Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for mentions of death and violence.
…
The Alamarri Sword-Oath
"Alistair, we found a few stragglers from Ostagar."
Daveth entered the camp they'd made a day outside of Lothering, supporting a lean, scar-faced woman with a feathered cap while Carver half-dragged, half-supported a bruised, fair-haired man in little more than rags. Alistair set aside the map of the Hinterlands Mara got from the Chantry in Lothering and stood up to help. Cauthrien was overseeing the building of fortifications while Mara organised the camp followers with Leandra Hawke's aid, the older woman automatically mothering his wife.
"Healers! We have survivors from Ostagar!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of Garrett Hawke – a surprisingly muscular shaman-born with messy dark hair and a beard worthy of a dwarf – and Healer Wynne, who was only too happy to leave Fergus' service for theirs. It seemed the Senior Enchanter had a different opinion of Fergus' withdrawal, one that was probably drawn from her vocation as a Spirit Healer, which was a bit like an auger (or so he gathered) who focused entirely on mending the injured and sick.
"Glad… we got you… instead of Fergus fucking Cousland," rasped the woman, coughing out bloody phlegm. "Quartermaster Threnn at yer service, milord."
"No taint on either of them," Wynne announced after looking through them. "Both blessedly lucky."
"Doubt blessing had much t' do with it, ma'am," Threnn observed as Daveth helped her to sit. "If not for a Witch of the Wilds, the King wouldn't have known to retreat after Cousland didn't charge."
"Fergus told me that Cailan charged ahead and he had to fall back or the entire army would have been lost," Alistair said neutrally, kneeling by the woman and offering his own waterskin of elfroot-laced water. "He's gone ahead to Denerim."
"We charged when the beacon was lit, late as it was," moaned the bruised, battered man with Cailan's voice. "I suppose… Fergus decided…"
"Easy, brother mine, drink," Alistair urged his kinsman, giving him some of the water.
Cailan swallowed thirstily, the elfroot water reviving him. One eye had been torn out by something while the other was as bleak as a winter's sky. "Fergus Cousland left Loghain and me to die. Last… I saw… the archdemon was attacking Loghain's force. Maker help me, I couldn't go back, not when a Witch of the Wilds warned me to retreat."
Alistair supposed that Fergus' strategic withdrawal, as lowlanders called such things, would seem betrayal to those left behind. "Listening to the Woman of Many Years is wise," he agreed.
"She was dark of hair and yellow of eye, a beauty in the prime of life…" Cailan said wistfully.
"Morrigan," Daveth identified as he helped Threnn tug off her leather jacket for Wynne to check her out. "Daughter of Flemeth."
"I am in her debt," the King said softly. "Alistair… Fergus left as the beacon went up, perhaps even before. The darkspawn must have taken over the Tower of Ishal, forcing the Wardens to fight through them…"
"That will be a discussion you can have with him at the Landsmeet," Alistair told him grimly. "Fergus intends to reveal your letters to Celene, he said it was treasonous. Mara told him if he was wise, he would pay court to Anora, who surely has grounds for a divorce as you lowlanders reckon such things."
"Cousland justice at its finest," Cailan said bitterly. "Why aren't you going to Redcliffe? Change of plan?"
"I need to warn the southern Avvar Holds of what happened at Ostagar," Alistair told him. "Also, Arl Eamon is sick. With this army and the Holds, I can reclaim a sacred site to us where you lot claim Andraste is buried, and use the Ashes there to heal Eamon."
Cailan groaned as Garrett Hawke healed him. "I do love the dances the nobility performs," the shaman-born noted sardonically.
"Lowlanders," Alistair corrected mildly.
"Eamon won't support Cousland, especially if Anora teams up with him," Cailan said, coughing up muck and spitting it out. "He was the one who suggested I pay court to the Empress for aid against the Blight."
"Married to a Ciriane, isn't he?"
"Ciriane – Orlesian? Yes," Cailan confirmed.
"Not an unbiased opinion then, my brother." Alistair sighed, shaking his head in disgust with lowlander politics. "We should wash our hands of this lot and return to the Holds."
"Anora… deserves the truth. She deserves my support, for what it's worth," Cailan said grimly. "And… I should face the Landsmeet. I suspect Howe moved against the Couslands because I used Bryce's trade mission to Orlais last year as a means of passing messages to Celene without the Uasal Ard knowing."
