Author's Note: I've tweaked the timing of Correspondus Interuptus for the sake of continuity; in this canon most of the letters were acquired at the same time. The Tears of Andraste has also been written as taking place before the Landsmeet, not after.
I don't think I've ever done more research for a fanfic chapter before.
"Beware the fury of a patient man."
- John Dryden
An eerie quiet came over Denerim at sundown. In a few hours it had gone from a city gripped by frenzied panic to a city holding its breath, steeling itself against an oncoming storm.
Progress, I suppose, Aedan thought. Reality is often late when it kicks in, but it will never cancel a visit indefinitely.
Denerim's people may have dissipated but their filth certainly hadn't. A motley of rags, stale food scraps, torn posters and countless other useless items littered the ground. What an uncivilised citizenry. At this rate, if darkspawn armies and Blight disease didn't overrun them, giant rats surely would. As he took in the air's new stench, Aedan noticed the gentle chill of spring still clinging to it. Maybe his victory would coincide with the beginning of the summer. That would be a nice little piece of symbolism; coming with the added bonus of endearing him to every superstitious soothsayer in the land. Aedan saw no evidence of destiny or divine providence in his life, but convincing others such things worked in his favour provided a bottomless well of goodwill, and no leader could ever have too much of that standing by.
Upon nearing the Gnawed Noble tavern, Aedan spotted little white wisps springing in and out of existence in the blue darkness. They came from the mouths of shivering elven servants, sweeping up the most rubbish-strewn areas of the street. A few turned their heads in his direction, but Aedan was quite confident they wouldn't recognise him beneath the cloak and cowl. He was just another shady figure in a city which trembled in the eye of the storm.
Maker, the stories these lowly servants could tell. They see everything and we don't even try to hide from them. Remembering his choice of attire, he then laughed. Well, most of the time.
Soon he had arrived at the tavern. The light in its windows and beneath its door was weak. No music came from within, no noises of revelry. As one of the more high-class inns in the capital, the Gnawed Noble's most unruly regular crowds were criminals who made enough coin to drink beside wary aristocrats. No noise meant no gangs, and the Landsmeet figures had moved out of Denerim hours earlier to join the bulk of the army at Redcliffe. That meant there would be no crowds for Aedan to blend into, no chatter to cover up whatever illicit conversation he was due to have right now. He opened the door and went inside.
The fires burned low. There were only a few patrons left, scattered about the place, all sitting by themselves. Aedan didn't recognise any of them. No sign of Rooke either.
The man's got good timing.
"My lord! There you are!"
Osric the shifty bartender emerged from the kitchen. Aedan approached him swiftly; the kind of conversation these two had was never the kind that should ever be shouted across barrooms.
"He's here, my lord. In the room you arranged to see h-"
"Yes, thank you Osric!" Aedan hissed, holding up a silencing hand.
Aedan took a moment to scan the room for any sign of Edwina. The old woman never minded a bit of violence, but from her relationship to Kylon and the way Osric kept his 'favours for certain interested parties' hidden, Aedan supposed she walked more on the legal side of things than they did. He crept towards the private rooms without another word. Osric had already made the mistake of calling Aedan 'my lord,' what did the whiskery berk think the cloak and cowl were for?
Then another thought struck him. What if this was another trap, and the shout of 'my lord' a deliberate signal? Maker knows Aedan had slayed enough enemies in this building, and Osric had once given him both K and D's contracts, each asking to kill the other, so the bartender was pretty unplaceable where loyalty was concerned.
No, I'm being foolish.
He'd put such suspicions to rest earlier, just before leaving Eamon's Estate, and they hadn't even been his own. Leliana insisted on coming with him, then insisting another companion go in her place when he refused. Anyone except Morrigan, of course. The poor bard still loved him, despite his insistence they end it. Aedan cared for her, but he would soon rise to places Leliana could not follow. She could at least stop giving him such a hard time over Morrigan; he'd stopped sleeping with her as well for heaven's sake.
He knocked on the door.
"Enter."
There was no mistaking Rooke's voice, that thick low rumble.
Once inside, Aedan closed the door behind him and locked it without hesitation. On the off chance this was a trap, Rooke would immediately learn that being locked in with Aedan Cousland was an unenviable and often deadly position to be in, provided you weren't a lover or a whore.
There he stood, tall and enigmatic as ever, standing in the shadows just like at the Landsmeet. The atmospherically sparse use of candles was an effect Aedan could admire.
