Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for fantastic racism and violence.
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Revelations
Alistair had been married before, knotting the rope for a laughing-eyed daughter of Red-Lion Hold named Eileen who he stole (with her full permission) from her brothers when Ramhold was trading under the stone gaze of Paragon Gherlen at the gates of Orzammar. The brothers chased them for a few miles before calling it off with a laugh, thanking him for taking their burdensome sister off their hands even as Eileen called them every name under the sun, affectionate warmth in her voice. The gods, knowing that soon he'd descend into the dark depths of the Deep Roads, made his hands tremble when unknotting the heavy rope, granting them two golden years of summer before their marriage was over. Eileen, always the practical one, already had a replacement husband lined up – the chief herdsman of Ramhold, an older man with three children who would welcome her warmth at night – and was pregnant with her first child when Duncan came for Alistair.
Looking back, the so-called Prince wished Eileen could have met Cailan; her warm, easy manner brought out the man in the awkward youth Alistair had been and no doubt she'd have been charmed by the King's easy charm. A woman in the summer of her years, full and ripe, with the confidence of one who knew her worth. When the season rites were performed, she would stand in the Mother's place with the Maiden of the spring at her left hand and the Thane of the autumn at her right, facing the Shaman of Winter's snows. When Thane Eirik returned to the Lady, it would be an even race between Eileen and Talesin, the Hold's skald, to take his place.
Duncan and Brytta's tent was little bigger than the other Wardens, though in somewhat better condition and made from oiled silk instead of canvas. Since one would be planning the war with Loghain and the other taking Jory and Daveth into the Wilds for their Joining, it was the best place for his wedding night despite Loghain's offer. The Teyrn was wary of Alistair, no doubt out of fear for his daughter Anora and her place, and so the warrior didn't want to stay in his finer tent and make him uncomfortable.
His eyes went to Mara, a slight figure in pale linen, as she lit a candle with shaking hands. If Eileen was the fullness of summer down to her wheat-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, then the bride he had taken now was the winter when it was young, ash-blonde hair and a gaze the same blue-grey as a peregrine's barring. Loghain had pointed out the Cousland woman's resemblance to the Lady's favourite falcon when trying to explain Mara and then made a tasteless joke about jesses. Avvar didn't put jesses on their raptors, they returned or not as pleased them.
"I'm sorry for saying what I said," Mara said quickly, her voice hoarse. She sounded like Thane Eirik did after breathing smoke during the second darkspawn siege and if what Fergus, his new brother, said was true then it happened during the destruction of her Hold. "You had as much choice as I did in the matter."
"I could have gone to the Wardens and I think Duncan would have upheld my choice," Alistair admitted, earning a sharp glance from his bride. "But Cailan has no one but the Couslands who treat him as King, so he needed me more."
"Fergus thinks you might give Cailan the confidence he needs," Mara agreed with a sigh.
"Loghain said your father challenged Cailan for the kingship after Maric died," Alistair noted, curious to hear her take on the matter.
"Rendon Howe, Arl Wulffe and the Banns of the North were troubled at the north and west of Ferelden not being represented at court to the extent that the east and south were, as well as Cailan being barely twenty and a somewhat sheltered, spoiled youth besides," Mara confirmed softly. "They talked Father – over my mother's protests – into standing as a candidate. Queen Anora managed to sweet-talk the northern Banns into supporting Cailan while Loghain reminded Arl Wulffe of the debt he owed the Theirins. That left Father standing alone with only Rendon Howe at his back, so he conceded and was the first to pledge loyalty to Cailan."
"From the little I know, they should have made this Anora Queen," Alistair pointed out wryly.
"If she hadn't been promised to Cailan as a child, Mother and Father would have done their best to match Fergus and Anora," Mara said, shaking her head. "My parents were also trying to open Ferelden to trade possibilities – convincing the Free Marches and Nevarra that we were strong enough to withstand Orlais should Gaspard take the throne and invade again – and Loghain believes Ferelden should stand on its own."
"Gaspard… He is the Ciriane Empress' cousin. When he was stationed in Emprise du Lion, the Holds in that area learned very quickly not to raid because he obliterated their warriors," Alistair said softly. "The chevaliers are dangerous and you are wise to be worried about them."
