The rest of that first week past very quickly, the upside being Aedan had too little time to brood, though every flash of blonde hair gave him pause, the downside being the amount of time he had to spend in the company of Philippe. Aedan found he could not turn around without discovering the Orlesian at his heels. Of course, it seemed Philippe could not turn around without finding Zevran at his own back and he once scowled at the rogue, before asking Aedan testily to assign his 'pet elf' to more interesting duties. Jean appeared shocked at the older warden's lack of tact. Zevran seemed not to take it personally and his observation of the man became more discreet. Only Aedan understood Zevran's deliberate bating of the Philippe, his companion had never lacked subtlety when necessary.
Time was spent equally by Aedan, Philippe and Jean watching the potential recruits sparring and competing in war games devised by Jacob, Aedan's guard captain. When the men and women were not fighting, they eagerly sought the company of all three wardens, peppering them with questions and in some cases relentlessly pursuing the issue of joining the Grey Wardens.
Although he enjoyed the company of Zevran, his guard and to a certain extent the younger Orlesian warden, Aedan felt the absence of Alistair and Leliana. There was plenty to keep his mind engaged but he missed the witty banter that passed the days between the king and himself as they'd debated the finer points of policy and worked to decipher the sometimes archaic language of treaties and trade documents. He knew Alistair was perfectly able to cope without him, the man never forgot a single thing he read and possessed keen deductive reasoning, but he missed the sense of camaraderie they'd shared in working together – first in gathering an army, then in defeating the Blight and most recently in piecing Ferelden back together.
He missed Leliana more ardently. Though his bed was cold at night, he found he missed more than her body against his. He missed her companionship. Leliana lit up a room with her presence, her musical voice able to render the most mundane events interesting. She always had a tale to spin or news to share, her work for Alistair allowing her access to nearly every noteworthy happening in Denerim. Though the bard could find the humour, the tragedy or the romance in every story, she also had an uncanny knack for seeing the heart of a matter, a talent Alistair valued. Aedan worried for her safety, but knew that a swift courier was only a day's ride from Amaranthine. As the days slipped by with no news, he began to rest more easily, though his bed was still cold.
It was on the fourth day that Delilah finally found him alone on the practice field. Philippe and Jean were refereeing another match and Zevran was…wherever Zevran was. There were a few 'teams' of people scattered about the field, practicing drills or sparring amongst themselves as they awaited the opportunity to compete. Aedan was applying himself to his least favourite task, paperwork. It was amazing how much paperwork an army, even one that was not official yet, created. He was poring over lists of names when he heard her approach. He looked up, his ready smile faltering only a little as he saw who stood before him.
He stood, habit causing him to bow slightly toward her, greeting her as "My Lady". Her own tentative smile faded and a shadow passed her eyes as she responded quietly, "Er…not anymore. It's just Delilah now."
Of course, he cursed inwardly, this was not a good start. But try as he might, from that first day onward, he'd not been able to think of a tactful way in which to approach her. Now the matter had been taken from his hands and he found he could only stand dumbly before the girl, the woman, who'd first stolen his heart. Was there any good way to start a conversation with someone whose father he had killed?
He hesitated a moment longer before trying again. "Delilah" he said, and sent thanks to the Maker that his voice didn't crack.
An uncomfortable silence unfolded between the two of them and Aedan suspected that she knew as little how to start as he did. He tried, "I'm sorry…"
At the same time she blurted, "I didn't…"
They both stopped and Aedan put out a hand, "Please, ladies first."
Delilah nodded, her head staying bowed a moment as she studied her feet. When she looked up, her lovely face carried an expression of deep remorse. "Aedan…Commander, I mean…or..."
He was unable to help her as she stumbled on and simply gestured her to continue.
She pressed on, "Aedan, I swear to you I did not know of my father's plans. Thomas did, I think even my mother did, but they knew how I felt about you, I thought we would…" and here she trailed off, her eyes shining with moisture, her smile now gone.
Aedan nodded stiffly as Delilah continued, "When we heard you were alive, father was so furious, he ranted and raved…he was mad, Aedan, like a man possessed! I tried to leave Denerim, to find you. I was caught and confined to my rooms. He imprisoned so many people. The dungeons were filled and not even the stone of the floors and walls could keep the screams at bay."
She shook her head and went on, "and then he locked away the queen, Aedan, the queen! He dared too much. Had I not been confined myself, so many guards…" her hands shook with her fury. She looked up at him, "You were there, that last day, I heard your voice in the main hall when Cauthrien confronted you, when she accused you of…"
Aedan had been changed forever the day he killed Howe. Despite the months of battle, the bandits, blood mages, and darkspawn he had slain, nothing had compared to the cold rage with which he had taken the former arl's life. It had taken all three of his companions – Alistair, Wynne and Zevran to pull him from Howe's prone form, the dead man's axe gripped in his bloody hands. Wynne had looked shocked, Alistair had been very quiet and even the former assassin had looked disturbed. Something inside him had broken, and when Ser Cauthrien had confronted him at the gates he'd simply laid down his weapons, much to the surprise and consternation of Alistair. The two wardens had been imprisoned in Fort Drakon. There he had lain in a stupor of self loathing and remorse for two days before Alistair had finally resorted to knocking sense into him.
Aedan looked up to find Delilah still standing before him. He knew it would never make up for all that had passed between them, but he tried anyway, "Delilah…it's true, I was there that day. I killed your father."
Although her eyes widened, just a little, it was more at his confession than his words, he realized. She already knew the truth and quickly confirmed it, "I know."
She continued, "I'm not here to cause trouble, Aedan, my mother does not know where I am. I came to fight…the darkspawn. I came to fight for Ferelden, to atone for what my father…did." She nearly spat the last word.
