Chapter Nine – Memories
Dragon Age 9:55
Denerim
Aedan was a Highever man through and through. He supposed he would always think of himself as one, no matter where he went or how far he stayed away. He loved the smell of the Waking Sea and hearing the waves crash on the shores, the sense of mutual respect that the city's people always have had for their ruling Teyrns. It was the place he truly felt he belonged, and he was glad Leliana had found it in herself to love it too.
As biased as he was though, he had to admit that Highever couldn't hold a candle to Denerim, the capital of Ferelden.
The first thing he noticed was that everything was bigger there. The houses, the craftsmen halls, the guilds, the guard towers all loomed larger than the ones back home. There were far more people too, from the lowliest beggar to the highest noble lord of all stripes and colours, jostling each other to conduct their own business. There was also a far greater variety of people. You were more likely to see mages, templars, and foreigners here than anywhere else in Ferelden, as well as the odd elf and dwarf. The sound of strange accents and languages combined like nowhere else in the country. Denerim had the best food, the latest fashions and music and art. Everyone wanted to visit the birthplace of Andraste, the town that Calenhad built.
As the seat of power, Denerim was a prime target for attacks and sieges. It had been captured several times, most notably by the darkspawn in the last Blight. But although Denerim had fallen on multiple occasions, it could never truly have said to been defeated. During his sweep of the broken and ruined city, Aedan found himself fighting alongside entire groups of citizens who had somehow managed to disappear into the boltholes and hiding places only a local would know about, and were waiting for rescue. Most didn't even wait, conducting guerilla warfare from their own homes in a style that a trained Grey Warden would have been proud of. A surprising heap of darkspawn had not been killed by the troops Aedan brought into the city, but by Denerim's infamously hard-bitten citizens. Even the cutpurses, thieves and robbers had banded together to attack the darkspawn. After all, if the city was overrun there wouldn't be anyone left to steal from.
As befitting his role in liberating the beleaguered capital, Aedan was given the freedom of the city and widely recognised as the man to thank for ensuring future generations would continue to consider Denerim as the spiritual, political and cultural heart of the country. Subsequently, any visit he made was a matter of widespread public interest. It wasn't on the scale of throngs of cheering people of course, the Denerim men and women weren't quite as sappy as that. Aedan was surprised they had cheered him even immediately after killing the archdemon. He never thought he'd see the day where Denerim's notorious mob would genuinely give thanks to someone instead of trying to sell him stuff or cut his throat or pick his pocket (usually in that order). Still, the cry of "the Teyrn of Highever's coming this way" would make most people sit up and take notice.
He'd elected to ride on his own horse, at the head of his entourage instead of remaining cooped up in the carriage. Riding through Denerim on a personal steed was generally outlawed for all except the highest ranking nobles and the like, in order to reduce congestion in the streets. Sedately trotting through the streets presented another benefit, in that he wouldn't have to step his way through thirty different kinds of muck that layered most paths through Denerim. Aedan intended to take full advantage of it. After all, it would be the last time he'd ever get a chance.
Everywhere he looked was another reminder of the battle he had fought to free the city. There was a street where he had chased down an ogre. To the right was a shophouse gutted by fire, now rebuilt and repaired. To the left, a blind alley where Sten had cut down a band of hurlocks like so much meat. Off in the distance, the elven Alienage where even the most wretched and despised inhabitants of Denerim had laid down their lives for their homes.
The reconstruction of the capital was the first item on the king's agenda after the Blight had been defeated. Backed by Arl Eamon and sufficient contributions from the nobility, substantially bolstered by Aedan glaring at them threateningly as Eamon had beseeched for donations, the reconstruction was a massive success. Better walls and defenses, more public spaces, better sewage systems, everything. After all, as Leliana had commented, tearing down Denerim just gave them an opportunity to build a better one. Even the Alienage had been cleaned up, opened to the public and was much better policed. Under the king and queen's policies, elves were slowly but surely integrating into Ferelden society at long last. It was now known as "Little Elvhenan", and had become a prime tourist spot.
Among the many accomplishments Aedan had managed over the course of his life, he supposed history scholars would rank him highest for saving Denerim. As long as they remembered to add that it was a Highever lad who had done it, he supposed he wouldn't mind. Let that rankle those stuck-up capital city folk for generations to come!
The entourage reached the Royal Palace and came to a halt before the guards, who as Aedan noted with some satisfaction, were not sleeping on the job or slouching or looking in desperate need of a quick smoke. He had emphasised the need to elevate security standards, especially in the recent years, seeing as how they were going to the first line of defence protecting his daughter and all.
A guardsman saluted to him, which Aedan returned with deliberate seriousness. "State your name and business before the Palace Guard."