The greater picture was quickly becoming clear to Alistair, the lowlanders each so focused on their piece of a broken mirror that they couldn't put it together to see the trouble in its entirety.
He turned around suddenly and began to shrug off his furs, unpleasantly heavy in this boggy place. "You should find a way to make Celene fight with Gaspard. He was meant to be Thane, but she stole the Hold from him, apparently."
"Celene's the better option than Gaspard," Mara said grimly. "Though I can bloody well imagine her price for sending chevaliers to Cailan's aid."
"Put aside Queen Anora and marry her," Alistair breathed, understanding the final piece in the puzzle. His brother, sorrowful to say, would be desperate enough to agree because of the short-term hostility of Loghain without thinking of the long-term trouble with the Ciriane.
Mara stared at him, stunned that he understood it so quickly, and Alistair smiled down at her. "The Ciriane have tried to play the Avvar and Chasind against the Alamarri since the time of Teyrn Maferath," he pointed out. "We are isolated, not idiots."
Mara's mouth twitched in something that might be a smile. "Thank the Maker you're smarter than the last Avvar I met," she breathed.
"If his name is Movran the Under, you'll need to get in line to kill him," Alistair told her. "And that's only after Daveth and I humiliate him."
"Oh look, he's an Avvar celebrity," Mara said dryly.
"No, he's just famous for uniting lowlanders in their hatred of him." Alistair unwrapped the last bit of fur, then dumped the chainmail shirt he wore.
"That's what a celebrity is," Mara replied wearily.
"Oh."
Things were awkwardly silent for a while as Alistair removed his leather jerkin and boots, finally just wearing his woollen tunic and breeches. Duncan and Brytta slept on a thick double-wide pallet of furs and what looked like quilted silk, a luxury Alistair would have killed for during his days raiding or tending the Hold's flocks.
"Cu's guarding the outside," Mara told him in little more than a whisper. "So no pranks from anyone."
"No one to know if we don't have sex then," Alistair said, laying down on the pallet. "I don't force a falcon to fly and I won't force my wife in bed."
Mara's lips thinned, like she was preparing for a battle. "Cailan is counting on us having an heir. And with the news from the Wilds…"
"Mara will do her duty even if it wounds her," Alistair recalled Loghain saying.
She crept onto the pallet beside him, tense as a cocked crossbow, and Alistair sighed. "Have you never been married before?" he asked carefully.
"I chose a man I thought might make for a good husband the day Howe betrayed my family," Mara finally answered. "Dairren Loren. Not the highest-ranking of noblemen, but in line to a strategic bannorn in the south and he liked to read. He died in my bedchamber."
Her eyes were wide in the candlelight. "Because it wasn't a formal betrothal – that was going to happen when Father returned from Ostagar – the year and a day mourning doesn't apply. And if Fergus is going to set things in motion now, with his heart bleeding from the loss of his own wife and child, to marry Habren Bryland in a year and a day… How can I do less?"
"Are you carrying his child?" Alistair asked gently. She looked like a wary falcon ready to take flight.
"It's too early to tell. His hair was redder and eyes a deeper brown than yours," she murmured.
"Then wait a few weeks and you will know," Alistair told her softly. "I will tell Cailan – does your brother know?"
"Yes." Mara sighed, shaking her head. "I liked Dairren. He was someone I thought I could be friends with, which is better than some marriages I've seen. But I'm more worried about how this could bollocks up the succession than mourning for him, which is horrible because he took an arrow meant for me."
Tears glittered in those overlarge eyes and he wiped them away with a thumb like caressing the neck-feathers of a newly fledged falcon. Knowing what he now did about bastards, Alistair imagined she was worried for the future of any child she had, especially if the Alamarri wanted to make trouble.
"If you're carrying this Dairren's child, then I'll raise them in my own Hold until they can claim their rightful one," he promised quietly. "And if anyone calls them a bastard, that person will eat three feet of my steel."
