Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for violence and death.
…
A Shattered Shade of Justice
Fergus Cousland was relieved that his little sister survived the flight from Ostagar and even more so that her courses, no doubt disrupted by the horrors of Highever, were regular again. Dairren Loren had been a good lad, kind enough and with enough book smarts to keep Mara interested, but he hadn't been the now-Teyrn of Highever's first choice of betrothed. The cold, calm mask that Mara presented to the world concealed a will stubborn as any other Cousland's and a sense of justice that dealt with absolutes, not the thousand shades of grey that permeated the Uasal Ard's idea of law and right. A shade of justice, that in Fergus' eyes, had been shattered by Cailan's clumsy politicking and Howe's betrayal, the causes of the slaughter at Castle Cousland. Perhaps his little sister had the right of it to see the world in black and white, right and wrong, even if sometimes she came to it in a strange process no one else understood.
"I had two choices – throw myself into the melee and die pointlessly after Cailan committed the reserves or take myself and what was left of the northern forces out of there," he explained to a weary-looking Mara and a hard-eyed Alistair over a pot of raspberry leaf tea graciously donated by the Revered Mother, who found her manners again when presented with the Teyrn of Highever. Not his first brew of choice but it was sovereign for cramps and nausea, which always took Mara hard in the first two or three days of her courses. Stubbornly, of course, she chose to remain and hear Fergus' story instead of rest.
Alistair, who understood the necessities of war, sighed but nodded. "Perhaps Loghain salvaged what he could and fell back," he finally said. "Cailan meant well, but he was never allowed to learn how to make mistakes and gain from them."
Fergus would be happy to see Loghain lost to the darkspawn for all the man's strategic genius because without him, Anora had little muscle to call upon. The woman was an able administrator and even competent peacetime ruler, but despite her warrior training a general she was not. He bore her no ill will but when the Landsmeet was called in Denerim, even if by some fluke Cailan survived, a competent commander would need to take the Mabari Throne. The disasters at Highever and Ostagar showed the folly of not choosing the Couslands five years ago.
But he nodded because Mara's husband, acclaimed Teyrn in battle after defeating a band of darkspawn twice the size of his force with only a third of his troops dying, was an ally that would need to be handled carefully. Fergus found himself liking the Avvar-raised bastard of Maric's, not just because he handled Mara carefully and was protective of the Half-Tranquil woman. He was smart, principled and loyal, yet not to the point of idiocy. That he and Mara might produce children, buying Fergus a little time for all his words of courting Habren Bryland once the mourning period for Oriana and Oren was done, that would have a double-strain of Calenhad's blood was a bonus.
He closed his eyes, heart aching for the loss of his beloved Antivan lady and their eager son, before forcing the grief aside. He had to be a commander in this battle, not a heartbroken father. If Mara, who endured infinitely more pain by living through the massacre at Castle Cousland, could set aside her grief to focus on duty then so could Fergus.
"I need to be frank," he said, proud of the strength in his voice as he spoke. "Whether or not Cailan and Loghain managed to survive Ostagar, we need to call a Landsmeet to choose a new King or Queen."
"We won't be able to call a Landsmeet until this Howe is dead," Alistair pointed out, rather pragmatically.
"Howe will come to the Landsmeet if it kills him," Mara disagreed with more shrewdness than he expected from his bookish sister.
"Exactly. Though if he died before the Landsmeet happens, I would be happy," Fergus admitted.
"We will go to Redcliffe and see what is wrong with this Arl Eamon," Alistair announced. "A sickness can come through the will of the gods but oftentimes the hand of mortals can help it along."
Fergus could just as well do without Eamon Guerrin but he had to be seen to do the right thing. "That's not a bad idea. Mara, do you want to go with him or come with me to Denerim?"
"I'll go with Alistair," she said quietly. "If Eamon's sick or poisoned, then Bann Teagan is Arl of Redcliffe until Connor reaches his majority."
Teagan, though raised in the Free Marches and obsessed with all things tourney-related, would make for a better Arl (less obsessed with politics beyond his duty as a diplomat) than Eamon. "You're right, little sister."
"I want to approach from the west," Alistair said, looking to Mara. "I know we have the Hawkes, but there's a couple healer-shamans at Stone Bear Hold, and someone needs to warn the Holds of what happened at Ostagar."
"I can spare you Healer Wynne," Fergus immediately offered. "I'm not sure you can afford the detour, Alistair."
Maric's bastard swung those polished-sovereign eyes in his direction. "I know you mean to challenge for the Mabari Throne," he said bluntly. "This… Arlessa Isolde? She sent all her Knights to search for the tomb you lowlanders call the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Everyone in the Frostback Mountains knows where to find it – once we called the place Ladyhold until heretics who worship a high dragon as your Andraste took over. With the force I have, with the warriors and shaman-born of two or three Holds added to it, we can cleanse the rot from the place, regain one of our most sacred sites, and even bring down some of those ashes to heal Arl Eamon… or whoever might take sick inconveniently."
It was all Fergus could do not to gape at the Avvar warrior's political savvy. "I… apologise," he said quickly.
"The Avvar are isolated, not ignorant," Alistair observed dryly, looking down at Mara who was staring into her cup of tea. Most people would assume she was dozy but Fergus knew better: Mara was already running her brain through the massive amounts of lore she'd accumulated from her chosen studies of Fereldan history, a course of knowledge most of the Uasal Ard considered the Couslands unwise for letting her pursue. But the ancient laws that still governed Ferelden stemmed from the Alamarri and so Bryce permitted it so long as she also learned the practical arts of a noblewoman.
