ARCANUM – littlefishh

Chapter 10: The Biding

Zevran was getting in the way.

Morrigan wished the Wilds would claim him, but the pair of them were much too powerful. Jenna could fell a bear at twenty paces with a clever fling of her sword, and Zevran was careful to do the appropriate spice tests on the plant life around them to check for poison. However, there was distrust between them—Jenna wouldn't eat any food he attempted to give her, and both of them slept with their weapons beneath their bedrolls—and it was disrupting Jenna's dreams. She would only stay in certain parts of the Fade for uncertain amounts of time. It was impossible to reach her.

Morrigan hoped they would betray each other, but it was very unlikely. Jenna liked the company, and Zevran knew he was overpowered, emotionally and physically. Something needed to happen and it needed to happen soon, before the third month finished, or it could be too late.

Leliana found herself once again wearing Ferelden battle regalia marching on the capital, and she hoped there wouldn't be much more of this, lest the king die of a broken heart and that trick of a woman Anora start running the country. Her father was surely rolling in his grave for his paranoia of an Orlesian invasion, as having a lone queen as ruler with the country in civil war would be practically asking for dishonorable neighbours to do something sinister.

That was, Leliana was sure, exactly what the Antivan Crows wanted. No doubt the emissaries were assassins sent to dispatch Queen Jenna to trigger Anora's bid for the throne and weaken King Alistair's power, which would once again make the city vulnerable. The Orlesians wanted to dismantle the Circle Tower by order of the federal Chantry, and the Antivans wear eager to see the fledgling fortress of the Grey Wardens at Amaranthine fall. Ferelden would be the first nation in Thedas to die by murder since the Imperium.

This is why Leliana backed Alistair for the throne, not because she believed in Ferelden, but because Thedas needed Ferelden. The Grey Wardens and the mages were housed here and, despite their power, still needed the support from the national army to train and prosper. Without them, the whole world would be changed, surely for the worst. The extinction of either one would spell doom for all.

Alistair was not far from being a ruined man, but he had a sense of duty that seeped through the pieces of his broken heart. Leliana knew how much he had resented being king and that having Jenna at his side made the load easier to bear. Now, with her gone, he would not only have to cope with her loss, but eventually replace her to find a successor. It was something no one wanted to see, including the people of Ferelden, who were as much in love with the royal couple as the two of them were with each other. It was a love story born from times of despair, a rose amongst the ashes.

Leliana kept this in mind as she fell in line beside the king. Fergus Cousland was at his flank, while the rest of their party rode up the middle and forward, scouting.

Fergus, too, was devastated. So much of his family had been lost to the war and his sister had been through it all, even avenging their parents' deaths in killing Howe. He bore the Cousland coat of arms and a pearl white sash, the symbol of a noble lady, in his sister's memory. It was a funeral march disguised as the king's return to the capital.

Alistair was as hollow as an ancient tree but he still spoke when addressed. He had not yet lapsed completely into hopelessness, and Leliana imagined he would liven up should Anora attempt a coup. Even so, it was just the calm before the storm. Despair would come in time.

She eyed him as he rode, not even bothering to post to his horse's trot. He seemed vacant, just a suit of armor on a horse. Suddenly, he jerked awake, and pulled everyone to a full stop.

In the clearing before them was a small force of archers and footmen, headed by a soldier splashed in Denerim's crest. The little brigade was pointed in the Highever army's direction and, once Alistair ordered the stop, they approached.

The captain bowed has he drew closer and presented Alistair with a bound scroll. "Greetings, ser. We are with the palace at Denerim and regretfully must extend this writ of disarmament to you on behalf of her royal Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir."

Alistair scoffed as he read the letter. "Well, what happens on the occasion I should choose to disregard this writ?"

The captain's face was nervous, eyes shifting around to size up the army. "Um, well, you would be placed under formal arrest and taken to Fort Drakon to await trial."

The king's eyebrows went up at the thought. "And you lot are going to arrest all of us?"

The captain was visibly sweating now. "Um, yes. Yes, ser."

Alistair tried to keep from bursting out laughing. "And, assuming we don't come quietly, you will have to use violence?"

The captain was wringing his steel-covered hands and standing taller to keep his knees from trembling. "Well, presumably, yes."

The Highever troops were exchanging humoured glances and craning to see the king's reaction, wondering if it was okay to laugh aloud. Fergus Cousland shot Leliana a wink, and she couldn't help but smile at how silly this situation was becoming.

After a long moment of uneasy silence, Alistair announced, "All right then, I've thought it over and we will not be coming quietly, and I hereby give permission for my troops to reciprocate said violence, should you be forced to use it."