"Your hesitation is forgiven, Lord Cousland. You're doubtless as curious as I, right now."
Rooke stepped forward, and Aedan saw he too had come cloaked and hooded.
"Yes, of course you're curious…great minds think alike. Or dress alike at least."
Down came the hood, and those dark powerful eyes locked onto Aedan's for the second time that day. They were old, far older than the face, with its skin still taut and oddly ageless, even in flickering light. Maybe it wasthe illusion of candle flames, or maybe it was the close proximity and private setting, but Rooke seemed imbued with a new energy. The bags around his eyes were smaller (had he finally been able to sleep again after the Landsmeet?) and his smile seemed warm; genuine, despite forming on such bloodlessly white lips. He was an unburdened man, even his grey hairs seemed less numerous than before.
"Take a seat, Lord Cousland."
Aedan took a step back, sitting on a chair by the door. Rooke backed into the bedside armchair. Neither man broke eye contact. It was like trying to outstare a bird of prey.
"And now," Rooke continued, "for the last of the pleasantries: an earnest thank you for not using the Orlesian bard to ransack my room during the Landsmeet. It's nice to know that manners still exist in such troubled times, even though she would have done a much better job, and left a less obvious trail."
'Only thing I can say for certain about Melwyn Rooke is that nobody ever knows more about him than they ever need to.'
Aedan hadn't fully understood K's words until his moment. Once his smile was gone, there was nothing readable in Rooke's face. It seemed nothing telling would pass through that unchanging mask without the older lord's consent. He gave the impression of some sort of disconcertingly realistic marble statue, animated by sinister magic. There was sincerity in the lord's voice, flavoured with a little humour. They were early into what would be a long, revealing conversation and already Aedan saw Rooke was an artist with a blank, reusable canvas; painting emotions and intentions upon himself and erasing them again just as quickly, until Aedan couldn't tell where candour ended and performance began. It was positively enviable.
"I must say though," Rooke continued, "that seemed quite a reckless move, especially from you. I was standing right there, after all."
"Not every move can be graceful, or even sensible," said Aedan. "Sometimes even the best course of action is still a little foolish."
"True. But I seemed to be the only thing you overlooked. Gave you quite a fright back there. The look on your face when I gave you my support!"
"I don't like surprises much," said Aedan plainly. "And everything had to be in place for that Landsmeet."
"You remind me of myself at your age, and I assure you that that is a compliment. You're just as unnerved at losing control as I was, and just as able to bounce back. Perhaps even better."
"Why did you seek me out Rooke?"
Rooke permitted a blip of ambiguous surprise to seep through his marble mask. "Did I? Name one occasion I had your belongings raided, Lord Cousland."
"You knew about my involvement with the Crows," Aedan pressed. This didn't feel like an interrogation, it felt like an archaeological dig, with Rooke gradually revealing himself piece by piece, at a pace he alone dictated. "Before the Landsmeet, I might add. You sought me out first."
"I did. But it didn't begin with the Crows, my lord. We've corresponded before."
Aedan's heart leapt. "What?!" There it was again: that ghastly element of surprise.
"Well, maybe corresponded is too strong a word."
Rooke opened a drawer on the table by his armchair, pulling out a large bundle of papers tied up with string. The twelve love letters!
Aedan produced a note of his own: the one handed to him earlier by the street urchin. "I knew I'd seen your handwriting before."
"Indeed. I'm the rogue you know as 'R.' Well, I'm not quite a rogue: R's only action was requesting these letters. A request you fulfilled quite brilliantly, I might add."
"Why do I get the feeling you set that up as a test?"
"Because you are correct. You proved three things to me when delivering these: that you work fast, you work well, and you don't have a problem overcoming your scruples."
"And the letters themselves? Are they of any importance?"
"Oh yes. A little project of mine. Or ours, if I'm right about why you're here."
"And why am I here?"
"Because I invited you."
"Don't be coy, Lord Rooke."
Rooke smiled. "Because you're recruiting. Because vanquishing the Blight will elevate you into quite the position, and you'll need people and resources to make the most of that position. You need someone who knows the city, who knows the royal court. Those marvellous companions you travel with are ideal to bring down an enemy and gain power, but not sustain it. They'll start going their own ways soon. Well played earlier, by the way, convincing Gorim Saelac to come out of such an early retirement. A dwarven political mind will prove invaluable."
Aedan was no longer surprised at the extent of Rooke's knowledge by this point.