Names and titles. Live long enough and any man in his position could collect enough to fill a library. Both Leliana and Zevran had told him of foreign nobles who had done just that, carefully hoarding honours as a miser does with gold. Apparently the more titles you had, the more you had to be taken seriously. Of all that he possessed however, Hero of Ferelden and ex Warden Commander being chief among them, Aedan would always use the one he valued the most, the one he never thought he could ever have when he was no more than a boy.
"Teyrn Cousland of Highever," said Aedan. "As for my business, I am escorting the Lady Aeryn Cousland, also of Highever, to the Royal Palace to wed her betrothed the Crown Prince Duncan of House Theirin."
"Pass in peace, in the name of the - "
A hand on his shoulder made him pause and spin around. It was a good thing that he was holding his spear in a slightly elevated position, Aedan mused later, or he would certainly have skewered the reigning King of Ferelden.
"Careful Bill, you might do someone an injury with that."
"Your majesty! I - I - "
"Don't worry about it. Take the day off, I've got this covered. It would be a sad day when I can't personally welcome Cousland and his family to my house."
Aedan dismounted, lowered his eyes and got down on one knee before the king, being very obtusely cordial. "Your majesty."
"Oh do get up Aedan, you know you don't need to do that."
Aedan stood up, grinning, and grasped his friend's hand. "I know that. But I felt like it anyway."
"Still the same old Cousland, I see."
"Always," said Aedan. "You look well, Alistair."
He certainly did. Aedan recalled their first meeting, back in the day. He had been sent by Duncan to scour the Ostagar camp for the other Grey Warden recruit. Wondering idly how the legendary Warden somehow only managed to discover two worthy recruits throughout the entire country, Aedan wandered around the tents and soldiers, trying to look inconspicuous. He had been yanked from his home and family and told to join the mysterious order of warriors who had defended the land for generations. In retrospect he wasn't actually certain of much else, other than the fact that they rode griffons.
Aedan expected Alistair to be a military sort of fellow, grizzled, world weary, chopped off more heads than he had hot dinners. Then he saw a young templar about his age making snarky remarks to a pompous mage and was bemused to discover that this was the senior recruit Duncan had asked him to find.
Back then he had sandy-blonde, close cropped hair and was clad in a rusty suit of splintmail a crippled genlock would have turned up its nose at. He had no more than a hint of stubble on his chin and warm brown eyes that always seemed to be twinkling with glee at some private joke. Aedan soon learned that this frequently was the case.
The man that faced him now looked every inch the storybook king. Even though his hairline was receding and he had grown rather stout, Alistair had let his beard grow out in a manner that would make a dwarf proud. Aedan couldn't help noticing that he wore it in the same style as the Warden Duncan once did. He wore a deep purple doublet made of some fancy velvet material and a thick gold chain hung around his neck, but otherwise he wore no crown or carried any weapon that signified his station. Even after all these years, Alistair detested the trappings of the court. He was well known as something of an oddity among the other ruling heads of state of Thedas, for speaking frankly and caring more about the lower classes than was usual.
"This is a joyous day, Alistair. Our families will be joined forever, to secure the future of Ferelden. It's the best thing I could ask for before I leave for the Deep Roads."
"So I heard," said Alistair concernedly. "Are you absolutely sure it's the...you know...thingy?"
"Yes mate, I'm sure," said Aedan, making an effort not to roll his eyes.
"Oh good. Well not exactly good, obviously, but you know what I mean."
"Yes I do," sighed Aedan. Alistair chuckled at his world weary tone.
"Your majesty, it's wonderful to see you again," called Leliana, coming out from the carriage. Alistair bowed his head and kissed her hand.
"Leliana. It's been far too long."
"It certainly has. Isn't the queen with you?"
"Oh she's off somewhere making some last minute preparations for the wedding. You know how she is."
Without looking Aedan knew Leliana would have to bite her lip from remarking at that last bit. She changed the subject as deftly as she would have fired an arrow from a bow.
"The rose gardens look lovely, Alistair. Just perfect for a wedding. I know I wanted the Grand Chantry, but I have to admit your idea was so much better."
"It was Duncan's idea, actually. You know how sentimental he can get. It is special to him and Aeryn after all."
Rolann, Aeryn, and Darien were the next to pay homage to the king. They'd known Alistair ever since they were little children, and considered him a favourite uncle. He bade them rise and embraced each of them in turn.
"Aeryn my dear, you look absolutely beautiful. I cannot express how happy I am that you're going to marry Duncan. We're delighted to welcome you into the family."
Aeryn blushed furiously, and muttered something incomprehensible. Alistair turned his attention to Rolann, tall and imposing in his black robes.
"Rolann, my boy. It's a pleasure to see you again. How are things at the Circle Tower?"
"Progressing wonderfully, your majesty. We're thinking of holding an international summit with the mages of Orlais, Antiva and the Tevinter Imperium sometime in the near future."
"A gathering of mages from all over Thedas? I've never heard of such a thing before. It sounds most interesting."
"We must move with the times, your majesty."
