A Woman Scorned,

Or,

The Paragon's Choice

Warden Aeducan, the Dark Ritual, and the outcome of the final battle. Dragon 9:31

"I'll tell you my decision... soon," said Signy Aeducan.

Morrigan shrugged, smug and confident. "'Tis to be hoped you make the sensible one."

The dwarven princess—well, former princess— dawdled down the corridors of Arl Eamon's Redcliffe estate, considering Morrigan's proposal very, very carefully. If she could persuade Alistair to agree to it, Morrigan said that a child, begotten by a Grey Warden on the eve of battle, could absorb the soul of the Archdemon. Instead of the Archdemon and Grey Warden who struck the final blow dying together, a child would be born with the essence of the Old God Urthemiel, now cleansed of the Taint. The dragon form of the Archdemon would perish, but the Grey Warden who slew it would survive. It was tempting, for all sorts of reasons.

Angry as Morrigan's secrecy made her, she was not as angry with the witch as she was with Alistair, her former lover. Forcing him into an intimate encounter with Morrigan, whom he loathed, seemed a pleasant— if petty— piece of revenge.

She had raised armies for him, she had swept his rivals away and given him a throne, she had permitted him his bloody revenge on Loghain—though she had deplored it, since she could think of all sorts of effective uses for the man— and in return, Alistair had publicly spurned her.

She had been quite unprepared for the affront. Alistair, now acclaimed as King, had burst into the dining room at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate, and in front of her friends and allies, had declared it was all over between them.

"I've got to have heirs," he blurted out at the top of his voice, obliviously tattling Grey Warden secrets. "I've got to have a Queen the Landsmeet can accept! And so… it just wouldn't work out between us…" His voice faded under Signy's gelid stare.

"I see," she finally replied. "Very well then. Remove your belongings from my bedchamber." She then turned back to her conversation with Leliana, dismissing Alistair from consideration for the moment. The rest of the dinner was painfully awkward.

First Gorim, and then Alistair. The men in her life had not exactly behaved well to her. Gorim she could forgive: he had been exiled from Orzammar, as she had, and his wounds had made him unable to survive as a warrior. He had married a merchant's daughter to guarantee himself a living. Understandable.

Alistair's rudeness was neither understandable or forgivable in the least. It was hardly as if she had any intention of marrying a human and producing human children. If he felt it was time to part ways, he could just as easily told her in a courteous and discreet way, allowing her to save face. If he thought she had no pride, he clearly did not know her.

Yes, a marriage between Grey Wardens was unlikely to be fruitful. Yes, the pitiful humans of the Landsmeet were unlikely to accept a dwarven queen. For that matter, the deshyrs of the Assembly would certainly never have accepted Alistair as an appropriate consort had she become Queen of Orzammar. It was not the end of the affair that piqued her: it was Alistair's insupportable discourtesy and lack of respect.

Probably his actions were on the advice of that pompous bore, Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. A useful ally, but one incapable of seeing the Blight in broad terms. He was concerned only with the little kingdom of Ferelden and his power within it. And his wife had been quite arrogant, too— and to an Aeducan!

That brought her back to Morrigan's proposed scheme to save the life of the Grey Warden who slew the Archdemon. While Signy, at the moment, could not care less if Alistair killed himself in glorious battle and deprived the Fereldans of such an unpromising specimen of kingship, there was her own safety to consider. For that matter, there was no guarantee that either she or Alistair would survive the coming struggle. It would be hard-fought and supremely dangerous. Alistair might well be killed long before the final confrontation. Riordan had taken it upon himself to pledge that his hand would be the one to strike down the Archdemon, but there were too many imponderables before that day came.

Why should she die? She was a Grey Warden by happenstance only: because her swine of a brother had manipulated her into a death sentence that miraculously was commuted to exile. A cold smile tugged at her lips. Bhelen had suffered the just fate of the betrayer and kinslayer. He had learned what it was to rouse the wrath of Signy Aeducan. If she survived the Blight, nothing now prevented her return to Orzammar. She could go there freely, as a respected Grey Warden. If she slew the Archdemon—or even if she was a party to its death—they would likely make her a Paragon. Yes, she could go home. Why should she not?