Mara stared at him before bursting into tears again, Alistair holding her and allowing the pain to come out. To be the last of her Hold, fleeing the one who killed her family and no doubt intending to steal her to lay claim to it, and having to marry even though she mourned the man she should have wed – he could hear the pain in her voice… A woman who left her Hold for another became part of her husband's Hold and so did her children if they weren't left with the previous husband's clan. That meant Dairren's child would be his own and even if the Alamarri had different customs, the babe would still have the right to his father's land in Alistair's eyes.
She fell asleep and he got his red-lion fur cloak to cover her before leaving the tent. Best to tell Cailan now.
His brother was still awake, rumpled and bleary-eyed as he pored over some papers. "That was quick," he noted in that light brittle voice, pouring Alistair some wine.
"Nothing happened," Alistair reported tersely, reporting what Mara told him.
"Lady Cousland is ridiculously honest, even when telling the truth is a bad idea," Cailan finally said with a sigh. "I know the Lorens – their colouring, reddish-brown hair and brown eyes, comes from intermarriage with the Guerrins – my mother's people. If she's pregnant, it means an heir can't be conceived until she gives birth, though it proves fertility on her part."
The King grimaced and downed some wine in a single gulp. "I always thought Dairren a bit of a milquetoast, but I suppose Mara and he both liked books well enough. In that slaughter, Rendon Howe made enemies of a dozen families in the Bannorn; some of them will align with the Couslands for vengeance and the rest blame the Teyrn of Highever for not protecting their kinsfolk fostered at or visiting the castle."
"I think you'd better send some of the army north, both to deal with this Howe and spare some in case you're overwhelmed here," Alistair finally said.
"You're right, but who should I put in command? If I go, it looks like I'm running away. If it's Loghain, he will take the army straight to Anora to protect her. If it's Fergus, he'll head straight for Highever. I can't choose you because, well, I've just met you and no one knows your ability to manage an army."
"Duncan mentioned your uncle having men ready?" Alistair mused.
"Uncle Eamon, yes!" Cailan grinned at Alistair. "He's an experienced commander and Uncle Teagan could sweet-talk Empress Celene out of her petticoats. I can't spare Loghain or Fergus, but I could send you and Mara to Redcliffe with… hmm…"
The King paced around, rubbing his stubbled chin. "I'll give you a thousand men, half horse and half foot. Uncle Eamon has a thousand soldiers of his own and if Fergus is going to enter a marriage contract with Habren Bryland – Maker have mercy on the poor bastard – then that could get Leonas' Clayne heavy infantry on your side. That's roughly twenty-five hundred men and at best, Rendon Howe fields fifteen hundred."
"Best count on him hiring sellswords," Alistair observed. "Offer them the lands of the Thanes he dispossesses and many would come."
Cailan threw him a startled look and Alistair laughed sourly. "The Ciriane tried a similar trick with the Avvar when they took the Alamarri lands."
He then leaned forward, looking his brother in the eye. "I know Celene will only give you the sword if you marry her for it."
Cailan's lips pursed. "She wanted to throw Ferelden's strength against Nevarra," he finally admitted.
"I think if you agree to such a marriage, you will become a King short of a head," Alistair said bluntly. "Even the Couslands would stand against you."
"You're not bloody wrong," Cailan agreed. "I was trying to get her to send two hundred chevaliers with the Orlesian Wardens as 'a gesture of goodwill' – and blunt them on the blades of the darkspawn. Let Orlais wear itself down against the Blight, I thought. But she wants my pledge, in writing, and if I even thought of doing that Loghain would pike my head at the front of the camp while the soldiers cheer."
"Don't play games with Ciriane or bet with Antivans. You'll lose every time," Alistair said, repeating a proverb he'd heard people use in the trade city above Orzammar.
"I suppose you're about to tell me I should let Loghain know?" Cailan asked.
"Better coming from you than someone else," Alistair pointed out.
"Maker's Breath, he's going to kill me. If I die, you're King." Cailan squared his shoulders and prepared to walk out. "Nice knowing you if he does."
Alistair followed him to the Teyrn's tent just across the path to make sure that didn't happen. Loghain went as purple as the Chantry Mother had when Alistair innocently asked why she didn't just sing up a new Maker if the old one wouldn't listen… and then punched Cailan clean off his feet, a neat trick for a man with bandages around his torso from the cracked ribs Alistair gave him. He looked ready to punch the King again until Alistair stepped between them and Duncan grabbed the Teyrn's arm.