Rooke tucked the letters into his cloak. "And now a question of my own. You were clearly shaken by my unannounced involvement in the Landsmeet vote. And if you wanted to learn my name, my rank and the details of said involvement, you could have just shook my hand afterward and made light conversation, asked some generic questions. Instead you sent the elf to acquire my name in secret. My question is this: why choose to recruit me with such spontaneity?"
A small laugh of disbelief escaped Aedan. He had not been so impressed in a long time. "Lord Rooke, you sent assassins after Rendon Howe's men. At the height of his power. With Loghain running the city. Knowing that the most wanted man in the country was involved with those assassins. Now that we're alone, allow me to drop the etiquette for a moment and say that you've got balls the size of Golem fists."
Rooke inclined his head in a small bow.
"And no problem overcoming your own scruples," Aedan added.
"Well, Lord Cousland, as we've both managed to pass each other's tests, I'd say a drink is in order."
Rooke opened the drawer again, this time producing a bottle of wine and two glasses. He filled both generously. Aedan wondered just how much thought had gone into this night.
"I hope it isn't too late for me for ask those generic questions," said Aedan as he took a glass.
Rooke reclined in his chair. "It isn't."
"Very well. Where do you rank in Ferelden's nobility? You aren't a teyrn or an arl or a bann, you can't be a freeholder."
Rooke took a long sip of wine. "Lord Cousland, cast your mind back to your first day in court."
Aedan bristled. I'd almost forgotten what it feels like. Rooke, rather than answering his question outright, was throwing out a trail of clues that would force Aedan to find the answer himself. It was a tactic Aedan used on his own followers constantly. Sten was the only person who had used it on him, but not for a long time.
"I was presented to the Highever court," Aedan said. The memory was still clear. "Dressed in formal clothing I wasn't used to yet, told to stay still and stand up straight, recite the correct words, respond to the ritualistic pleasantries with pleasantries of my own."
"And once you took your seat beside your parents, what happened next?"
"The minor lords and ladies of our lands swore oaths of fealty, acknowledging me as an outgrowth of my mother and father's authority, declaring their loyalty. That I would rule them in the absence of…more senior family members," he finished feebly.
Aedan felt an unexpected stab of bitterness. So much for their oaths. He wondered how many of those lords and ladies remained; how many had fled, how many submitted to Rendon Howe or died resisting.
"And I am one of those minor lords," said Rooke. "Sworn to the arling of Denerim, that is," he added before Aedan could start trying to remember him at Highever.
Aedan's eyebrows shot up. Audacious indeed. "How in the name of Andraste did you end up on the upper level of the Landsmeet chamber?" he breathed.
Rooke chuckled harshly. "I'm afraid I can't give a thorough answer to that question without first giving the gist of my overall life story."
Aedan shrugged. "Go ahead, give it to me. Everyone else I meet seems content to."
Rooke drained his wine glass and squirmed in his armchair until he was sitting comfortably.
"I was born in 8:89 Blessed to Lady Henrietta of the Anderfels and Lord Earm; brother of Bann Marom."
"Ah…" said Aedan. It was all starting to make sense. Marom had once ruled West Hill, a vassal of Highever. He could recall something about West Hill going through a disputed change in leadership after the Rebellion, but that had been years ago, and given the everyday volatility of the Bannorn, Aedan hadn't paid close attention to it.
So Marom was a Rooke, eh?
Aedan cursed his own inattention; he'd known the forename for a while but never thought to check Marom's surname. Melwyn Rooke, however, looked curious.
"You might have heard your parents mention…something important about the ascension of West Hill?"
"In passing," said Aedan, quietly infuriated at being so uninformed.
"My father Earm was a feeble, ferrety little man with no ambition. He hardly ever left home, even for occasions requiring no effort. He was a noble miser, content to hoard his little pile of nothing. All that I have, I got from my mother. She was a true Ander; forged in great adversity; unbreakable. I was the only child he could put into her, but luckily for him I was all they would need."
Rooke stood up, walked to the window and pulled back a corner of curtain. Nothing was visible through the glass, which now looked out to an impenetrably black night through layers of endless rain.
"Be glad you were not alive when the Grand Game was more firmly rooted in this country, my lord; it was trying, even for my abilities. Despite the fact that it took place in the latter days of Orlesian occupation, with the Rebellion growing to an all-time high, my childhood was marked with the confusion of remembering a never-ending stream of titles, positions and family histories. Though my mother saw the decline of the Orlesian Empire on the horizon, she urged me to verse myself well in the Grand Game. And she was right, it has aided me greatly in dealing with a less convoluted Ferelden. All my father wanted was to see me rot in complacency the way he did, but she knew better. We didn't even live in Marom's castle at West Hill; our estate was a joke; a mediocre blot south of the Coastlands. If I were to fulfil my potential I needed to go out and experience the land I would one day influence. Mother had me fostered with Urien Kendells, the boy who would one day be Arl of Denerim, though nobody knew it back then." Rooke made an appreciative noise. "She always could sense which way the wind was blowing.
