noticed him. Swallowing and arching his brows, Teagan licked his lips and turned in his seat, one hand still resting on the railing in front of him.
"And you actually trust these Wardens? I have farmers in my arling that have the wilds knocking on their doorsteps, and none of them have reported any strange creatures or 'darkspawn,'" an irate voice rang out higher than the other, rough and coarse.
Rising to his feet, Teagan stepped over to the door as the arguing began again, each lord fighting to be heard above the other. The Empress of Orlais had once commented that Fereldens were constantly on the verge of reverting back to Barbarism at any moment—and it was times like this that Teagan was inclined to agree. Whatever this threat was, Teagan would believe it when it came from a source more credible than a young man with a fancy for fantasy and legends, Maker bless his soul. King Cailin was a good man, but still a young one, and brash impulses and a thirst for adventure often led him to veering off track.
If it wasn't for the Queen, Teagan had his doubts that Ferelden would be doing as well as it was. Amongst the lords and ladies, there was no doubt as to who actually ran Ferelden. Cailin was a figurehead for the people, a man with the best of intentions and a heart large enough to feel for the lowliest of commoners, but he had no interest in business. Anora, it seemed, was his exact opposite, and exactly what Ferelden had needed.
Slipping out the door and into the servant's passageway, Teagan nearly ran headlong into an elf maid that was eavesdropping, trying to pick what valuable information she could out of all of the yelling. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she recoiled from Teagan and quickly turned around, darting through the dimly lit passageways. Teagan pressed his lips together and shook his head, slumping off in the same direction, trying to remember which path he had taken the last time he had slipped out of a landsmeet when things had grown particularly tedious. Opting to go the opposite direction the servant had taken, Teagan resolved to just walk until he came upon something else. It was a method that had served him well in the past, and besides—it wasn't as though anyone was expecting him anywhere any time soon.
The servants here kept their corridors and passageways almost as clean as they kept the rest of the palace: likely to help aide them in speedy getaways from spying on whatever lord someone wanted dead or humiliated. They were not so subtle as they were in other countries. Even during his time in the Free Marches as a youth, Teagan had watched politics at play. It was deadly and foul, and it made him ache for the blunt honesty of Ferelden. Honor was valued above all else in his country, and honor was a concept that he could understand. Commoners understood it just as well, and with nobles focused on that instead of other less than relevant things, it had a tendency to bridge the gap between social circles.
After roughly ten minutes, Teagan found himself emerging within one of the small reading rooms which were, thankfully, unoccupied at the time of his entrance. Sighing with relief, welcoming the quiet like a warm blanket, Teagan slumped in one of the chairs, his eyes turning to look out of a narrow window. The city of Denerim greeted him as though he hadn't been away for several years, presenting the same view as it always did. Citizens ambled about, distinctly unaware of the changes to their lives that this landsmeet entailed. Washer women hung clothes out on lines to dry, stray dogs and small children sprinted through the streets, and at the docks, sailors unloaded heavy crates while their captains and merchants barked orders at them from a safe distance.
"He's been seen going to The Pearl over and over, he's not even subtle about it!" a voice carried through the open door from the main hallway. Teagan glanced over in that direction, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't like eavesdropping, but he liked disturbing conversations even less than that.
"Wicked as that man is, you know he's never going to find a decent woman to marry him. Just as well that he gets his wiles from whores, if you're asking me." This voice belonged to an older woman, and there was a certain grit to her tone not presence in the former voice.
"So all of those rumors are really true?"
The older woman scoffed, and Teagan could imagine the exasperated expression that she might have worn. He could guess who they were talking about. Of the local lords, Vaughn held the worst reputation for his temperament. There were stories, but it was improper to discuss. Most thoughts about the brash teryn's son were communicated with displeased looks and sidelong glances.
"Why don't you find out for yourself if'n you're not taking my word for it? It's not like I'm the one that had to scrub the blood out of the sheets after he had his way with his pick of the serving girls here, Andraste curse that man—he must think that every woman was put on Thedas solely for his loins," the old voice growled out. From the louder noises that followed, Teagan could tell that she was venting her frustration and anger on whatever task she was competing.
Thinking back to the faces that he had seen in the landsmeet, Teagan couldn't help but furrow his brow in confusion. Vaughn hadn't been present. He hadn't heard the young man's voice or seen him slumping in any corner behind his aging father. For a teryn's son, it wasn't exactly acceptable. He was expected to take an active role in politics, whether the matter amused him or not. Tapping a finger against the side of his jaw, Teagan's eyes drifted out to the window again, traveling to the docks once more, and to a familiar building behind it.
The Pearl.
