A/N: Once again, this chapter was getting too long, so I had to postpone some of it for the next update. OTOH, this hopefully means that the next chapter should be finished more quickly.
Chapter 11
The first thing Aedan saw when he opened his eyes was a dim, flickering light. A pale, blurry shape hovered above him, then gradually swam into focus: a woman's face, divinely beautiful, her golden hair framing her face like a halo. "If you're Andraste," he said weakly, "the prayer-books didn't do you justice."
A low chuckle. "Ever the charmer, aren't you, my lord Aedan? I am a mere mortal, I fear. You'll have to wait a little longer to meet your Maker."
The voice was distinctly familiar. Aedan squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the slow, heavy drumbeat thudding in his head, weaving his way through a jumble of confused memories. "Anora?" he said at last.
"Ah, so you do remember." She laid a cool hand on his brow. "I'm glad to see your wits – such as they are – are still intact."
Aedan didn't have the energy to summon up a witty retort. "I take it we won the battle?" he mumbled.
"You did indeed. The archdemon is slain, and the darkspawn have fled – for the most part."
Something was nagging at Aedan, something important. "The others? Alistair, Leliana…"
"Are all safe and well. Though your fellow Warden Riordan did not survive, I'm afraid."
"I saw," he said simply, and half-closed his eyes again.
"But the day belongs to you, there's no doubt about that." Anora was smiling now. They are calling you the Hero of Ferelden."
"Maker preserve us." The light dimmed, and Aedan felt himself slipping back into his dark place of warmth and safety. He could have fought it, but his head throbbed so painfully, his mind was fogged, and all he wanted to do was sleep.
When he woke for the second time, he was lying in bed in a richly-furnished room – the Palace, perhaps? – with daylight streaming in through the window. His mind had cleared a good deal, and his senses largely returned. This wasn't necessarily an improvement; his throat felt dry as sandpaper, his bladder uncomfortably full, and there was a gnawing pain in his stomach which he dimly recognised as hunger.
Something cold and wet nuzzled his hand, and his fingers brushed against soft fur. He smiled and stretched out his hand to stroke Alfric's head, glad to see that his faithful hound was still with him. The dog whined softly and rubbed his head against Aedan's fingers, as if trying to reassure himself that his master was still alive and whole.
Anora, unaccountably, was still here, standing by the window with a book in her hand. Had she stayed at his side all this time, or left and returned to him? "My queen," he croaked, and she instantly set down the book on the sill and turned to him.
"My lord," she said, with surprising gentleness. "How are you feeling? Is there anything you need?"
Aedan attempted to sit up, regretting it instantly as a jolt of pain lanced through his thigh. He winced and settled back down, trying to determine which of his body's needs was the most urgent. "A drink?" he said at last, forcing the words through his parched throat.
Immediately she left the room, returning a few seconds later with a goblet of cool, fresh water. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter to Aedan; he gulped it down in several greedy swallows, dribbling a few drops onto the coverlet. Anora simply wiped the drips from his mouth and chin with a corner of the bedspread, before replacing the cup on a sideboard. He found himself wondering if she had ever nursed Cailan when he was sick or injured.
"I do have some news which I didn't like to mention earlier." She settled down beside him once more, her expression grave. "Your friend Morrigan has disappeared. She survived the battle, but later in the day she was seen slipping away from the camp, and she hasn't returned. No one knows where she is now."
"She… told me she was leaving." Aedan didn't feel inclined to elaborate. His thoughts about Morrigan, and the ritual she'd performed, were still too complex for him to articulate. He would have to tell Anora eventually, but it could wait.
"Then it's not a shock to you? I'm glad." She laid a hand over his for a moment, and stood up. "I will fetch Wynne and have some food sent up. You need to work up your strength for the coronation; it will take place the week after next."
"So soon?"
She nodded. "I think it best not to delay, don't you? Besides, there is a special guest whom I'm anxious to introduce to you."
"A special guest? Who is it?"
"It's a surprise."
"Oh." Aedan couldn't dredge up more than a mild interest in the mystery guest. The Empress Celene, perhaps? Surely she wouldn't have hared over from Val Royeaux to a city half destroyed by darkspawn. Well, it was all the same to him at present.
"I'll leave you now." For a second, the queen seemed to hesitate; then she leaned over him, stooped slightly and lightly pressed her lips against his.
Aedan instinctively reached up his hand to cup the back of her head, holding her in place. Her lips felt cool and dry against his; there was no passion in the kiss, but then he'd not expected any. Before too long his body would demand more – a lot more – as would their duties as husband and wife. But for the present, here at the very beginning of their marriage and their life together, it was enough.