She was no trembling maiden, who would sink down to death, heart-broken, because a man had cast her aside. She would live on and prosper, in spite of them all.

Fereldans. as as a people, had done absolutely nothing for her, and she likewise owed them nothing. This was not her country, and these were not her people. They were parochial and ignorant; they sneered at dwarves and anything unlike themselves. They had largely pretended that everything was perfectly normal for as long as they possibly could, evading military service, convinced that fighting the Blight was not their responsibility. Did they really not see how bad it made them look that the one who led the campaign that could save their lives was a dwarf? No, they probably did not. They were just that willfully blind and self-satisfied. Loghain had accused her of being some sort of Orlesian agent, which was simply laughable to any dwarf of Orzammar. None of the Fereldans, unfortunately, had quite got the joke.

Surfacers—especially humans, the dominant species on the surface—were curious creatures. They deprived themselves of the uses of magic, hiding it away in prisons because of their ridiculous, made-up religion. They despised the elves, not because elves were particularly despicable, but because it was a way to make themselves feel important. No, she had little use for most Fereldans... for most humans, for that matter. Individual humans could be brave, generous, clever, and interesting; humans in general were no better than sheep. She could live perfectly well without humans.

She had seen the surface now, and while travel was indeed very broadening, there was only one place that could ever be home to her.

No doubt if she perished destroying the Archdemon, they would put up a statue to her in Orzammar, but she would not be there to enjoy the applause. Harrowmont, her chosen king, was old and narrow-minded. Orzammar was going to need her in the coming years, for one less Archdemon did not mean the end of the darkspawn threat to the dwarven realm.

What were Blights, anyway, but a breathing space for Orzammar? For a few years, the surface dwellers experienced what the dwarves had endured for long ages. In a Blight, the dwarves were pledged to help the Wardens, but Signy had not read of any surface kingdoms coming to Orzammar's defense! Why had the dwarves signed the treaty at all? It was infuriatingly one-sided. Yes, Grey Wardens trickled in, arriving to commit suicide by darkspawn, but there was no concerted effort to destroy the darkspawn—a plague created by surfacers!—at the root.

The recent battles in Aeducan and Ortan Thaigs and the horde's rise to the surface had left the Deep Roads comparatively clear. This was a great opportunity. Most of the darkspawn that had risen to the surface would not find their way back down below again. The time just after the end of this Blight would be crucial. The regular army and the Legion of the Dead could strike, clearing out the remains of the spawn in many of the closer thaigs; the smiths could erect new barrier doors. A great deal of territory could be reclaimed. Harrowmont had not the vision for the task. Signy Aeducan must live for her people.

Yes, she would remain a Grey Warden, but why could there not be a post of Grey Wardens permanently established in Orzammar? If she survived to tell of it, she would include such a proposal in her report to Weisshaupt. And she would establish it anyway, whatever Weisshaupt said. It was clear from the structure of the Grey Wardens that they valued only the surface lands ruled by humans. Nonetheless, she felt she could convince them of the value of a such base. Plenty of elves and mages would join her there, free of the stupidity and prejudice of the surface lands.

The stupidity and prejudice of her own people gave her pause. Yes, Bhelen had had some good ideas, especially about the casteless and the surface dwarves. Harrowmont would not live forever, and Signy could work slowly for reforms, especially in newly reclaimed thaigs. It was simple-minded to waste the strength of the casteless. She would find a use for them. She would likewise find a way to receive the surface dwarves who wished to return to Orzammar.

As to Morrigan and her crazy scheme to give birth to an Old God reincarnate, Signy shrugged. The dwarves had never worshiped the Old Gods. Those powerful dragons had made themselves important in Orzammar only since the darkspawn first rose. Instinctively, they sought the surface, even as Tainted creatures, being creatures of the surface. There had been four hundred years since the last Blight. There might well be such a long interval again. Signy could not see that the dwarven realm had much to fear from Flemeth—who had never once been underground, from what Signy could gather. Flemeth cared no more for the dwarves than did Morrigan. Nor was there anything to fear from an Old God in the form of a human child, who must be kept as far away as possible from the Deep Roads and the Taint. The scheme seemed far-fetched to begin with; let Morrigan hang herself with her own mad ambition.