"You're quite right. Although we don't want to grow too close to the Tevinters, their name's still mud around these parts," said Alistair, frowning slightly as he studied Rolann's face.
"Are you all right, lad? You don't look very well, if you don't mind me saying."
"Oh no, it's just...I haven't been sleeping well lately," said Rolann, flustered.
"I could send the court physician to give you something, if you like."
"Thank you, your majesty, but it won't be necessary."
"If you say so," said Alistair. He clasped Darien's hand and shook it vigorously.
"Darien! How many scrapes have you got into since I saw you last?"
"More times than I can count," put in Aedan.
"Seeking out adventure and remaining within my lord father's good graces are often at odds, Uncle Alistair," said Darien jauntily.
"You should do more to please your father lad," chided Alistair gently. "Neither he nor I ever knew ours as much as we'd liked."
"I will, sire," said Darien, chastened.
"Not to worry. Come now, we've stood around long enough in the courtyard. Your usual rooms have been prepared. Bill will escort you there."
"Your majesty...do you know where I might find Duncan? I need to speak to him," asked Rolann suddenly.
"I believe he is in the library," answered Alistair.
Rolann stepped into the royal library, the thud of his staff on the stone floor echoing loudly in the huge chamber. There was no one around, and the shelves upon shelves of ancient books, tomes, scrolls and charts loomed menacingly in the dim light. Rolann had always loved spending time in the royal library, which was far bigger than the one at Highever, and had more books on history and other subjects than the library at the Circle Tower.
"Your highness. A word."
The Crown Prince Duncan stepped out from behind a shelf, perusing an open book. He was a very handsome man, with long, straight hair of bright gold. He kept himself clean-shaven and had eyes of bright blue that many a maid had gone to bed dreaming of. He had the Theirin looks and his father's affable, personable nature, but on more than one occasion he'd shown flashes of Queen Anora's character - steel, cold and hard. At those times his laughing blue eyes would turn to two chips of ice in a flash. He was wearing a hauberk bearing the Theirin coat of arms thrown over a suit of mail, with elegant drakeskin boots and gloves dyed an eye-catching shade of bronze.
"Interesting read, this. Did you know the wedding customs of Orlais are far different than ours? Everyone, unto the poorest man, is expected to hold a grand celebration where his enemies are not only expected to be invited, but be accorded the seats of honour as well. Something you might want to consider when you get married yourself, don't you think? Seeing as how you're half-Orlesian," said the prince, without taking his eyes from the book.
I once thought so too. Now I know better.
"Would I possess the inclination to conduct my wedding in the Orlesian manner, you would certainly be given the highest place of honour, your highness," said Rolann, his voice in leaden tones.
"Now is that wise, Senior Councillor? Making a threat to my royal person. You're fortunate no one is around to witness it."
"Take it as you will, your highness. I have something to say and you'd best pay attention until I'm done."
"I can certainly spare a moment or two for the man who will become my goodbrother by nightfall tomorrow."
"Good," said Rolann, fighting the urge to smack the prince across the face. But that would be unwise, even for all his powers, connections and prominence. Duncan noted the tightening of Rolann's mouth and the muscle working in his cheek and smiled that lazy, insolent smile that made things ten times worse.
"Do not be so quick to lay your hand on me this time, Cousland. This time I might not be of a mind to let you keep it."
Rolann took a deep breath, knowing he was falling for Duncan's little game and hating himself for it. He'd faced down angry templars and arrogant warlocks with little more than a raised eyebrow, but Duncan always brought out the worst in him. Eventually he got himself under control.
"My message, your highness. You are to be wed to my sister. Our houses are to be joined, our destinies entwined. I will inherit my father's lands, keep and title and with them assume the role as one of the foremost lords of the realm. For the love I bear my sister, I wish to end the animosity between us. Great challenges lie ahead and it would be best for all to meet them, if not as friends, then at least as allies."
Duncan looked at Rolann suspiciously. This clearly wasn't what he was expecting.
"My ears must be deceiving me. Do you wish to apologise for your actions? I thought you swore you'd be in the ground before that happened."
"Some things are...more important than oaths. My sister is one of them. So is the realm. It would be unwise for the King of Ferelden and his Teyrn of Highever to be forever at odds. Not to mention the Council of Magi. To let this bad blood continue would undermine all the work and sacrifices our fathers endured."
Duncan brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his arm. But Rolann knew that the prince was not stupid. If he could swallow his pride and appeal to reason, Duncan would respond likewise.
"You speak the truth. Although it would be simplicity itself to remove Highever from your grasp and bestow it upon a more deserving person - "
Rolann clenched his fists involuntarily.
" - that sort of thing inevitably ends in tears. For Aeryn's sake, I agree. Let us bury the hatchet in her name, our fathers' names, and that of Ferelden."
Duncan extended a hand, smiling. Rolann took it and shook it slowly. Then he pulled Duncan close to him in a sudden jerk that made him gasp in shock.