Well, if he was missing the landsmeet, he could at least pretend it was for something more important than his own boredom. Rising to his feet, the minor lord turned and strode through the open door, nodding to the two startled servants that looked up at him, and then glanced at each other.
"Good day," Teagan dipped his head to them, continuing down the hallway before they could make any fuss over him or try to gauge what it was that he had heard from their conversation. Once he was farther down the hallway, he heard the whispering and hissed conversation pick up again behind him, likely with a chiding in it somewhere for not having been quieter while gossiping.
Exiting the royal grounds took almost twice as long as even traveling from Redcliffe to Denerim had. Even still, Teagan kept going, fitted boots crunching against loose cobblestones. Denerim greeted him as it did every Ferelden born citizen—steam rising up from the washer houses, dogs barking wildly as they sprinted through the streets, children screaming just as loudly, and mothers shouting over the top of it all. Drawing in a deep breath, Teagan smiled as a breeze actually made its way through the buildings, strong enough to rustle his hair. The walk to the docks didn't take half as long as getting free from the palace, and to the shame of the palace and the credit of the city, it was about twice as enjoyable.
Before long, The Pearl stood across the street, its entrance remarkably cleaner than the meagre pottery shop next door. Looking between the two of them, Teagan let out a snort of a laugh, eyes rolling. Shrugging his shoulders, the nobleman strode forward, opening the door and stepping inside of the whorehouse. Incense burned, lamps were lit, and sweetly perfumed women and men were leaning over patrons, whispering sweet things and delivering mostly chaste kisses to tempt them.
"Hello Love, and Welcome to The Pearl," Sanga leaned against the archway, one of her hands twirling a loose lock of hair around her fingers, "Not often that we get nobility around here, what can I do for you, My Lord? A private room? The men, the women? Perhaps a little of both?" Her speech was so familiar to her, it must have been scripted at this point.
Clearly she wasn't exactly honest when she said that nobility didn't come around very often.
"I—Well, a drink, for starters," Teagan stuttered, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair. Now that he was here, his entire reason for coming seemed utterly fabricated and quite… stupid. Here to fetch the Arl's son? What self-respecting nobleman would venture to a whorehouse to get involved with business of another noble that wasn't his own? No one would believe it, and then, wasn't it better if they didn't? Teagan's head began to swim as he made his way to the room Sanga led him towards. It was considerably more decorated than the o thers, and it felt almost like a luncheon room at his estates.
"I'll send the girl along to get your preferences in a moment… for the drinks, of course," Sanga forced a practiced giggle, turning from him to return to her usual position. As she turned, Teagan was sure that he saw her face crinkle in what he imagined was exasperation. How many men like him came here each day, wanting something, but not knowing what?
Swallowing roughly, Teagan folded his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes drifting around the room once more. When the door opened again, Teagan rose to his feet out of habit, turning to look and see who it was, half expecting his older brother and a reprimand, as though they were youths once more.
What he saw shouldn't have surprised him at all.
"I apologize, M'Lord, I didn't mean to startle you," she was young, and if she had been a lord's daughter, she would have been kept locked away in her rooms at this age, for fear of her impending marriage and suitors knocking at the doorstep. The thought made Teagan smile, but it faltered quickly as he realized something else—here, with this life, she would never have such things. The Pearl would be her life, until sickness or age claimed her, as it did every living thing.
"The fault is mine, my mind is… disquiet," Teagan fumbled, seating himself again and trying his best to look away from her, though from all of the faces he had seen in the past month, hers was the most welcoming.
"Oh," she dipped her head, looking conflicted, as though part of her wished to comfort the best way that she could, and the other knew better than to try to bridge the gap between lords and commoners, "I- I wouldn't presume to interfere in the affairs of men, but I do know that the food and drink that we offer is quite good," she smiled again, and it was as though a beam of sunshine glittered straight from her eyes.
Teagan shifted in his seat, eying the girl up and down, feeling more at ease with her gentle demeanor.
"What's your name, Girl?" he asked her, his head tipping as he brought a hand up to pick at the stubble underneath his chin.
"Elizabeth, M'Lord." She stooped into a curtsey fit for a princess, and Teagan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the juxtaposition in front of him. Sanga had reason to take pride in her establishment.
"That's a very pretty name, Elizabeth. My name is Te-Thomas," he forced a cough, a wrinkle forming in the middle of his brow, "It's Thomas. I'm very hungry. What do you think I should eat?" he said, smiling back at her as she brought her fingertips up to stifle a giggle at his slip-up. He doubted that he fooled her, but at the very least, if and when someone badgered her for a name of the nobleman that had been there, she could give them something other than the truth and remain honest when she said that it was what she had been told.