… …
Late autumn sunlight filtered through the high windows of the palace throne room, casting pools of light onto the velvet rug newly laid in the centre. The palace had survived the darkspawn attack surprisingly unscathed; they'd grazed the exterior, and burned some of the exposed roof timbers, but they'd barely touched the interior in their headlong rush towards Fort Drakon. It was this that allowed Anora to hold her coronation here, only weeks after the archdemon's defeat; though much of Denerim's population was still living in tents, the people had still thronged the burned-out streets to welcome their new Queen and their Grey Warden heroes.
The hall was packed with people, cheering, clapping, stamping their feet as Aedan and his companions made their way towards the dais. His leg wasn't fully healed, and each step cost him a wincing stab of pain, yet he stood tall and proud, refusing to let even a trace of discomfort cross his face. His silverite armour gleamed in the pale sunlight, but at his back – scratched, battered and scarred – was the Cousland shield, emblem of his family and their ancient lineage. He would not have swapped it for the finest and costliest piece in Master Wade's armoury.
Queen Anora stood on the dais in front of her throne, draped in robes of state, heavy with silken purple and cloth of gold. The delicate golden circlet on her brow had been placed there only minutes earlier by the Grand Cleric, yet it rested there as if she'd worn it all her life. Aedan and the others bowed low to her as they approached the dais, and turned to acknowledge the cheers of the watching crowd.
It was then that he saw – or thought he saw – a phantom at the back of the crowd. A face, half-hidden behind a sea of others, looking directly into his and beaming with joy and pride. A familiar, well-loved face; one that couldn't possibly be there. Aedan's confident smile faltered slightly, and he blinked hard; when he opened his eyes again, the face was gone.
"My friends," Anora was saying, "we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation. The one who led the charge against the archdemon and killed it remains with us still, an inspiration to all he saved that day."
At her sweeping gesture, Aedan mounted the steps to stand beside her. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "may I formally present my betrothed, who shall soon be your king."
This time the roar from the watching crowd was loud enough to lift the ceiling from its rafters. The applause went on for so long that Anora finally had to hold a hand up to subdue it.
"Grey Warden, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favour." Her smile was restrained, but genuine. "As a reward, and as an engagement present, I offer you a boon of your choice. Is there anything you might request of Ferelden's queen?"
"Not for myself, your Majesty, but I believe Alistair may have a request." He turned to a surprised-looking Alistair, beckoning him up to join him on the dais. Seeing his friend's bemused expression, he leaned towards him and mouthed the word 'sister' as forcefully as possible.
"Oh! Right, yes." Alistair mounted the stairs and bowed awkwardly to Anora. "Your Majesty, I have a…"
"Sister," Aedan supplied for him, as his voice trailed off.
"Yes, a half-sister. Goldanna." Alistair cleared his throat. "Er, I found her living in the marketplace in Denerim. She's very poor and has a lot of children to support. I was hoping you could, perhaps…?" He gestured uncertainly.
Taking pity on him, Anora nodded graciously. "I see. Well, we must find Goldanna – assuming, of course, that she survived the darkspawn attack – and see what can be done for her." Alistair bowed again, and gratefully subsided. "But you, my lord Aedan – is there nothing you would ask for yourself?"
They'd been through this well before the coronation, of course. "Only to serve the Crown, your Majesty," he replied, a hint of a smile on his face, and he caught an answering twinkle in Anora's eyes.
"I suspect you'll have plenty of opportunity to do that as my consort, in whatever capacity you desire." She turned to face the crowd, raising her voice. "Let it also be known that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them."
More cheers greeted this announcement, but Anora hadn't finished. "Highever itself," she continued, "is restored to your family… namely your brother Fergus, who was found safe and sound near the Korcari Wilds."
Aedan blinked. For a moment he honestly wondered if he'd misheard, or was imagining things as he had been earlier. But Anora's gaze hadn't wavered; she was smiling up at him, clearly expecting him to respond, and he felt the heat rise up in his face.
Maker, how could she do this to him? Was it some kind of twisted revenge for the death of her father? He made an effort to speak, and found himself utterly unable to do so. To his horror, he felt the hot prickle of tears at the back of his eyes, and swallowed sharply in an attempt to hold them back.
"My lord?" The queen was looking slightly concerned now. "Don't you wish to speak to your brother? He is here, just behind you."