"What are you doing - "
"Now that's over with, you listen to me," whispered Rolann with razor-edged deliberateness. "I know what you're like. Word gets around, even in Highever. You've been the Maker's gift to womenfolk ever since you were old enough to shave. Now all of that stops as of nightfall tomorrow."
"Unhand me at once!"
"In a moment. Aeryn is dear to me. She is a brilliant, talented woman who would make an excellent queen to any king or emperor you could care to mention. Maker knows why she's to be yours, but if that's her fate, so be it. Just one small caveat."
"If you don't let me go, I'm going to - "
"Shut up. If Aeryn ever, ever has cause to inform me you have been mistreating her, or fallen into some other woman's bed behind her back, I will come for you. I will rain fire and blood upon your head as only a mage knows how. I will tear down Denerim itself to exact justice upon you. If you think you can delay me by taking away Highever, or the Circle, or calling for my execution, know this. I do not care one jot. All I care about is my sister's happiness, and you will labour night and day to see that this is so. That's it."
Rolann let Duncan go and he wrenched away, straightening his hauberk and glaring at him with eyes full of hate.
"Blood of Andraste," he swore. "You will suffer for this, Cousland. This I promise."
"I don't care," said Rolann, unbowed. "Just as long as my sister is not wronged. For if she is, you will suffer twice as worse."
Lips drawing back from his teeth in a snarl, Duncan started towards Rolann, one hand on his sword. But before anything could happen, Darien stepped into the room.
"Um, the king sent me to look for you guys," he said uncertainly, looking from one man to the next.
"Right," said Duncan, exhaling heavily and brushing back his hair. "It's wonderful to see you again, Darien. Come, you must tell me what you've been doing since we last met."
Putting an arm around Darien's shoulder, he left the room without a backward glance at Rolann. The mage watched them go. Duncan and Darien had always been the best of friends. They'd even squired together for a spell under Bann Teagan, and every time Rolann talked to his brother he would have some tale to tell of the young prince.
If Duncan was bold enough, he wouldn't think twice about getting rid of Rolann on some half-baked charge and giving Highever to Darien in his stead. But for all his faults, Rolann knew that the prince did love his sister, after a fashion. The problem was getting him to remain faithful.
Rolann went out of the library, deep in thought. If the worst came to the worst, he'd leave Highever and remain on the move around Ferelden. He still could keep an eye on Aeryn then. Let Duncan do what he wished with the city. Rolann had other plans in mind.
Dragon Age 9:47
Royal Palace
Denerim
Aeryn loved the royal rose gardens on the Denerim palace grounds. The scent of the beautiful blooming flowers filled the air better than any chemist's shop. The queen had planted lots of the traditional red ones, but here and there were blue, yellow, white and even black roses. It was quiet and peaceful, far away from the noise (and smell) of the city streets. It was her favourite place to sneak off to and just relax on the sweet grass, watching the clouds drift by.
The king had called her father to the capital yet again, for about the third time that year. Although the queen was less than thrilled, even she couldn't deny that the Hero of Ferelden was more than just a strong sword arm. Together, the three of them made a surprisingly efficient diplomatic team, even more so when backed up by Leliana's intuitive grasp of any ambassador's motives and intentions. Aedan hadn't taken his daughter along the last time, and had finally relented when she had pretty much followed him around for days, begging to see the sights of Denerim. She loved the marketplaces, the theaters, the spectacle of it all. Highever was grand in its way, but Highever was a sleepy hamlet compared to Denerim.
Aeryn leaned against a tree, munching an apple with her nose deep in a book about the Qunari conquest of Par Vollen. Even at the age of ten, she was far more interested in what her father liked to read than her mother's stories.
Something hard fell on top of her head, making her drop her book and cry out in pain. She snatched up the offending object, which turned out to be another apple which had fallen from the tree she was sitting under. She could hear helpless giggling coming from behind the nearest rose bush. Winding up her arm, she threw the apple directly into the middle of the bush. The resulting thud and annoyed yell left her smiling in satisfaction.
"Darien! Come on out of there, or I'm telling mom!"
Her little brother crawled out, leaves tangled up in his hair. He was clutching the bow with which he had shot the apple off the tree.
"Aw come on Ryn, I was just playin'," he whined.
"Go find someone else to play with. I'm busy."
"Dunc said you would say that."
"Duncan? This was his idea? I'm gonna smack him!"
"He said you'd say that too."
"But you're first!" said Aeryn, leaping to her feet and sprinting towards her brother. He yelled and dashed away, laughing deliriously. Aeryn chased him around the garden, leaping over bushes and wriggling under hedges. But Darien was always one step ahead of her and she finally had to give up, sweating profusely and her long red hair a wild, tangled mess. She sat back down under her tree, panting heavily and wishing she could get a drink of water.
"Aeryn, you look hot and bothered. Even more so than usual, if I do say so myself. Care for a sip of wine?" called a smooth, cool voice.