"Urien and I became the firmest of friends, even though it was clear I took to the craft of ruling far better than he did. We eagerly followed news of the Rebellion. Queen Moira's death and Maric's emergence put huge pressure on everyone: all the major nobles would soon be forced to pick a side. The Kendells family were staunch supporters of Maric. Uncle Marom stayed neutral, and by extension so did we. Well, at least we thought he stayed neutral for a while."
"What happened?"
"The Battle of West Hill happened. Perhaps I should have clarified earlier: Marom was unmarried with no heir, and my father was much, much older than my mother when he married her. How very fitting two such men would sit atop the inheritance of West Hill. It's the shell of a fortress sitting on top of a mountain, you see. A dusty, drafty, poorly-maintained place long past its prime and usefulness. It's mostly been used as storage since the end of the Exalted Age. With Marom and father on the old and wheezy side, I stood to inherit West Hill." Rooke put a hand against the cold glass. "I had great plans for West Hill. As an Ander, my mother had always been irritated by the defeatism of Fereldans when it came to geography. West Hill's usefulness had died the day it stopped being a lookout for marauding corsairs, so she told me to give it a new use, a better use. I have always loved a challenge. I would breathe life back into West Hill. I would raise West Hill to be the crown jewel of the Bannorn. One day my sons and daughters would rule it as an arling."
"If I recall, the Battle of West Hill almost resulted in the death of the Rebellion," said Aedan.
Rooke's head fell forward slightly, almost stopping to rest against the glass. "Yes," he whispered. "Maric, Rowan and Loghain somehow got word that West Hill was where the Chevaliers' yearly pay was stored. Complete nonsense, but there was no time to warn them. Meghren's entire bloody army was lying in wait when they arrived. Half the rebels, including Rendorn Guerrin, died that day. Marom insisted he had no choice but to let the Orlesians spring the trap. We never learned for certain if he was a traitor or not; the point is he survived Meghren's seizure of the fortress, marking him no better than an Orlesian loyalist in the eyes of many. Not showing any signs of resistance didn't help. I had to flee the home of the Kendells family before they could take me as a hostage. Urien and I remained friends. He believed I had nothing to do with my uncle's actions, and we wrote to one another in secret. I returned to my parents near the Coastlands, enraged but more politically savvy than ever. When the war ended, Marom bended the knee. Maric accepted his oath of fealty and did not take vengeance."
Aedan recalled one of Aldous's lessons on the unification of Ferelden. "Calenhad intended to unite Ferelden, not conquer it."
"Despite the mercy Marom received, it would take hard work to wash his stain from the Rooke family. So I worked night and day on plans to revitalise West Hill as a trade hub. Irrelevancy was not the fortress's problem, nor was haunting. The laziness of its owners was. The surrounding land was fertile and unclaimed, as were the clusters of offshore islands. River Dane itself flowed right next to it, what a perfect spot it seemed to be. My father died a week before Cailan's birth. Thankfully the latter event overshadowed the former, so my mother and I didn't have to pretend we cared. Now I was only one old man's heartbeat away from taking West Hill."
"And why didn't you when the time came?"
Rooke's head sagged further forward, finally hitting the glass. He sighed heavily.
"In 9:9 of the Dragon Age, I was framed. My plans for West Hill leaked too early, falling into the hands of those who would suffer under its renewed strength. They conspired against me in an effort to slander my name, and were successful."
"Who?"
Rooke sighed again. "The revitalisation of West Hill would bring greater prestige and prosperity to the Couslands of Highever. More importantly, Amaranthine would no longer be the centrepiece of Ferelden's coastal trade."
Aedan caught himself grinding his teeth. "Rendon fucking Howe," he growled. Why am I even surprised that greasy bastard would have a hand in this?
"Yes," said Rooke. "The Teyrn – your father, would favour me over Howe, he might even send me sons, daughters, nieces and nephews to form marital alliances."
"Maker," Aedan hissed. How different things could have turned out. "You seem far more intelligent and cautious than Howe ever was. How did he ever manage to frame you?"