"I like our Orlesian toast with a bit of cinnamon and fresh cream, but I understand that it's not a very popular dish here," Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, lowering her hands to smooth the skirts of her gown, "The cook hardly makes it anymore, except by special request," she seemed disappointed. A twinge of envy sparked in Teagan's chest, and he shifted in his seat. Even when he had been young, there had never been a day when one of his greatest concerns had been whether or not he could have Orlesian toast. She still seemed innocent—a rare find, indeed, for an establishment like The Pearl.
"I see," he murmured, pulling at his stubble thoughtfully, "I think I'd like to have two servings of that, Elizabeth. And something to drink—whatever you'd like to get for me." He smiled at her again, then looked down at his hands, wringing his fingers together anxiously. He had a bad feeling in his heart about the upcoming days, and he knew not why. Redcliffe was as prosperous as ever, the political relations amongst the bannorn were less strenuous than usual, and there hadn't been a bout of plague or fever to speak of all across the country. Ferelden was fine, and surely it would stay that way? They spoke of doom and darkness in the south as though they had been waiting with their thumbs jammed in their puckers for some new evil to fend off. No one was content to simply be happy anymore—everyone had to be a damned hero.
He almost found himself hating them for threatening the peaceful atmosphere, what with nothing but rumors of an old order long banned from Ferelden spreading rumors of whispers from the depths of the earth…
"My Lord? Are you alright?"
A pretty little hand closed over his knuckles, and Teagan looked up into the confused face of the young girl once more, still naïve enough to hold concern for a stranger. His jaw clenched, and an odd stirring in his chest forced him to look away. Whatever father hadn't held onto her had been a fool.
"I apologize, Elizabeth, I don't mean to worry you. Would you sit with me for a while? Your presence lightens my heart… and I doubt I could eat all of this orlesian toast myself," he shot her what he hoped came across as a playful smile, gesturing to the seat across from him. She seemed to hesitate, looking over her shoulder and drawing her lower lip between her teeth before reluctantly sitting down, fussing with hair that she kept loose and free-flowing, its long locks drooping nearly to her hips.
"I suppose I could, if only for a little while, but if Sanga calls me, I have to go immediately," she raised her brows as she looked up at Teagan, assuring him of the severity of this arrangement. Nodding his head, he gestured for her to begin eating, and once she had taken a bite, he stole one, as well.
"You're young to be working here, Elizabeth, don't you have family?" Teagan probed, trying to focus on something other than the troubling matters that the landsmeet had discussed. He hoped that it was simply a plagued chasined that had wandered aimlessly and frightened some poor traveler. Anything was better than the threat of a Blight. Still, at least they had ample warning, if this 'Duncan' was to be trusted… Several months, at the very least, to train men and craft weapons and armor.
"My father had a great debt to Mistress Sanga, this was the only way he could hope to repay it," she paused for several moments, then shrugged, forcing another pretty smile, "I heard that he died of the wasting sickness several years ago. It's sad, but it happens. I'm happy here, and it's not nearly as bad as most would think."
"Oh?" Teagan arched a brow, his head tipping to the side.
"No, not at all. Everyone has been like family, and we all do our part, and Mistress Sanga watches out for all of us. She saw me learned and well-read, and I have a proper meal each day and a bed to call my own. A lot of orphans out there don't have half as much… to be honest, a lot of people in general don't."
Teagan nodded his head, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated this. It seemed fair enough, but to be thrust into the business of flesh and pleasure? A wrinkle formed at the bridge of his nose, and Teagan opened his mouth to prepare to ask another line of questions.
"Ah, there you are, My Darling," Sanga called from the doorway, her expression forever frozen in a mildly pleasant smile, even as her eyes glittered intensely. "Come away, now, Girl, and let the poor man eat, he must be famished," Sanga tittered.
Elizabeth ducked her head down, quickly rising and offering him a curtsey and a nervous sort of smile before she trotted off towards Sanga, slipping by her mistress and off to Andraste only knew where.
"Forgive your girl, Mistress, I held her up needlessly seeking peace of mind," Teagan rushed, fearful of the sweet young girl being reprimanded or punished because of their brief talk.
"Well, Ser, you're in luck, as I've a dozen women highly skilled in granting peace of mind and body—a dozen grown women, that you need only ask for. My poor serving girl is run ragged as it is, and I wouldn't have her shouldering that… weighted responsibility, as well," Sanga snipped. Taken aback by the venom in her tone, Teagan merely nodded his head, sitting back in his chair and staring forward at the place that Elizabeth had been sitting in, trying to recall the image of her seated there, happily munching on orlesian toast.
Anything was better than the Blight ahead.