It was Duncan the young prince, the only child of King Alistair. Unlike Aeryn, who was dressed in a nondescript leather bodice and boy's trousers in a muted shade of brown, he was wearing a silk tunic coloured red and sported a sword in a golden scabbard at his hip. It matched his hair, also golden and falling in a mass of curls to his shoulders. He was wearing his customary half-smile half-smirk and was holding a golden goblet aloft in one hand.
Aeryn supposed Duncan was handsome, in a classic kind of way. Maker knew he had the eye of every young woman in Ferelden, be they peasant girl or Arl's daughter. A couple of years older than Aeryn, he was charming and knew all the right things to say at any social event, and was usually the best-dressed person in any room he walked into. Duncan was also fond of telling jokes, a trait he shared with his father.
As a warrior though, Duncan was average at best, whether with lance, sword or bow. The one time Queen Anora had agreed to let him spar with Aeryn in a practice fight the Teyrn's daughter had taken great pleasure in beating him soundly, even if it was only with a wooden sword. He wasn't so keen on participating in any more fights after that.
"I'd prefer cold water, if it's all the same to you," said Aeryn, wiping the sweat from her brow.
"You only have to say the word, my love, and it shall be yours. Willa, a draught of cold water for Lady Aeryn if you please."
A serving maid who had been waiting in silence some distance away curtsied and sped off in the direction of the palace.
Aeryn scowled at the prince. "What did you just call me?"
"'Tis only proper to refer to my beloved betrothed as such."
"Betrothed? What are you talking about?"
Duncan looked surprised, blinking his big blue eyes. "Surely your lady mother must have told you? We are to be wed once we are of age."
Aeryn stared at him, not understanding a thing. Her mother definitely had not mentioned anything of the sort to her. Oh there was the time Leliana had wanted to discuss something with her, but Aeryn left to go horse riding and had forgotten all about it. She decided Duncan was just messing around as usual.
"What were you up to anyway?" inquired Duncan, brushing the ground beneath him and settling himself on the grass beside her.
"I was running after my little brother, because he dropped an apple onto my head, because you told him to."
Duncan flashed his uncommonly white teeth, kept that way through special chemicals imported from the Free Marches. "Darien was boasting about what a good shot he was, so I challenged him to prove it. I didn't actually ask him to bother you."
"But you didn't stop him either."
"Guilty as charged. Ah, your drink's arrived. Please accept it with my apologies."
"Thank you," said Aeryn to the maid, drinking noisily from the flask she brought. Duncan sipped from his goblet of wine with a touch more decorum.
"You know," began Duncan, when they'd finished. "Your father and mine are going to be busy for the rest of the day, and possibly the entire week. Have you seen much of Denerim while you've been here?"
Aeryn had to shake her head. She'd hoped for Aedan to take her around the city, but they'd barely spoken since they'd arrived. She hadn't the faintest idea what they were discussing, although if she had to hazard a guess it would be about the political unrest that had gotten everyone talking. Some Arl or the other had refused to pay taxes or something and there was talk of open rebellion to the king's rule.
"A shame. Would you like to? We could take a walk around the city together."
"That actually sounds rather nice."
"It will be, once I ditch Ser Reingold and we can get away on our own," said Duncan in a low tone, looking conspiratorially over his shoulder. Ser Reingold was a grim, implacable knight who wielded a two-handed greatsword and was commanded to serve as the prince's personal bodyguard. He was standing under the shade of a nearby tree, far enough to be polite but close enough to constantly remind them of his presence.
"Won't we get into trouble?" whispered Aeryn fiercely, casting a worried glance at Ser Reingold.
"Oh, never mind him. We'll be back before he knows it," said Duncan flippantly. Aeryn decided not to risk another glance lest Ser Reingold got suspicious. Still, the idea of spending a day around Denerim seemed like fun. She was dying to see the sights of the city. She nodded quickly and Duncan flashed his brilliant smile once again.
"Meet me here at the bottom of the garden in ten minutes. There's a secret exit only I know about."
He got up and went over to talk to Ser Reingold. Taking advantage of the distraction, Aeryn dashed back to the palace to change and grab a few things.
From his hiding place up in a tree Darien watched them go.
"What kept you?" asked Aeryn irritably. She had been waiting beside a thick privet hedge for half an hour. She'd changed out of her sweaty clothes and was now dressed in a grey cloak and a hood. After some thought, she'd strapped a dagger to her leg and tucked it inside her boot. One could never be too careful.
"Ser Reingold took some persuasion to leave well alone and...Maker's breath, what are you wearing?"
"This cloak? What's wrong with it?"
"It has a ridiculous hood, for crying out loud. No one uses it except for mages and actors. It'll draw more attention than deflect it."
"Let's just go already," said Aeryn, pushing back her hood guiltily. Chuckling, Duncan led her to a little gap in the hedge.