"Nothing has been agreed to," the Avvar reminded the warleader, wondering why in the gods' names he wasn't just curled up with his wife getting used to her warmth and breathing.
"Orlesians can read volumes out of anything," Duncan said flatly. "Depending on the tone of Cailan's letters – an inappropriate familiarity between two rulers, for instance – she could even claim pre-contract and invade Ferelden if it's withdrawn."
"Might she be supporting this Howe?" Alistair asked.
"Not directly – he's very anti-Orlesian – but I could see her stirring the pot through proxies," Duncan answered grimly. "Orlais has added to its lands during a Blight before. That's why as soon as we knew the archdemon had awoken, the Wardens of the south removed anyone who would play Orlesian politics from command positions and replaced them with foreigners and outsiders who wouldn't do as the Empress ordered. Fontaine is half-Nevarran, Clarel is a mage and Blackwall hails from the Free Marches. My friend Riordan, Senior Warden of Jader, is half-Orlesian but his grandmother was a Cousland so he stands with Highever in these things."
"What did the First Warden have to say about that?" Loghain demanded harshly. "Isn't he Orlesian?"
"The Empress' cousin no less," Duncan confirmed. "We penned a letter that was essentially the Warden equivalent of 'Fuck off and stay out of our business'. Actually, that was the postscript Brytta added under her signature."
Loghain grunted sourly and Duncan met his gaze. "Maric was my friend too, my oldest one aside from Fiona, who oversaw my Joining, and Riordan with whom I took my Joining," the Warden-Commander replied softly. "I promised I'd see Ferelden through the Blight as long as I could."
"And this is why Anora is supposed to be playing politics, not you!" Loghain said in disgust to Cailan, who'd managed to stand. "If the Orlesians invade…"
Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "I could see if some of the Holds could be convinced to close passes. The Ciriane occupation of the Alamarri lands did the Avvar no favours, that's for certain."
"As much as I loathe interfering in politics, I could get Brytta to press her Orzammar contacts to do the same," Duncan said dourly. "The Aeducans will only allow Wardens through at that point."
Loghain grunted again. "Maric would be heartbroken to know of your idiocy," he growled to Cailan before stalking around the map. "When will your wife return with the Wardens, Duncan?"
"By sunset tomorrow, I hope. I sent them to acquire treaties that were lost when we had to abandon the outpost there." Duncan smiled ruefully. "You'd best hope I survive the upcoming battle, Teyrn. Imagine my wife as Warden-Commander and the Right of Conscription."
The Teyrn shuddered and glared at Cailan. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"I'm dispatching a thousand of our troops with Mara and Alistair north to Redcliffe," Cailan responded coolly despite the reddened mark on his cheek. "I can't do without you or Fergus."
Duncan's lips pursed. "I'll send Daveth and Jory with you should they survive the Joining, Brytta if they don't. If the Wardens fall here, they will be Ferelden's last hope."
"Aye. The Warden who slays the archdemon dies in the doing of it, according to the old songs," Alistair confirmed. At Duncan's startled glance, he smiled. "The shaman and Thane Eirik didn't want me to enter the Wardens blind, Duncan."
"I suppose that will put Eamon in charge of the army?" Loghain's tone said it all. "I'll dispatch Ser Cauthrien and half of Maric's Shield with them in case something goes wrong."
The Teyrn sighed and pushed away from the map table. "It's late and if I don't get some sleep soon, I'll just settle for killing Cailan and calling it a service to Ferelden. Alistair, can you make sure your idiot brother goes to bed? I imagine you'll want to return to your wife."
No wonder Cailan lacked the confidence to play games with Orlesians. Alistair squeezed his brother's shoulder before guiding him out of the tent, Duncan on their heels with an aggrieved expression.
"Of all the bloody times…" The Warden-Commander shook his head. "Maker help us all…"
He went for the Warden part of camp, leaving Alistair and Cailan alone.
"Better for you that you told Loghain instead of being found out," Alistair repeated, suddenly unsure of his advice.
"Perhaps," Cailan said desultorily as he rubbed his battered face. "Perhaps."