He believed her, and as he watched her tremble with her grief and fury he ached to hold her. It would take just two steps. Even in her dusty leathers, her hair pulled back and her face streaked with tears she was still beautiful and he found it hard to focus on her face as it was here, now, without remembering it as it had been the night he'd first fallen for her.
He offered a quiet, "Thank you," and hesitated, before adding, "I am sorry for your loss."
Her brows rose in surprise, and she opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She closed it, and then tried again. "As am I, Aedan, more than you may ever know."
He took a step forward then and she met him with a step of her own and they held one another. She was as tall as he'd remembered, tall enough to put her cheek on his shoulder and he pulled her close, his arms wrapping completely around her slender form as she proceeded to sob into his shirt.
Over her shoulder he saw Philippe walking toward him across the field and he cursed inwardly. He put his hands on Delilah's shoulders and stepped back to put some distance between them, and said quietly. "We will talk more later, alright?"
She wiped her face with her hands, spun on her heel, left in the opposite direction and Aedan turned to greet Philippe.
The older warden's face carried a look of contempt as he said, "Some recruits are taking the training a little harder than others I see."
As Aedan fold his arms across his chest and uttered a resigned sigh, Philippe pressed on, "Will you comforting every recruit in such a manner, or simply the pretty ones?"
Aedan ground his teeth together a moment before choosing to simply ignore the man, asking, "Did you need something Philippe?"
As usual, Philippe wanted to check over Aedan's paperwork, nit-picking Aedan's methods and organization. Aedan resigned himself to another long afternoon of mental battle with the man.
By the end of the week, the pace of each day had become measured and regulated by schedule of sorts. A few recruits had given up on their dreams, being either consistently out-maneuvered in training or cowed by a warden's description of an actual darkspawn. Another handful had sustained injuries, sometimes stupidly, and were sent away to recover or simply weigh their options. The teams had been reshuffled with temporary ranks and began to function as recognizable units in the mock battles and games devised for them.
Aedan had had the opportunity to talk with Delilah a number of times and they had taken up a cautious friendship, one marked by a familiar banter and the occasional furtive look, none of which was lost on Zevran. He approached Aedan one afternoon ostensibly to hear his side of the story, but Aedan could feel the unspoken warning and respected the elf's concerns. He resolved to keep his distance from Delilah, but often found himself watching for that flash of blonde hair when her team took to the field.
The end of the first week also brought a courier from Denerim. This was by prior arrangement, however, and after an overnight rest, the man was dispatched back to the city with a pouch full of letters and reports from Aedan and his men. Aedan retired early that night, a letter from Leliana held reverently in one hand as though it were a treasured artifact. Zevran left him in peace.
--=0=--
Alistair found himself seeking Oghren's company the day after Aedan left. The dwarf was no fool, however, and after entertaining the king for a while would send him off with a gruff, "Go mope somewhere else for a while, I got an army to command."
Alistair was restless after that and wandered the palace surprising staff and the occasional guard as he sought to walk out his mood. His meeting with Eamon had been…interesting. He understood the arl's reasoning – he was only expected to live perhaps another twenty eight years and in order to preserve the Theirin bloodline he required an heir. A legitimate one would be highly preferable. He did not care for the task of merely choosing a suitable candidate, however, it was too…cold. If the rest of his life was to be given to duty he asked of Eamon a simple boon: Give him a year, just one year to find his place, without being hounded to reproduce. After some persuasion, the arl had agreed, but not before commenting that throughout that year Alistair would have plenty of opportunities to mingle with the nobility of Ferelden, and that he should always keep his eyes open.
Alistair had rolled his eyes at that and taken a distinct pleasure in being able to dismiss the older man from his company, a gesture Eamon took in good humour.
As his wanderings finally led him back to his study, he nearly walked into Leliana, who had been leaving a message for him. He invited her in, indicated a chair to her and sat down behind his desk.
He launched straight in to business, "What do you have for me?"
"The Orlesian Commander and the remaining two wardens left for Orlais this morning, as we expected. I have come to talk to you about this man, this Damien Fournier."
Alistair nodded, eager for information about the man, "You said you met him before?"
Leliana continued, "Yes, he has not been a Grey Warden for long, Alistair, and yet he is Commander in Orlais. This disturbs me."
The commander had met with Alistair alone the day before and had pressed him again on the issue of Aedan's miraculous survival. Alistair had taken distinct offense at the man's insinuation that he would betray a fellow warden and reveal a 'secret'. He'd repeated Aedan's tactic, the simple shrug and denial, not caring what the Orlesian thought of his apparent naiveté.
"There is a lot about Damien Fournier that disturbs me…he was a chevalier before?"
Leliana went on, "Yes, talented in battle and from a prominent family much in favour with the Empress, I think it is no mere coincidence that he now controls a veritable army, one that does not necessarily answer to any country."
Alistair was thoughtful a moment before he replied, "I agree, but the Wardens of Orlais were prepared to help us defend against the Blight, if only the word had been sent. Now that the arch demon is slain, however, and Ferelden finds itself with only two Grey Wardens…" he paused here as he considered the various implications, "let us hope Aedan is successful in his recruitment efforts."
A shadow passed Leliana's face at the mention of her beloved warden and Alistair waited patiently for her to continue. She composed herself instantly and briskly reported on other matters he'd had her investigating. The woman was an asset – though she may succeed in fooling strangers and the noble circles he had her moving through that she was merely a talented minstrel and companion to the Chancellor – both he and Aedan appreciated her quick mind and her cunning ear. Alistair never ceased to be amazed at the information she gathered or the truth she was able to distill from rumour and gossip.
They finished their meeting and Alistair returned his attention to the business of being king, which today, included more documents to peruse.