Slowly, as if in a dream, Aedan swung round to look into the crowd. Directly below him at the foot of the steps stood Fergus, thinner and more deeply tanned than when Aedan had last seen him, but otherwise exactly the same. He passed a hand across his eyes, his vision suddenly blurred with tears, and when he looked again he realised his brother was still there.
"Fergus?" His voice emerged as a strangled gasp. "Fergus…!" And before the astonished and delighted gaze of almost every nobleman and woman in Ferelden, Aedan plunged down the steps - ignoring the tearing pain in his thigh - and flung his arms around his long-lost brother.
… …
"But what happened to you, Fergus?" It had been several minutes before Aedan was even able to ask questions; now he found that he couldn't stop. "And where in Andraste's name have you been all this time? I tried for weeks on end to find some sign that you were still alive. Everywhere we went within fifty miles of Ostagar, I asked after you…"
Fergus grimaced. "Well, that's a good question. 'Somewhere in the Wilds' is really the best answer I can give you. As for what happened… well, I never made it to the battle at Ostagar. We were still scouting in the Wilds when we were attacked by a party of darkspawn, and I took a nasty blow to the head and passed out. I think I only escaped because the darkspawn thought I was already dead."
"And then?"
"Most of my men were killed." Fergus' expression grew more sombre. "I woke up two weeks later in a Chasind hut, wounded and feverish. They asked me about myself – my name, where I came from – but I hardly even remembered who I was, let alone what I'd been doing beforehand. They must have realised I was wealthy because of my sword and armour, and they probably hoped to get a fat ransom from my family."
Now it was Aedan's expression that darkened. "They held you prisoner?"
"Well…" His brother hesitated. "I wouldn't exactly describe myself as a prisoner, but I doubt they'd have been very happy if I'd tried to leave. Not that I wanted to, with bands of roving darkspawn wandering the marshes. And I was ill, Aedan, really ill. Those first few weeks I couldn't take more than a few steps without vomiting, and for months afterwards I had trouble concentrating – dizzy spells, moments where I'd suddenly blank out and forget what I was doing. Even now, I'm not always entirely…" He broke off, touching his fingers to the jagged scar that sloped across his left temple. Aedan gave his arm a supportive squeeze, and he smiled rather wanly.
"Anyway, I eventually recovered enough that I could join in their hunting parties and help to ward off the darkspawn. They treated me well enough, I must admit – they had very little, but they shared it freely." Fergus shook his head. "I tried to get word to Highever. You… can imagine what happened, I suppose."
They shared a brief, wordless glance. "He paid," Aedan said at last, very softly. "I made sure of that."
"I know. Howe has lost everything… that bastard." Fergus drew a shaky breath. "I just wish I'd been there to help you kill him. When I think about Oren... it barely seems like it's enough." He closed his eyes briefly, and once again, Aedan gripped his arm in silent sympathy.
"Anyway… the Chasind eventually realised that they weren't likely to make any coin out of me, and they offered to take me to the nearest village. But every time we tried to reach civilisation, we were beaten back by the darkspawn. Then, finally, the news filtered through about Highever." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I… can't even describe how I felt. At that point I was so frantic that I'd have braved an entire army of darkspawn in order to leave that place."
"So you managed to escape, I take it?"
He nodded. "As soon as I managed to find myself a horse, I rode straight for Redcliffe. I was hoping to ask Arl Eamon for his support, but the only person I found there was Teagan – you were already marching to Denerim." His mouth twisted into a faint grin. "When I heard that my little brother was not only a Grey Warden, but also leading Ferelden into battle? I was surprised, to put it mildly."
"And when you found out I was marrying the Queen?"
Fergus laughed. "All I can think is what Mother would have said about that."
"She would have approved, I hope." Aedan's gaze rested on his wife with quiet pride. "She always liked Anora."
"Yes, she did." Fergus glanced over at Anora, then back at his brother. "And Father... he would have been so proud of you. I know I am. You've done good, little brother."
Once again, Aedan felt his eyes grow hot and the back of his throat begin to ache. "I think you mean 'Your Royal Highness,'" he said jerkily, in a rather lame attempt to lighten the mood, and Fergus chuckled.
"I need to go back to Highever," he said, after a moment. "See if I can clean up the mess Howe made of it. I will see you soon, I hope?"
"Are you serious? I'm coming with you, Fergus. Do you think I'm going to laze around in Denerim while Howe's lackeys still hold Highever?"
His brother frowned. "Are you certain? Of course I'd be happy to have you with me, but…" He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I thought it might be… difficult for you."