"Hardly anyone knows it's here. But if we climb through it and stay in the shadows we can come to a door built into the castle wall. It leads out of the palace grounds and into Denerim. I think it's a secret passage."
"Ohh, it could be the one the royal family escaped from during the Orlesian attack! Or even the one father used when retaking the palace from the darkspawn!"
"Could be," sniffed Duncan. "Personally I don't care much for history. Battles and dates and kings bore me to death. I prefer to live in the moment."
Sticking close to the wall, they managed to escape the notice of a passing patrol and wrench the door open, Aeryn looking over her shoulder with every loud creak. Then they walked a long way through a dark, damp passageway, silent save for the steady drip of water from the ceiling and the low rumble of the city, still audible yet muted through the layers of stone and soil. Duncan led the way, with Aeryn holding on to his hand. Eventually they reached a short flight of stone steps, which led up to a dusty room with a wooden floor. Sacks, crates and other rubbish were strewn about everywhere.
"Where are we?"
"It's an old, abandoned warehouse in the Market district. No one ever comes in here. Let's go!"
They emerged in a throng of chaos, blinking at the bright sunlight and reeling slightly from the noise and hubbub all around. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to two children walking out of a warehouse.
It was everything Aeryn expected and more. She'd accompanied her mother to Highever on market day, but Denerim on a normal day dwarfed it easily. Fruit and vegetable sellers hawked their wares from carts. Fish mongers were easy to find by the smell alone, touting huge barrels of crabs, eels and fish fresh-caught from the bay and packed in ice (but not from the Drakon river, fish couldn't live in the river). Armor and weaponsmiths did a roaring trade, smoke and the ringing of hammers on anvils and the steady pump of bellows all pouring forth from shopfronts. Some of the older shops had signs and huge buildings to house them in, like the Wonders of Thedas which stocked rare magical artifacts. But most of the trade took place at street level, where the commonfolk haggled over prices at the top of their lungs with the merchants. There were potions and spices, jewelry and flowers, tools and all kinds of little presents. Aeryn had in her purse all the money she had in the world, and it wasn't enough to buy a quarter of the things she wanted.
Duncan flipped a couple of coppers to an old woman manning a fruit stall, and selected a pair of ripe pink peaches. He gave one to Aeryn and bade her take the first bite. It was the sweetest thing she ever tasted, the juice bursting forth and running down her chin. She wiped it away and smiled at Duncan, happy to be out and about on such a fine day. This was far better than being annoyed by Darien or lectured by her mother.
As they wandered around Aeryn couldn't help but notice the people milling about. In Highever to the north a man might see a dwarf or an elf on rare occasion. Now that she thought about it, the only dwarf and elf she'd ever seen back home was Oghren and Zevran, and even they visited rarely. Also, the only mages she saw were the ones that accompanied Rolann on his visits home. Here they were everywhere, the mages mostly crowding around the Wonders of Thedas, puffing away on pipes and arguing noisily, if amicably. The dwarven smiths and traders were working in tandem and producing arms and armour of far superior quality to anything a human smith could achieve. Aeryn noticed that the richer looking and better dressed men were flocking to the dwarves to buy their goods. There were also a lot of elves around, most dressed in rags and shoddy clothing, but a fair few better dressed and openly carrying bows. Some of them were even clad in the mail of the City Guard. One or two Qunari giants loomed like huge icebergs in the sea of people, who gave them a wide berth. They were clad in plate, their faces grim.
Aeryn bought a falcon feather arrow for Darien, a quill pen for Rolann, a bottle of scent made from the crushed flowers of Andraste's Grace for her mother, and was trying to decide what to get for her father while Duncan finished his peach and bought another. Finally she settled on a scabbard made to hold a dagger. It was made of drakeskin leather, and coloured an interesting dark green. She didn't have enough money to pay for it, but Duncan gallantly bought it for her. He seemed to have brought along a lot of money with him.
"Thank you. I know father would like it," said Aeryn, holding the scabbard and liking the feel of the drakeskin. It was smooth and supple to the touch.
"The least I could do," said Duncan, taking another bite of fruit. "What say we get out of this sun and take in a play? They're doing a marvellous one of Maric and Loghain and the River Dane the last time I was here."
It was all Aeryn could do to nod her head. She didn't like music or dancing or singing much, but one thing she did love was the stage. On the few occasions the Teyrn had welcomed a travelling band of actors to Highever, Aeryn had always pleaded to stay up and watch the whole performance. Andraste's Exalted marches, Aveline the First, Maric's revolution, even her father's slaying of the archdemon. All of them came alive through a few simple costumes and props. Duncan saw the look of excitement on her face and understood immediately.
"Excellent. My favourite place is just this way."
Laughing and joking, the pair strolled hand in hand down the crowded streets, completely unaware that their progress was being watched, and followed.
"For the love of the Maker, Anora, we cannot hire a Crow to kill this man!" exclaimed Aedan, running a hand through his hair in agitation.