The captain took a few steps back and put his hands up in front of him. "Well, that is most unfortunate, um…."

One of the archers behind him piped up, "Hey, he doesn't really look like the king, does he? Perhaps we got the wrong guy?"

"Yeah, I always thought the king had a darker face, smaller shoulders," another said. "Sure don't look like the guy on the gold piece."

The captain turned to look up at Alistair with a look of panic on his face. "Oh, well, Maker be damned, we did make a mistake! How very sorry we are! Now if I could just have that writ back, yes, thank you… come to think of it, there was word the king was in Redcliffe, off we go then…"

The captain took a clumsy set of backwards steps before forcing himself to stand upright and bow. Alistair gave him a wave of his gauntleted hand before the poor man shooed his troops off and down the nearest side road.

All was still and silent, save for the ambient rustling of mail and the horses' hooves sifting through the dirt. Then Alistair threw his head back and laughed a full, deep, armor-clattering cackle that winked stars of joy through Leliana's eyes as he struggled to breathe.

The troops caught on after that, and soon the whole army was shaking with laughter that seemed to lift the pall of loss following them from Highever. Leliana let a smile catch her—any more and she would be fooling herself into thinking he might get better.

Alistair motioned for the army to move on, and the laughter gave way to friendly chatter. Fergus spurred his horse to catch up with the king and crossed their reins. "How about that—her Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir."

Alistair's smile faded fast. "I hope she hasn't squelched counter support too violently…"

"I fear for the Arl of Redcliffe," Fergus replied. "He had been holding out for you, spearheading the resistance both in court and with the populace."

"Eamon is fine, if there ever was a doubt. He is probably tired of being hassled, no more."

"We can hope that she is Queen in title only," Leliana said. "Anything more would imply a coronation. And to be formally crowned queen means—"

The look in Fergus' eyes was enough. After a moment of silence, he looked away, back to the road. "Do not think that we Couslands feel entitled to the throne, your Majesty." There was a sharpness in his tone. "We know a true monarch when we find one. And we shall see you through."

Taliesin was furious—Alistair was returning the capital.

His scout was still breathless from the run. "Highever's army has been spotted crossing the Hafter, the herald said." His hands were covered in blood and dirt from his takedown. "Herald was on his way to Redcliffe to request the arl's help."

"We should have forseen this," his accomplice said, spitting angrily. "Of course he wouldn't return without an army, especially after getting word of Anora-"

"We didn't have the manpower to get the herald to Highever when they sent the news," Taliesin replied. "We have other objectives that take precedence, you know that."

"Why is he returning?" The scout squinted through the beds of sweat on his cheeks. "Is she dead? Queen Jennalin's dead?"

"He has Highever's army at his back, you think her own brother would pledge him an army after his sister 'mysteriously' disappears?" The assassin's hand curled over his knife. "Was she riding among them? Even with the sick?"

"Only woman on a horse in sight was a red-haired lady, Orlesian based on the accent," he replied. "King looked the part as if she were dead."

"Then how does a heartbroken king convince his dead wife's brother to back him for the throne, huh?"

"Perhaps not dead, then" Taliesin chimed in. "Perhaps… other things."

Both of his subordinates stared back blankly. He steepled his fingers. "Perhaps the King found her, but he found her with someone—someone we have a vested interest in. This makes her an adulterous traitor to the crown, forcing her brother to back the King to restore his family's honor. Or another, perhaps he finds her dead, as you seem to think, at someone's hands. A murdered queen—her brother would surely pay tribute to her memory by endorsing her widower's bid to the throne." His eyes narrowed as his train of thought raced against his words. "Both amount to the same thing: she is with our target. But the true question becomes… has he killed her? Or taken her?"

The scales for such things were far from reeling.

In the small hours of the night, Jenna woke.

She woke suddenly but was still, eyes flying open to watch the last embers of the fire turn to smoke in the moonlight. A warm hand was on her arm, outside the blankets.

"Come."

She closed her eyes. "He will hear."

There was a pickup in the wind and the muted sound of words muttered under the breath. "All is silent. Come."

She drew herself to her feet, wrapping the blanket from her pallet around her. She stuffed her feet into her boots, following the eyes suspended in the forest darkness. They were a purple so deep and rich that it could only be—

"Morrigan?"

The hand led her into a clearing, and sure enough, the witch of Wilds came into view. Jenna rushed forward to hug her. Morrigan's arms closed over her back. "Jenna. My friend."

Jenna didn't feel the biting urge to cry, much to her own surprise. Her curiosity seemed muted too. "This isn't the Fade. We're in the Wilds—I thought you had left for the Frostbacks?"