"It will," Aedan said shortly, "but I have to do it." Fergus shot him a brief, sidelong glance, and then nodded in quiet understanding.
"All right, if you're sure. But it may be a long siege, if Howe's men choose to hold out against us. We'll have to return to Denerim for the wedding, and if we can't smoke them out before winter sets in…"
"I can't imagine they'll hold out long," Aedan said wryly, "now that the money's stopped flowing."
"You may have a point there," Fergus acknowledged. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'm going to forage for some food. I haven't had a decent meal in months."
"Wait." Aedan's fingers were slowly unbuckling the Cousland blade from his sword belt; he handed it to Fergus, and then began to unstrap the shield from his back. Feeling oddly reluctant, he ran his hand one last time over the faded laurel emblem before holding it out to Fergus. "These are yours."
"No, brother, keep them. You've earned them, and I haven't." Fergus' expression grew slightly sour. "I've done little enough for Ferelden or for our family, hiding out in a swamp for months on end."
"They're yours. You're the heir, Fergus, you always were. And I don't doubt that you'll do a better job of it than I would."
For a moment Fergus looked as if he was going to say more, but at last he took the shield from his brother and laid it quietly aside. He hugged Aedan tightly, his eyes suspiciously moist, and headed off abruptly towards the back of the hall.
Aedan was left to wander off in search of his companions. Arl Eamon was conspicuous by his absence; he'd been present during the coronation but had left immediately afterwards, saying he had to get back to Redcliffe. It was undoubtedly a snub; Aedan only wondered whether it was aimed at Anora, or at him. Though they'd left Redcliffe on bad terms, he couldn't help feeling slightly hurt; after all he'd done for the Guerrin family, he'd have thought that Eamon might forgive some harsh words.
Alistair was still on the dais, looking handsome but uncomfortable in a very Cailan-like suit of golden armour. Eamon had commissioned it for him; if it was intended to make him look like a rival to Anora, it hadn't worked. He grinned in relief when he saw Aedan and waved him over.
"So we made it," he said, looking faintly bewildered. "I'm impressed, aren't you? The odds were completely against one of us actually getting to the archdemon… but of course you would make it. I knew you would." A slight frown creased his brow. "I just don't understand how you're still alive. I guess Riordan was wrong?"
For a moment Aedan considered telling him the whole truth, but then he thought better of it. "No, he wasn't wrong. I found… a loophole."
"Oh?" Alistair's eyes widened. "Anything you'd care to share?"
"Not really, no. Let's just say that it involved Morrigan and a magic ritual."
"Oh." Alistair snorted. "I suppose that makes sense. I'm just wondering what I'm going to tell the Grey Wardens when they arrive from Orlais. They've already been sending questions."
"I suggest you do what you always do: deflect all their questions with bad jokes." His friend grinned, acknowledging a hit.
After taking his leave of Alistair, Aedan made a brief round of the halls to exchange pleasantries – and in some cases, farewells – with his other companions. Sten was returning to Par Vollen, while Wynne had been offered a place at court by Anora, and Zevran too seemed keen to stay in Denerim. Oghren, rather to Aedan's astonishment, planned to enlist in the army – Fergus' army, to be exact. "I'm getting used to that big sky up there," he said, with a wave of his hand. "And I'm thinking I might just look up Felsi again... see where that goes?"
Only Morrigan's absence cast a shadow over the celebrations; Aedan found he was missing her more than he expected, and not just for the obvious reasons. He was musing on the differences – and similarities – between her and Anora, when Leliana approached him with a glass of wine in her hand.
"The queen is very beautiful, isn't she?" she said softly, glancing towards Anora. "You make a lovely couple. You are so dark, and she so fair."
Aedan laughed. "Would you like to design the outfits for the wedding?"
"Oh, no! You must hire the most expensive tailors for that – perhaps from Val Royeaux." She smiled dreamily, no doubt lost in fantasies of outrageously fashionable shoes and hats, and then her gaze refocused on Aedan. "Do you love, her, though?"
He considered for a moment. "Not yet," he said at last, "but I think I could learn to, after we're married."
"I am not surprised." Her tone grew more serious. "Did you know that you have hardly taken your eyes off her since she first came to Eamon's estate? No wonder Morrigan left so quickly after the battle."
Aedan glanced at her sharply. "Are you saying she was jealous?"
"Well, of course she was jealous! I thought it was rather cruel of you, but then she is cruel too, so I could not feel very sorry for her."