Rooke stiffened, dropping his hand from the window, straightening his body. He did not turn to face Aedan.
"Oh, Howe wasn't acting alone. A false scandal often requires a lot of help. Howe guessed, accurately, that my plans for West Hill centred on a thriving trade with Kirkwall. He started a rumour that I had 'courted' several major Kirkwall nobles by holding orgies for them in return for reduced tariffs on trading. A standard story at first, but as the accusation spread, it grew in outlandishness. Apparently I had had heated nuts fall from the chandeliers, making courtesans collect them on their hands and knees, naked; then I had brought in elf and dwarf whores for obscene recreations of Dalish and dwarven history. Howe's friends spread the lie with great speed. One day a girl began touring small villages in the Bannorn, accompanied by Chantry missionaries. She would preach to gathered crowds, giving tearful accounts of escaping from my dungeons of decadence and finding peace with the Maker. It was a believable scandal, and my uncle's reputation for lacking principles didn't help me one bit either. In the end, my claim to inherit West Hill was quietly dismissed by the King."
"And yet you're somehow still a lord?"
"It wasn't an accusation as serious as the one faced by the Drydens. I was no rebel. Sexual depravity is as common in high society as breathing, so my supposed actions weren't worthy of imprisonment or execution. But at the same time, this 'misdeed of mine' couldn't go unpunished. It might have, had I kept it within our borders, but Ferelden had just pushed out the Orlesians, and my dallying with foreigners was not appreciated; nobody was about to listen to a bunch of Kirkwall toffs defending their reputations, or me. I was allowed remain part of the nobility, but with no fortress to inherit. The name Rooke was a dirty word, but a non-threatening one. I was not a standard that rebels could rally around. I had no allies at all. And when Uncle Marom died, there would be no real lands to strip from me. I suppose Maric thought stripping my title would be overkill, all things considered."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Aedan thought it best to wait until Rooke chose to continue unprompted.
"Howe gave me a nickname shortly after the scandal: The Shrunken Lord. Poor little Melwyn Rooke, the precocious, ambitious genius who'd had his wings clipped long before his time."
"What happened to your mother?" said Aedan quietly.
"She returned to the Anderfels. Begged me for weeks to go with her. She had come to Ferelden on the arm of a weak old man, watched his brother almost lose everything and then watched her son fall from their shaky foundations. And she was getting too old to remarry. There was nothing left here for her. But she still had her brains, and so did I. She said we would rise again, helped by her family back home. My desire for vengeance was too great. I refused to accompany her, and she left as part of a civilian transport, sailed all the way back to the Anderfels."
"Is she still there?"
"No." Rooke's voice fell to its faintest tone yet. "She died in a darkspawn raid. It's a daily occurrence over there."
Another silence, another few minutes Aedan gave Rooke to recuperate.
"As for Marom, he died two years after the scandal. West Hill passed to an Amaranthine-born noble named Teoric, and I finally knew who Howe had conspired with to ruin me. He made sure West Hill remained the dormant waste of potential it had been for centuries, and Howe paid him generously for it. Now that I had a name, I could do more thorough research. It turned out Teoric came from his arling's capital city, under Bann Esmerelle. If there was anyone who wanted to maintain an economic stranglehold on offshore trade, it was that bitch."
"So you found out who was responsible," said Aedan. "Why wait so long to take vengeance?"
"Maric and Loghain were terrified of instability. Ferelden had so much rebuilding to do after all the fighting, watching the nobility go to war again would not be tolerated. The sudden death of Rendon Howe and all his little minions would be very suspicious indeed."
"You must have had some plan! Something for when their suspicion subsided, when Howe and the others would get comfortable and let their guards down."
"Patience, Lord Cousland, I'm getting there. As far as the nobility was concerned, all of the Rooke family's relevance died with Marom. I still wanted to have a legacy, and I still do. You know what that entails: children. It was obvious I would have to settle for a lower-status marriage, something that, before the scandal, would be considerably lower than usual."
"I'm sorry."
Rooke only laughed. "Don't be! I love her. Veleda is brilliant, and has given us two fine sons. So far, that has been the only part of my life to unfold without any trouble. After my marriage, the other nobles began to forget all about me once the scandalous story got old, and I never gave them anything new to gossip about. I took advantage of my new position as 'Shrunken Lord.' Having no eyes watching me meant I could investigate the conspiracy in peace. Velada helped me every step of the way. I knew about Howe, Teoric and Esmerelle. There must have been more. But I was not far into my investigation, when an old friend approached me."