"It gets the job done, we keep our hands clean, and we remove the ridiculous and treasonous lies that he's spreading around," replied Queen Anora cooly. She was seated at the head of a huge table, which was covered with maps and letters and scrolls. King Alistair was standing at the window, looking out over the gardens and apparently lost in thought.
"They aren't lies, everyone knows that Alistair's a bastard - "
"That doesn't mean he's not the rightful king!"
"No, it doesn't. But killing the man in the dead of the night with a hired knife - men will talk, Anora. No matter how quietly it was done, the blame will inadvertently fall on us. Then the realm will know that their king isn't above sending assassins to slay his subjects. That will lead to civil war!"
"I assure you, Teyrn Cousland, for the right price the Crow we can get will make it look like a complete accident."
"It doesn't matter!"
"Enough!" said Alistair in a firm tone. Aedan fell silent immediately. Anora looked chagrined. "All these quarrels get us nowhere. We need a decision, and fast. Arl McFadden isn't the only one who's been talking of rebellion. Eamon and others have been informing me of other seditious mutterings. We've tried diplomacy with the man. It's failed. We will have to remove him once and for all."
"That's exactly what I've been saying," began Anora, but Alistair silenced her with a look, a feat which impressed Aedan very much.
"But not by assassination," Alistair went on. "Aedan has the right of it. If he dies quietly at a time when his accusations are the loudest, all of Ferelden will think we hired someone to bump him off. That will work for the short term, but what about the future? They'll say we aren't strong enough to hold the throne. No, we must meet him on the field of battle, a show of strength for the rest of them who might be thinking along the same lines. Once his garrison is crushed and he lies in chains, there will be no further talk of rebellion."
"This isn't wise at all, Alistair. Many lives will be lost."
"No more than the lives that would be lost in a civil war. No, my mind is made up. We will ride against McFadden as soon as possible. Aedan, you'll lead the main force. I'll command the reserve."
Aedan bowed his head. "As you wish, your majesty." He was pleased that Alistair was taking swift and decisive action.
There was a loud knocking at the chamber door. Alistair shot Aedan a puzzled look. He had made it clear they were not to be disturbed throughout the entirety of their discussions.
"Enter," commanded the queen.
Ser Reingold stepped into the room, flanked by two guardsmen. He looked in a state of some distress, which was a sight as rare as Anora being silent. He knelt on one knee before Alistair. "Your majesty. A situation has arisen."
"Rise," said Alistair, frowning. Ser Reingold did so. "If you have something important to say, out with it."
"Sire. It's the Crown Prince. He bid me to deliver a message to Lady Morningway in person. I was loath to leave his side, but he insisted, claiming he would remain in the rose gardens with the Teyrn's daughter. I did as he asked, but her ladyship laughed and asked why I would bring her a blank sheet of paper. When I returned to the gardens, they were not to be found."
"Aeryn is missing as well?" cut in Aedan sharply. Ser Reingold nodded his head.
"Yes, your grace. I questioned the palace guardsmen and gardeners on duty, but they did not see either of them leave. I then came at once to inform you."
Alistair chuckled. "A child's jest. Nobody likes to be followed around all the time. Doubtless they'll turn up again later."
Anora's reaction was completely different to that of her husband. The colour had drained out of her face, and she looked as pale as a ghost. Her blue eyes, which Duncan had inherited, had turned into two chips of ice. She placed both her hands on the table and stood up very deliberately.
"You will leave this chamber at once and find the captain of the City Guard. He is to lock down the entire city. Every gate, door and hole leading out of Denerim is to be sealed immediately. From the moment he receives his orders, not a single soul is to enter or leave Denerim without my express command. Do I make myself clear?"
"Anora, what are you talking about? You can't shut down the entire city - "
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" she screamed, ignoring Alistair, her eyes locked on the unfortunate Ser Reingold. "Go NOW!"
The knight didn't even bother to bow, he left the room so fast Aedan thought he could see sparks fly.
"Anora!" said Alistair, affronted. "Don't you think this is a little overboard?"
Anora turned her icy glare on the king. "Duncan might be in danger. Our son might be in danger, Alistair. I will take no chances. You may be right and he's just off playing with the Cousland girl, in which case we'll find him at once. Or I may be right, and his life might be in danger, and if we don't act quickly we might find him dead. I haven't ruled this long not to prepare for the worst."
Although Aedan didn't like the way she was talking about his daughter, he could understand Anora's willingness to use extreme measures. She had been first married to King Cailan for over five years, and not once was she able to have a child. There were even rumours that she was barren, and Cailan was thinking of leaving her to court the Empress of Orlais. Then the Blight happened and she wound up as Alistair's bride, mainly through Aedan's devious machinations. The need for an heir to the throne was no less dire, and the fact that Grey Wardens very rarely had children piled even more anxiety on her slim shoulders. Aedan and Leliana themselves had been trying for seven years before she was pregnant with Aeryn. By the grace of the Maker, Anora had given birth to Duncan two years before that. She would never admit it, but Aedan knew the relief must have been overwhelming. Alistair loved Duncan well, but he meant so much more to Anora. Locking down the capital city was a comparatively tame example of the lengths she was willing to go to ensure his safety.