"So I'm beginning to see," Fergus said just as dryly. "I'll be blunt, Alistair – you may be Maric's son, but your mother was an elven mage and you yourself are what Andrasteans call a heathen. That doesn't mean much to me, but it disqualifies you from the Mabari Throne, even with a marriage to Mara."
Alistair shrugged. "I could care less what the Chantry thinks of me and only be polite for your sister's sake. I think this choosing a Thane to rule on the basis of ancestry is ridiculous, myself. Amongst the Avvar, the Thane is the best choice for the Hold. Sometimes it's the wisest elder, the greatest warrior or even the shrewdest trader."
"Every ruler must be ratified by the Landsmeet, which is like your Hold choosing a Thane," Fergus explained. "Maric earned the right by freeing us from Orlesian rule. Father was persuaded to challenge Cailan because of his inexperience and the fact power had shifted to the south and east – Redcliffe and Gwaren – while Highever, West Hills and Amaranthine were ignored. We lost, bowed to Cailan, and managed to at least make the Landsmeet pay attention to the north – where Calenhad came – once again."
The Teyrn of Highever sighed. "I don't like acting like a political opportunist in a time of Blight but Anora has little to no combat experience beyond a few skirmishes, and while she is a diplomat and administrator par excellence, she hasn't inherited Loghain's strategic genius. Loghain is too obsessed with Orlais, and while I trust the Empress as far as I can throw an ogre, we can't completely shut the door to dealing with them as he would. If nothing else, we may need to hire Orlesian mercenaries."
Alistair's elf-gold eyes regarded Fergus intently. "You speak of my brother as if he is no longer King."
"Once I reveal that he's got himself into a technical state of pre-contract with Celene without consulting the Landsmeet, he'll be kicked off the Mabari Throne if he survived Ostagar. That is… well, some of the harsher critics will view it as treasonous and forgive me, but I can't forgive him because he used our family to pass on some of those fucking letters, which were no doubt intercepted by Rendon fucking Howe and led to their murder!"
Fergus' voice had risen to a half-shout as some of the fury and betrayal seeped out to bleed into his tone. He struggled to calm down because the Avvar before him was innocent of his brother's stupidity and while Alistair would stand at his brother's back, he needed to be aware of the intricacies surrounding Cailan's actions and the fall of Highever.
"I'm not arguing with you," Alistair said quietly. "I was the one who told him to confess to Loghain his failed schemes with the Ciriane and it was Warden-Commander Duncan who told me exactly what those letters meant."
Fergus flushed with shame. "I'm sorry, kinsman."
"You mourn your family." Alistair tilted his head, expression a mystery, and Fergus wondered if he realised that the Teyrn of Highever had withdrawn his forces once the beacon was lit and the shadow of a dragon seen from the sky.
Some might call that treason but the Couslands once let a Teyrn die fruitlessly for a King, which led to a bastard being sired upon the Teyrna of Highever and the seventy-year exile of the Couslands from their teyrnir. Fergus had to think of Ferelden… and justice demanded that he see the Landsmeet know of Cailan's idiocy.
"Forget Habren as a wife," Mara finally said. "I'm not just saying that because I detest her."
Fergus found a smile. "I bet that's a bonus to your advice."
Mara didn't match his smile. He wondered where the hoarseness in her formally high, flutelike voice came from but hadn't thought to ask. "Offer to Anora. Bind the Mac Tirs' claim – and it's a good one – to the Couslands'. She'll have the right of divorce from Cailan or be widowed and will do anything to maintain her grip on power."
Fergus looked at his little sister in a new light. Always slender, now she was rail-thin, lines of pain and grief carved deeply into the oval face with its overlarge grey-blue eyes that aged her with the light ash-blonde of her hair. Perhaps the hoarseness was less an injury and more a sign of maturity found in the horrors of Highever.
"If you don't make the offer, you will look like a political opportunist," Mara continued bluntly.
The tragedy was that she was right. Fergus nodded tightly, grateful he hadn't sent that message to Bryland yet, and rose to his feet. "If she is barren, then your children will be my only heirs," he told Mara pointedly. "At least they're Theirins, even bastard ones that will likely get the Guerrins and other traditionalists on my side."
She paled a little but nodded. Good. Fergus wished he could let her mourn for Dairren but if he couldn't grieve for Oriana, she couldn't have the luxury. The Blight took that option from them.
Even his sister pregnant with a Theirin heir would bolster Fergus' claim to the Mabari Throne. He found the idea of marrying Anora distasteful and actually hoped that she would refuse, thereby damaging her own claim to the crown. But if she was as shrewd as her father, albeit in a political sense, and was wise enough to divorce Cailan…
In Fergus' world, there was now only black and white, right and wrong while they lived in a Blight. He was the most senior, non-compromised commander in Ferelden's armed forces as well as its senior noble. He couldn't stand the thought of the Couslands being helpless and bowing to the whims of the Landsmeet once more, prey for whatever ambitious Arl who came along. As King, he could crush Howe and those who sided with the Arl of Amaranthine while rewarding those true enough to stand by him.
Justice was the Cousland virtue but damned if he would temper it with mercy while his family's enemies surrounded him. You were either with the Couslands or against them now and Fergus hoped that the Uasal Ard would be wise enough to understand that.