"Urien Kendells?"
"Yes. Urien gave me a job as his advisor."
"And Maric was okay with that?"
"Maric had heard how good I was at politics. So had Loghain. Maybe they thought this would be the best way to use my talents for the betterment of the kingdom without risking war. Maybe they knew Howe's accusation was a sham but went along with it for the sake of keeping the peace, and this was my consolation prize."
"Did you resent having your investigation interrupted?"
"Oh no! Working in Denerim gave me access to far more resources than decaying in the Coastlands and travelling the Bannorn on my own strength could. Under our leadership, Denerim ran better than it ever had before. My duties were strenuous and plentiful, leaving limited time to continue the search for my revenge, but I was still making progress."
Aedan took a very long drink of wine. Hearing Lord Melwyn Rooke speak in the Landsmeet Chamber had proved to be the tip of one of the biggest icebergs he had ever encountered. Every question lead to an unexpected answer, every answer brought about several more questions.
"Hang on a moment, Rooke. If you and Urien were so close, and Howe saw you as such a threat to his wealth and power, how am I even talking to you right now? Why didn't you end up going the way of Urien and his son?"
"Two things came between us. Urien's wife, like far, far too many women in this world, died in childbirth. I needn't tell you the boy, Vaughan is an absolute disgrace."
"No you do not."
"Urien did a…poor job raising the boy, and would not accept my warnings about what he was becoming."
"So that's one thing that came between you. What was the second?"
"Urien was troubled by Maric's decision to allow the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden. It was a source of constant tension between the two of us. My mother's death at the hands of darkspawn made me support the Wardens with great zeal. There was no subject we disagreed on more than that."
Rooke finally walked away from the window and collapsed back into the armchair. His face seemed somehow paler. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine.
"Cailan's eventual ascension to the throne made a lot of us in the nobility uneasy. You must have seen it yourself, the man was a fool."
"He was."
"A fool. But an even bigger supporter of the Wardens than his father. Granted, it was more hero-worship than practicality. Darkspawn sightings and raids slowly went up as what we now know to be the beginning of the Blight approached. As the darkspawn sightings went up, so did Cailan's fascination with the Wardens. Vaughan was growing up, too, and learning ever more creative ways to be cruel and destructive. Years of disagreements drove me and Urien apart, and I was asked to leave his estate."
"And yet you still remained a lord?" This was a story of resilience the likes of which Aedan had not heard in a long time.
Rooke nodded, eyes fixed on the deep red liquid in his hand. "For all our disagreements, Urien was still smart enough to know he needed my advice in order to keep Denerim running smoothly. He never officially 'fired' me as his advisor. My role was just carried out through infrequent letters. I kept my estate here in Denerim, and the resulting free time allowed me to not only reopen my investigation, but build contacts. You've experienced it yourself in recent months, how useful it is when you're still noble and your name carries weight, yet you're lowly enough to stay hidden; to go out and get things done yourself. I met K, I met D. I dealt in secrets and gathered servants. I gained insight into the machinations of the royal palace using these newfound resources. Nothing notable that happened in Denerim happened outside of my knowledge, and I never revealed more than I needed to for the completion of an objective."
Rooke took another swig. "Then came the Blight. Urien died at Ostagar, and a slew of dark rumours came back with the survivors. I immediately identified the plausible ones: that Loghain had betrayed Cailan and the Wardens, that Howe had massacred the Couslands solely to gain their land, and that he would try turn his sights to Urien's empty chair and easily overthrow Vaughan. The final stage of my revenge was nearing. By this point I had acquired the names of all the leading conspirators: not just Esmerelle and Teoric, but Teoric's son Franderel, Bann Darby, Lady Sophie, and a young knight named Ser Nancine."
Aedan's mouth fell open. "You can't possibly mean-"
"Yes. The nobles you've been robbing. Taking the Tears of Andraste from Franderel was a highlight; I always hated him for killing his father before I could have the pleasure."
The Shrunken Lord looked up from his wine to face Aedan again. His eyes gave way to a malicious glare, a flash of satisfied wrath.
"Through various anonymous contacts in D's organisation, I enlisted the help of a skilled thief; the man you know as Slim Couldry. It was easy. All I had to do was disguise myself and convince him he was helping hit back at oppressive elites. A shame for him he never investigated who his original backer was." Rooke shook his head. "Commoners and their revolutionary fantasies."
"Hang on a moment," said Aedan, struggling to keep track. "You said your interest in me was helped by getting you the letters, then assisting the Crows."