As protective as she was of Duncan, Aeryn was his daughter and Aedan would do no less. The Maker grant that Alistair was right, but...
"Anora's right. We can't take chances with their safety. Once the gates are barred, it'll only be a matter of time before we find them."
It wasn't very pleasant in the theatre. They got in late, so all the seats were filled up and they had to stand in the gallery. Aeryn was tall for a ten year old, but she was being blocked by people everywhere she turned. It took a bout of determined pushing to get to a place where she could actually see something. The theatre was also dark and very stuffy, and being crammed in with all the others meant that she could smell about fifty different kinds of body odour. She'd have to scrub down thoroughly when she returned to the palace.
Despite all that, Aeryn only had eyes for the stage. The speeches were mostly over, and they were reenacting the part where Teyrn Loghain led the charge across the River Dane to break the ranks of the Orlesians. The Teyrn had been both hero and villain throughout his troubled life. Her father had killed him in single combat, and he once told her it was the hardest fight he'd ever been in. Not because Loghain had fancy magic tricks or breathed fire, but because he believed utterly that what he was doing was right. It was generally known the queen approved of plays like this one, as she was keen for the public not to overlook the more admirable parts of her father's history.
Beside her Duncan was squirming uncomfortably. He was expecting a couple of seats where they could watch the play in relative luxury, not being sandwiched between Aeryn and a massive fishmonger who smelled as though he was taking a break from gutting twenty barrels of fish (as a matter of fact, he was). Duncan's constant exclamations of irritation were very distracting to Aeryn.
The play was soon over to a round of applause, some scattered boos and a shower of peanut shells from one particularly irate spectator. The people began to file out of the theatre, talking and laughing.
"Well that didn't go exactly as planned," said Duncan, smoothing down his rumpled clothing. "I apologise, my lady."
"Don't be," said Aeryn, stepping close and giving him a light kiss on the tip of his nose. The look on Duncan's face was a sight to behold. This was the first time Aeryn had displayed any kind of affection for him, her usual mood when she was around him was a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "I had a great time. Thank you for bringing me here."
"I promise, when we get back I'll arrange for a proper troupe to visit. We can watch them without being squashed halfway to death."
"That would be very nice of you."
They lingered a little, Aeryn hoping for another appearance by the actors. When it was clear they weren't going to come out again, they decided to leave. The theatre was almost empty by then.
The dark theatre became even darker when a couple of men stepped into the doorway, blocking out the sunlight.
"Excuse us," said Duncan politely, coming to a stop in front of them. The men did not budge an inch. They were tall, the tops of their heads brushing the lintel of the doorway. They were wearing black, and sported swords at their hips. One man displayed huge arms with muscles upon muscles, and tattoos covered every spot of bare skin like grass on the West Hills. The other man had a thin moustache and goatee, and an ugly, half-healed scar from a cut that had opened his cheek to the bone. His lips parted in a mocking sneer.
Duncan looked at them warily. "Sers, please make way. We need to be going."
"Indeed you do. In our company."
"I don't think so - " began Aeryn, and was immediately knocked to the floor by a cruel backhand from the first man. Shakily, she touched a finger to her lip. It stung like hell, and came away bloody.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" cried Duncan, trying to help Aeryn. The huge man grabbed him roughly and held his arms in a vice-like grip. The sneer on the other man's face grew wider.
"We will do whatever we like. Your royal highness," he drawled.
Even through the haze of pain, Aeryn heard the words and comprehended them. No one was supposed to know they were out of the palace. Somehow she didn't think they were men sent by her father to get them back.
"And who might your noisy friend be, your highness? Mayhap I could find a better use for that sweet mouth of hers."
Please, thought Aeryn furiously. Don't say the wrong thing.
If he tried to act gallant and claim she wasn't important in a bid to make them release her, she sensed the men would have no compunction about killing her right here and now. Miraculously, Duncan got it. "She's the daughter of Teyrn Cousland. Touch her again and I'll see you hung, drawn and quartered."
"The Dragonslayer? One of the richest men in the country, by all accounts. I'd bet he'll hand over everything he owns to get you back, hmm?"
"My father will kill you, cur," spat Aeryn, and received another vicious punch, this time to the gut. The pain was incredible. Duncan struggled with all his might, but he couldn't break free of the thug's grip.
"All men die, girl. But my death won't come at the hands of some noble. If your father does come for us, well..." he drew his sword and slid the blade gently over Aeryn's throat, nicking the skin and drawing more blood. "The famed Couslands will be two members short."