"We could ride to Denerim, kidnap her and bring her to Ramhold," Alistair suggested, half-seriously. Anora seemed very practical, maybe a little cold like Mara, but all in all a good Thane.
"You'd have to pry the crown from Anora's cold dead fingers," Cailan answered with a rueful grimace.
"Past time your marriage ended, brother." Alistair looked to Mara, who'd worn a troubled expression on her face since they left Fergus in Lothering.
"Perhaps yours too?" Cailan asked softly.
"No!" Alistair's tone was more forceful than it should be. "I think Mara has been bothered by some of what Fergus said. I can't read these lowlanders well but Fergus made a big deal about Theirin heirs while pointing out as the son of an elvhen Warden-Mage and a 'heathen' into the bargain, I have no right to the Throne."
"Poor Lady Cousland loses her betrothed, gets forcibly married to a barbarian – forgive me, my brother, you know what I mean – and then presumably since she isn't carrying Dairren Loren's son, Fergus is telling her to get pregnant in a hurry," Cailan said disgustedly. "Of course, since Fergus seems to be riding the wave of what he calls pragmatism, once Mara's borne you a child you become… well… superfluous."
"She wouldn't allow it," Alistair said softly. He knew that much about Mara.
"Hunting accidents can be made to happen without her knowledge," Cailan observed, just as softly. "I've… dragged you into this whole sorry mess. I should have let you join the Wardens."
Alistair clasped his brother's shoulder. "You are my brother. I will stand at your back." He rose to his feet. "I should speak to Mara."
She was peeling roots again, the willow spear that so many of his force had kept now tipped with a wicked iron point. "Cailan?" she asked quietly.
"Aye." He sat down beside her. "Mara, he told me that Fergus left as the beacon went up, maybe even before."
"That doesn't surprise me. I suppose we'll never know the exact truth of what happened." She continued to peel brown skin away from white moist flesh. "What Fergus says makes sense on the surface, but in him the Cousland sense of justice has been warped by the loss of our family, Cailan's involvement in it, and what happened at Ostagar."
His wife had explained how the last Alamarri auger bound virtues into the Uasal Ard, explaining that so long as he knew which families a person descended from, he could at least guess some of their behaviour accurately. Her bloodlines, she explained, were Cousland and Howe on her father's side – which was why she refused to marry one of the Howe men, though she rather liked Rendon's eldest Nate, because they were too close kin – and Storm Coast and Waking Sea on her mother's side. Justice, cunning, fierceness and tenacity, just like a falcon of the Lady.
"If I had my way, I'd take everyone here and head back to the Holds," Alistair said disgustedly. "The Blight threatens us as much as the lowlanders."
"Unless we found a way to transport the survivors of Highever, I couldn't countenance that," Mara answered quietly. He recalled her outrage at the state that Lothering and its people were in. "I… want this civil war to end quickly so we can face the real enemy, the darkspawn."
"And Cailan admitted he needs to face the Landsmeet and support Anora," Alistair added.
Mara's eyebrows shot up. "That's… more mature of him than I expected. But I imagine Ostagar knocked the childishness out of him. Maker knows massacres have a way of doing that to people." Her tone was bitter.
"He's ashamed of his mistakes, Mara. He deserves to answer for them before the Hold and make restitution, if he can." Alistair's voice turned grim. "Forgive me, but I think your brother would prefer he didn't."
"You're not far bloody wrong," Mara agreed. "Fergus would no doubt be relieved if Loghain died too. Andraste's ashen nether regions, I wish Cailan had at least talked to Mother and Father, maybe even the Privy fucking Council. His idea was a good one in its way, but by doing it alone, he's buggered up Ferelden nicely."
"I think nearly everybody's had a hand in doing that, Milady Mara," Daveth observed, squatting on his heels in the Chasind manner by the fire. "We need to think of Fergus' actions beyond the political shit: he left all the Wardens bar me, Carver and Cauthrien to die."
Mara's face went white as the root she was peeling. "Oh Maker's bloody breath…"
"Yep." Daveth didn't look triumphant in revealing the true foolishness of Fergus' actions, rather regretful in breaking the news to someone he considered 'one of the few nobs worth something'. Alistair would have to ask why, because it confused his wife when he questioned her about it. "If not for Duncan and Bryt's foresight, there'd be no Wardens an' the archdemon woulda taken Ferelden by now."
His wife took a deep shuddering breath, tears gleaming in her eyes. "Do you have the treaties? I recall Duncan mentioning something about them."