"It was."
"Why not the fact that I was stealing from nobles?"
"Because all you knew was that you were going after lackeys of Howe and Loghain, and making good coin while you did. For all I knew you were 'sticking up for the little guy.' I had no idea how…ethically flexible you could be until the letters arrived."
"Do the letters have anything to do with your revenge?"
"Oh yes." Rooke tapped the bulge in his cloak where the letters were kept. "It was a large conspiracy after all. I've hit its leaders, but their minions must be punished as well. And I might as well make them all useful while I do it."
Aedan's head began to hurt. "How are you even…still alive? Of all the people Howe would have gone after, the moment he became Arl of Denerim…"
Rooke grinned. "I went into hiding. Took my wife and sons with me. I didn't even need to leave Denerim; K and D had so many places for us to stay."
"I bet that drove Howe mad," said Aedan with a grin of his own.
"It did."
"Lord Rooke, you have told me many amazing things tonight. Everything, except how your word ended up carrying such weight in the Landsmeet."
Rooke looked quite pleased with himself. "Lord Cousland what is the stupidest, most impractical, least enforced law you can think of?"
Another trail of clues. I'm beginning to understand why Alistair finds this so annoying. At least I'm still not as bad as Sten.
Much of Aedan's reading as a boy was on law. He and Fergus were quite insufferable about it; finding endless loopholes and technicalities explaining why they didn't need to take a bath, or legal precedent for playing with actual swords in the stables. None of these mattered to Old Nan of course, who would literally smack such predicates down. The most ridiculous law of all, gleaned from those books long ago, stood out to this day.
"I remember one that technically still applies to the gardens at Highever Castle. It is illegal to place any purple glass fish in an area where they can reflect sunlight if the brother of a teyrna has had more than five ales."
"Very stupid indeed. Tell me how such a law came to be."
"When I was a boy I read about one of the Cousland family's more shameful secrets. A great-great-great uncle, I think. Definitely not a direct ancestor, thank the Maker. He was a notorious drunk who stumbled through the gardens one morning in the spring, just when the sunlight begins to glare off every shining surface and fill every drop off dew. Eventually he happened across a purple fish made of glass, a Rivaini decoration I think, hanging from one of the bushes by the fountain. You must know, Lord Rooke, how sensitive the eye can be to light after a night at the drink. The idiot made such a fuss about it, the only way the teyrna could get him to leave was by putting his complaint into law. Needless to say that law never came up again. Why do you ask?"
"I too immersed myself in law as a child," said Rooke. "One day I found a law that, though not ridiculous like one you told, was still obscure and overlooked and underused enough to go unnoticed. It was a law I kept at the back of my mind for years. I could not invoke it until this very morning."
Aedan leaned forward like an eager child being told a ghost story.
"The law states, that if a Landsmeet has been called, and the leadership of a territory such as an Arling is contested, then the minor lords and ladies of that Arling will collectively cast that territory's vote. During my exile, I discovered that all the minor lords and ladies who swore fealty to Howe were doing so under threats of violence. I could also prove it. Such evidence would undermine their collective vote."
"I still don't understand how you ended up representing Denerim, not when Vaughan was there too."
Rooke took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Aedan recognised this as the look of a man struggling to simplify a complex idea.
"I had to plan for several eventualities," said Rooke in a pained voice. "Eventuality number one: Rendon Howe is dead before the Landsmeet can begin, so is Vaughan Kendells. The minor lords and ladies who have sworn fealty to an arling also have the option of combining their collective vote into the voice of a single figure representing their vested interests. Due to the threats of violence he used on all of them, I trusted they would have me be their representative, as I would be the one to present the evidence of Howe's threats. I vote supporting you over Loghain."
"Right."
"Eventuality number two: Howe is alive in the Landsmeet, Vaughan Kendells is dead or imprisoned still. It plays out similarly to number one: I contest the legitimacy of Howe's claim to the arling of Denerim, using his threats as evidence. With the arling in dispute, I present signatures from the minor nobility declaring me their representative. I vote supporting you over Loghain."
"And the other scenarios?"
"Eventuality number three: Howe is dead and Vaughan Kendells is alive. Vaughan is a coward with no mind for politics. I was worried he could be intimidated into supporting Loghain. So, shortly after Ostagar, I had Osric spread a rumour far and wide that Vaughan had had Urien killed by Antivan Crows before he could even reach Ostagar. That would call Vaughan's leadership into question and nullify his inheritance. The vote passes to me, I support you et cetera."