"I had plans to find haven in the old Imperium," she said, "but they would not have taken me without the child."

Jenna's hand fell to her swelling stomach. "It's true, then? As I thought… the ritual…" She drew the Maker's circle on her chest. "The ritual failed us…"

"The ritual worked," Morrigan corrected. "It worked perfectly."

Jenna gave her a look of surprise mixed with disgust. "How?"

"You were already pregnant with his child—I relied too much on the impotence of the taint and it failed me. When you slew the archdemon, the soul passed within you. It is still there, Jenna." Morrigan patted her own flat stomach. "Nothing happened that night on the eve of battle beyond the physical frustrations of your king above me—"she twitched her nose in disgust-"which is for the best, given this situation. I do not want to be saddled with a bastard of Ferelden, brother to an Old God."

"An Old God…" Jenna was breathless. "An archdemon…"

"That is what Old Gods become when the taint corrupts them," Morrigan cautioned.

"But I carry the taint within me, as I have from the moment of my Joining."

"Your compliance keeps it in check."

Jenna thunked down on the forest floor, leaves stirring around her. "I will give flesh to an Old God… what will happen?"

Morrigan joined her, sweeping herself elegantly into a kneel. "That is what I intended to answer—alone, in the Tevinter ruins." She shredded some grass between her knees. "I had hoped to raise a being of the Maker's potency apart from the tyranny of the Chantry. I wanted to see the truth of godhood in flesh, instead of through the stained glass the Chantry veils the world in."

"Is that the true nature of this? An Old God with a human body, the Maker come to ground?"

Morrigan braced herself, closing her eyes. "The Chantry may see this as such. It could be viewed as an enormous holy event."

"The second coming of the Maker, the reincarnation of Andraste—"

"The Chantry will say anything to justify their beliefs," Morrigan said with a scowl. "Don't think they will welcome you as the host of their Maker; in fact, they might execute you as a heretic and apostate, carrying a demon you and I call an 'Old God' in your own body—"

"But what if they are right?" That seemed to quiet the witch. Jenna squeezed her hand. "What if it is still an archdemon? Or what if it is Andraste or an avatar of the Maker?"

"You slew the taint that was the archdemon and released the God, who took the body of your unborn child, so it is not an archdemon." She looked away. "As for the other options, I cannot speak definitively."

"Does it speak to you?" Jenna's eyes were their usually green, the bright olive of her family's crest wreathed in brown lashes, but they brimmed with questions. "In the Fade? How else could you find me?"

"I have lived in these Wilds a long time," she replied, but acknowledged, "though yes, I hear it calling. But I never follow—the voice doesn't echo from the same place as your dreams." Her expression was grim. "It hails from the Black City, and even I know better than to tread on dark sand."

"We have to," Jenna said suddenly. Her tone was short but firm. "That's the only place we will find any answers, Morrigan. Unless you want to join me in my aimlessness. Or leave me again."

"This burden is yours to bear, Jenna, even if I had not done the ritual, this still would have happened—"

"And I still would have sought you out, as I am doing now," she spat back. "I only said goodbye to you because I had to!"

Morrigan was taken aback by her words, and Jenna leaned in closer, clasping their hands. "We have no choice! I can't let the world fall to ruin whilst I purposefully go in circles here, waiting for fate to come to me. Please, Morrigan, take up with me one more time, and let's meet the end at the beginning—and get some answers for all of this!"

Morrigan shook her hands free. "You don't know what you're asking, Jenna—the Black City is not a place you can simply go to—"

"Then we'll find it."

"Mortals in the Black City—even my mother would sigh at that!" Morrigan pulled a foot out to stand up. "Your passion is admirable, my lady, but it simply—"

"Old Gods taught the mages of the Imperium magic, blood magic even," Jenna said. "It was the Old Gods who spurred the magisters to take the Black City, was it not?"

"So the Chantry says," Morrigan responded, frowning.

"Then it knows the way."

"It isn't screaming directions at me in the Fade, Jenna."

"What does it say?"

She shrugged, cheeks pinking. "I don't really know. I haven't stopped to listen."

Jenna uncrossed her arms. "We should find out. Take me in to the Fade."

Morrigan shook her head. "Not now. But at night. When you sleep, I will find you, and we will listen." She stepped back, her legs melting in to the shadows. "You must start towards Amaranthine, I can explain why later—"

"Why are you leaving so quickly?" Jenna followed her for a few steps, but the darkness had claimed her.

"The silence is breaking," but it was just a whisper on the wind.