"Yep, Bryt told me to hang onto them 'cause I was heading out with you."
"Those treaties predate Ferelden. May I examine them?" She gave a bitter smile and set aside her knife and the root she peeled. "I can read Old Alamarri in its three forms. The treaties would have been written in one of them."
Daveth handed over the bundled papers, their parchment pages shining with an old Tevinter enchantment against rot. Alistair studied the seals – silver-green with a leaf mask for the Dalish Elvhen and the ochre-and-brown of the dwarven Kings were familiar, but the dozen or so others were unfamiliar – as Mara pored through the treaties, their borders inscribed in beautiful Alamarri knotwork that shifted in style.
"These were first written just after the First Blight – the Kings of Orzammar were the first to sign them – and updated until the time of Calenhad the Great," Mara explained as her finger ran over the lines. "Old Alamarri is derived from the dwarven runes, you see? 'Maferath, Teyrn of the Avvar-' Maker's breath, Maferath the Betrayer signed these!"
"Maferath was one of five Teyrns we had," Alistair confirmed as he puzzled his way through the dialect. "Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Aval'ven Tyrddasen, Morrighan'an Tribe-Breaker, Maferath and Balak O Skyhold."
Mara's eyes shone with excitement as she looked up. "I'm holding real fucking history in my hands!" she breathed happily. Then she coughed, looking serious and a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry, but this changes so much of what I know about our history."
Cailan limped over, supported by an angry-looking Cauthrien. "How does it help us now, Lady Cousland?" the King prompted pointedly.
"We can definitely get the dwarves and the Circle of Magi," she announced, pointing to the relevant seals, the Circle one a white torc on a reddish background. "The Dalish one may be problematic, as it was the Princes of the Dales who signed these treaties, and Orlais shattered the Dales in the Exalted March against the elves. It will depend on whether the appropriate Dalish clans of Ferelden will feel themselves bound or not. Both Highever and Redcliffe are also bound to answer the call of the Grey Wardens as they existed when the treaties were last updated, but Ferelden as a nation is not. We will have to hope that self-preservation guides Arls like Wulffe and Bryland, plus the Bannorn, to stand with us."
"If they don't stand with us, they die," Daveth said grimly, accepting the treaties that Mara folded reverently like a relic of the gods and handed back to him. "Mind you, a few less of the Uasal Ard in the world would be a better place."
Mara's face turned grim. "Maker's bloody breath, you won't catch me disagreeing, Daveth. The treaties must take precedence over the Landsmeet. If we tarry, there won't be a Ferelden for Cailan, Fergus, Anora or the king-hound of the Theirin royal mabari pack to rule."
Cu barked in agreement, a sound even his wife understood. Alistair, who had tended the mabari of the Master of the Hunt in the hopes of bonding to one, often found himself translating their conversations for her.
She pointed to the treaties still in Daveth's hand. "We can compel the Sky Watchers, the Ash Warriors and the Hands of Korth to stand with us too."
"'Us', Lady Cousland?" Cauthrien asked pointedly. "My lord Loghain put his trust in your brother and your brother left him to die."
"I know." Mara's face was grave. "I will leave the Landsmeet to decide who was in the right or wrong. Fergus, Teyrn of Highever, allowed our only chance of defeating the darkspawn to be mostly slaughtered at Ostagar. That is a stain upon the Couslands' honour, one I must rectify as best I can."
She gestured to Alistair. "Draw your sword."
He unsheathed the Cousland Sword, wondering why. He knew she wouldn't fall on her blade – surely – but-
Mara took the sword reverently from him, its silverite blade shining in the firelight, and drew both her palms down its edges to leave them reddened with blood. "By blood on the blade, I, Mara An Eleanor O Highever, will aid the Grey Wardens in the gathering of the treaties to the best of my ability, forsaking all other duties to kin and land. May Andraste and the Maker look away from me, casting me into the Void on death, if I break this vow."
"The old Alamarri sword-oath," Cauthrien breathed with reluctant awe. He remembered she was of the Clayne.
Alistair looked to his brother, noting the tight lips and bright eye. "Threnn, may I have my father's sword?" the King finally asked of the quartermaster.
The lean woman brought over the massive runed blade and set it down before the King, who followed Mara's actions. "I, Cailan Ar Rowan O Denerim…"
When it was done, the blades were plunged into the soil, binding the oath to the land. Alistair didn't understand that bit, but then he had been raised amongst the Avvar.