"And if Vaughan and Howe somehow both made it to the Landsmeet?" Aedan asked, captivated.
Rooke gave his biggest grin yet. "I destroy Howe's claim to the arling with evidence of threats, I wait for Vaughan to cast his vote. If he votes against you, I nullify his position as arl by using false but convincing evidence of his involvement in his father's death. Then I vote for you in his stead. Every seed I sew sprouts in the end, Lord Cousland."
"But after Vaughan voted for me, you were still given a vote of your own. He was the official Arl and yet there you were, representing his sworn lords."
"Shortly before the Landsmeet officially began, Vaughan revealed himself for the first time since Howe imprisoned him months before. He may have been the Arl, but he had undergone no formal ceremony of ascension, and you know how much the Landsmeet loves it rituals. Add to that the fact that nobody likes him, and the fact that I had still spread a strong rumour of his involvement in Urien's death and the man had a pretty shaky claim. Vaughan's claim and thus Vaughan's vote did not look strong until I corroborated it, as Denerim's noble representative."
"I see," said Aedan weakly. "What an Orlesian scheme."
"You flatter me, my lord."
"Where do your son and the Crows factor into all this?" Aedan's mind was so exhausted from tracking technicalities and complex hypotheticals that his huge detail seemed to have slipped from it.
"During my exile, Howe somehow found out that I was planning to use this obscure law to undermine him as a Landsmeet voter. He redoubled his efforts to find me. I decided my family would fare better if I temporarily split from them, if I drew Howe's men towards me alone."
"And that didn't quite go the way you planned."
Rooke nodded gravely. "He got my eldest son. Veleda escaped with my youngest. Howe's terms for my boy's return were simple: destroy the evidence I had of him threatening the nobles, and remove myself from Denerim at once. Fortunately, my contacts included the Crows, and they had enlisted your help." Rooke's bloodless lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Howe's days were numbered."
Impressed as he was, Aedan still didn't fully understand.
"But you must have had a backup plan, Rooke. The moment Howe discovered your son was safe and his men were dead, that you were still a threat to him in the Landsmeet, he would have struck back, harder than ever. What would you have done then? No one appreciates a long-term plan more than I, but even I have my limits. Why wait so long to get Howe himself? Or were you saving him for last, hoping to get all the other conspirators first?"
"I decided to let you have Howe," Rooke said simply. "Not that I could have stopped you if I wanted to. Nothing I experienced can equal what he did to you."
"Yes…" said Aedan smirking. "And you were frightened you'd be next if I found out you had stolen Howe from my hit list."
"That too."
Aedan and Rooke sat in silence for a few moments, soaking in the implications of everything they had just shared.
"So there it is," Rooke said eventually. "My vengeance is complete. I find myself in the same position you will find yourself in when the Blight is over: I have all this ability, all these contacts, all these resources, and yet no overarching project I can throw them at. Make me your right hand, Aedan Cousland, and I will help you rise as high and you want to rise. I am finally unshackled, soon you will be too."
Aedan had heard enough. He stood up and offered the older lord his hand. Rooke responded without hesitation, standing up and shaking the hand firmly.
"It's a deal, Lord Rooke."
"Excellent! Now it's getting very late and I have to get my family to a bunker in preparation for the upcoming battles. You have prodded and probed my mind and motivations for quite a while now, Lord Cousland. Allow me to do the same one more time to you."
"Go ahead."
"With the support Anora needed for your voice in the Landsmeet, you could have asked anything of her."
"True enough."
"You could have offered your hand in marriage," said Melwyn slyly. "You're a Cousland, she's the daughter of a commoner and a traitor. Why didn't you make that offer?"
"I did. She offered me Prince-Consort."
"But you refused?"
"Yes. But I think I would have reconsidered an offer to be king as well. The offer was only to find out if she was willing to give it, that she trusted me enough."
"A smart move, Lord Cousland, but why would turn down king?"
"A simple lesson in architecture. Consolidate the ground before your ambitions turn upward."
"Oh you are good," said Rooke with deep admiration filling his voice and penetrating his mask of a face.
"Try not to die in the next few days, Lord Rooke. It would be rather unpleasant to lose an intellectual equal."
Rooke Family Etymology –
Rooke: Resembling a raven.
Melwyn: Friend who offers wise counsel.
Henrietta: Ruler of the house.
Earm: A wretched man.
Marom: From the peak.
Veleda: Of inspired wisdom.