"Well, I don't think she had much cause to be. We'd already ended our own… affair, and it's not as if she was – " He paused, seeing her expression. "Are you saying," he said carefully, "that you think she was in love with me?"
Leliana was staring at him as if he were speaking a different language. "You mean you didn't know? But… she gave you a ring!"
"Well, yes, but she said – " He broke off, suddenly remembering Morrigan's words to him the night before the battle. "Maker's breath. I really am a complete fool, aren't I?"
She shook her head indulgently. "Not a fool, just a man. Anyway, I like Anora better, so I am glad you chose her over Morrigan."
I never really had a choice, Aedan thought, but Leliana had already turned the subject back to his upcoming wedding. He let her chatter away, listening with half an ear, and agreeing that roses were the best choice for flowers and that Anora should under no circumstances wear pink. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking that beneath her dreamy, frivolous exterior she could be surprisingly perceptive. He suspected it had served her well during her short-lived career as a bard.
Eventually he managed to extricate himself and moved over to join Anora, who was standing alone by the fireside. She gave him a rather strained smile, and he wondered what was troubling her; perhaps it was simply the bad memories this room must hold for her after the Landsmeet.
"Allow me to offer you my personal congratulations, Warden," she said, with formal politeness. "I must admit that while I did not share my father's pessimism regarding the Grey Wardens, I had my doubts that such a small number of you could be victorious. Yet here you are."
"Here we are," he agreed. "Luck, do you think? Or fate?"
"The Maker smiles upon you, or so they are saying. Luck and destiny are two branches off the same tree." She shook her head. "At any rate, I understand the preparations are underway for our wedding. It will only be a matter of weeks. Are you nervous?"
"Not especially. Are you?"
"A little, I must confess." Her voice grew lower. "You are rather intimidating, after all."
"Oh?" Aedan moved closer to her, brushing his fingers against her cheek. He slid his hand beneath her chin, tilting it up towards his own, and his voice sank to a low murmur. "Is that good, or bad?"
"That depends," she said quietly, "on who is being intimidated."
They stood there in silence, their eyes locked together; the sudden charge in the air was almost palpable. Aedan slowly bent his head until his lips were almost touching hers, but at the last moment she turned her head away slightly. "You'll draw attention to us."
"And? We are betrothed, Anora."
"Not now, Aedan. Please."
He shrugged, mildly disappointed, but unperturbed. "Then I suppose it's something to look forward to once I become king."
"Prince-consort, actually." The strain was back in her voice. "Though the title is perhaps a technicality."
"Is that so? You said 'king' earlier." Seeing her expression, he sighed. " 'King' or 'prince' is just a word in the end, Anora. As long as I'm permitted to be something more than a decorative object, I'll happily take either."
She looked skeptical, but didn't dispute the point. "Well, that is easily arranged. I was already planning to make you my Chancellor, and as Warden-Commander you will technically be the arl of Amaranthine. You will have power enough, my lord."
Aedan began to speak, and then suddenly stopped. Up to that moment, it hadn't occurred to him that his title of Teyrn – the main reason they'd agreed to marry – must now go to Fergus. He glanced involuntarily towards the back of the hall, his eyes seeking out his brother. Anora must have known this for weeks, he realised, yet she'd never said a word…
"Does it bother you at all?" he asked eventually. "That you're marrying a landless younger son, instead of the teyrn of Highever?"
"Not at all," she said evenly. "Fergus is a good man, and will make a good steward for Highever… but you are a great one." A short silence followed. "If you truly wish it... I could grant you my father's teyrnir of Gwaren."
There was a marked reluctance in her tone. Aedan didn't wonder at it; allowing the Cousland family to control both teyrnirs would give them far too much power, at least from her perspective. "Warden-Commander, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Gwaren? It's a generous offer, your Majesty, but I'm afraid I'll have to refuse it. I'm hardly a man of Howe's unique… talents."
"Indeed not. And thank the Maker for that." Her lips twitched. "Well, we can speak on this later. There is a group of eager Ferelden citizens waiting outside to get a look at their hero; I suggest you make at least a brief appearance before they storm the gate."
"Later, then," he said softly, and kissed her hand. "My Queen."
The cheering outside the palace walls was growing louder and more insistent. Anora was right; it was time for him to make an appearance. Straightening his shoulders, Aedan descended from the dais and walked the length of the hallway to the entrance. The doors were flung open, and the cheers swelled to a deafening roar as the Hero of Ferelden, flanked by Royal Guards in their uniforms of polished silverite, stepped out into the sunlight.