"I will face the Landsmeet eventually but at least, Maker willing, there'll be a Ferelden to judge me for my foolishness," Cailan finally said with a sigh.
"Well, well, the golden King has found some wisdom," crooned a low sweet voice, causing Daveth to rise to his feet.
"Morrigan!"
Pale as the moon with hair as a raven's wing and the yellow eyes of a daughter of Flemeth, Morrigan An Flemeth chuckled huskily as two battered-looking men in Warden armour approached the camp. Alistair recognised them as a stricken Duncan; the other wore mage leathers. "Indeed," she said with a slight smile. "It appears even Mother lies in danger from the Blight, so she took the trouble of saving two Wardens and driving some of the darkspawn away from Ostagar. The forces of the silverite general might yet even have escaped."
Cailan's eye narrowed. "The dragon."
"Indeed, son of Maric." Morrigan's eyes shifted to Alistair and Mara. "The other son of Maric and a daughter of the Couslands. 'Tis a strange fate that brought you all together."
"Fate or chance?" Mara asked calmly.
"I cannot say, not even perhaps Mother." Morrigan smiled slightly again, mysterious as the Woman of Many Years herself. "Alistair was destined for the Grey yet here he stands, a Teyrn proclaimed by your own voice."
"There comes a time when a group must be bound together or break like autumn-dead leaves," Mara answered softly. "My husband has his flaws but of us all, he is best suited to command as a warleader."
"I was not questioning your choice, daughter of the Couslands." Morrigan inclined her head and looked to Alistair with those alien yellow eyes. "How will you command, Lord of the Slaughter?"
"I will command as I've always done," Alistair replied hoarsely, the only sign of his fear in facing a daughter of Flemeth. "Prepare for what I can, learn from my mistakes and pray to the gods it will be enough."
"The gods care little for our prayers, if they exist at all," Morrigan said carelessly.
Duncan and the Warden-Mage, a pale man with longish black hair, finally reached them. "Is it true that Fergus Cousland left the Wardens to die?" the Warden-Commander asked flatly.
"Yes," Cailan answered before Mara could prevaricate on her brother's behalf. "Lady Cousland and I will do what we can in our limited power to aid you in reclaiming those treaties, Duncan."
The dark-skinned Warden strode over and punched Cailan in the stomach. The man bent over, wheezing, as Duncan spat at his feet. "If you hadn't played bloody political games, you fool of a boy, my fucking wife might still be alive!"
"Or not," Morrigan noted coolly. "The taint was well advanced in her, Warden-Commander; her time was nigh."
Duncan turned ashen as Alistair helped his brother up. "She never said a word-"
"You reckon Bryt woulda told you she was dying?" Daveth asked flatly. "C'mon, Duncan, you know she wouldn't."
"We were to go on our Calling together," the man said, tears sliding down his lined face.
"Brytta An Korth knew that you would be needed in the days to come," Alistair said humbly. "Duncan, I know how to defend against the darkspawn, but I know little of killing them. You know how to kill them, but little of planning how to do so. We need you. Please, help us."
The look that Duncan bestowed upon Alistair was of a man who yearned for the Lady's birds but couldn't yet seek them. "I know my duty," he grated.
"Then don't waste your time in blaming my brother or my wife," Alistair responded tersely. "I will sing Brytta's name to her Ancestors if you wish it."
Mara finished bandaging her hands. "So, I assume that we will go to the Holds and collect the treaties there, then to… Ladyhold? Then Orzammar and back down to Redcliffe via the Circle of Magi?"
"The heretics call it Haven, but aye, Ladyhold," Alistair agreed. "It will be a long cold trip but you will see the land which forged me."
Mara's smile was wan. Since her moon's blood had come and gone, she had acted oddly around him. He would need to ask if she feared him in bed or if she was troubled by the idea of bearing a child during a Blight, both understandable concerns.
Alistair turned around to the gawking warriors and followers. "See to the fortifications and sleep well. We march early tomorrow."
This was a duty he could follow with a clear heart and glad he was to have his brother and wife beside him. It would be good to return to the Frostbacks too away from the wrangles and tangles of Alamarri politics.
He just hoped that Stone Bear Hold, first stop after the Fereldan village of Honnleath, didn't consider his force an invasion and reacted accordingly. Svarah Sun-Hair was canny and dangerous, and Alistair would do no one good sitting in Storvacker's belly…