That was it, then; that was her plan. Alistair would lie with Morrigan and get a child on her… if he could. The two of them deserved each other. Signy Aeducan's odds of survival would significantly improve. And if she lived, she would go home.


"I can't believe you're asking this of me?" Alistair moaned. "It's... Morrigan!"

Signy did not voice her honest opinion. Honest opinions were best kept to oneself. Honest opinions got one killed. She wondered how she had ever found this weak, whining, spiteful creature attractive.

She said softly, "I can't believe you would refuse me, after all we've been to each other... after how you've hurt me. Do you really want me dead so much?"

"No! Of course not! Riordan said he'd strike the final blow..." His voice trailed off. Even Alistair could hardly miss the fact that nothing was certain. His shoulders slumped. "If you really think this is the right thing..."

"I do. Ferelden needs its king. The Grey Wardens need a leader. I don't think that either of us can be spared. In other Blights, there were many Wardens. Here it's just down to us. Nobody has come to help us... except Riordan. We have to help ourselves, and make the best decisions available. It needs to be done. Kings have to do all sorts of things they'd rather not, but you owe it to your people to survive. If you don't, they get Anora. Is that what you want?"

"Maker, no!" He shuddered. "Well..."

"Come with me. If it must done, it's best to do it quickly."

"Ewwww..."


Less than a month later, the Landsmeet Chamber glittered with festivity. People laughed and talked as if there had been no Blight; as if the Market were not still a charred ruin, as if thousands had not perished. In this place, the stone walls softened with silken banners, the nobles and their priests congratulated themselves on "their" victory. The women threw admiring looks at their young King, who was clad in gold-chased armor. Alistair himself seemed very uneasy as Arl Eamon presented suitable marital prospects to him. Signy laughed to herself. In such garb, Alistair strongly resembled his half-brother Cailan, whom Signy had also thought a very great fool.

The band of comrades who had faced the Blight with her was breaking up. Alistair, of course, was King. Or he was called King, while that wily old fox Arl Eamon quietly pulled the—almost—invisible strings. No doubt Eamon had wanted to be rid of Loghain for years and years, and the Blight had given him his chance. Former Queen Anora was a carefully guarded prisoner in Fort Drakon. Cynically, Signy wondered how long she would last there before "natural causes" carried her off — for it was perfectly natural for anyone poisoned with deathroot or smothered with pillows to die. Eamon, of course, would never tell Alistair, who might prove squeamish. And there was that pleasant, agreeable Bann Teagan, sliding effortlessly into the role of King's companion. Alistair had been mistreated by the Guerrins in childhood, and now would be manipulated by them as King. He seemed utterly oblivious to it. Eamon would definitely have it all his own way. Signy did not envy the young woman the Guerrins would choose to be Queen. Someone malleable, certainly; probably someone very young; someone who would be a childbearer only, sidelined to the nursery, the chapel, and the sewing-room.

Wynne was staying with Alistair as Court Mage, to coddle and comfort him in her motherly way. Signy was not jealous: she remembered her own mother very well, and would not do her memory the insult of replacing her. She had her Aeducan cousins and her little nephew Endrin. She would very much enjoy taking charge of the boy's future. Alistair, on the contrary, had no family. His only blood relation, his laundress half-sister Goldanna, had been killed by the darkspawn, along with all her children.

Morrigan was already gone, Ancestors be praised. She had left shortly after the battle, but apparently she had thought the ritual a success. She had promised never to return to Ferelden, but Signy had made her append to that an oath never to return to Orzammar as well. Signy was glad to be alive, but she had no desire to see the witch ever again. Morrigan had hated being underground for her part, and swore the oath willingly.

Sten was returning to his homeland. Signy approved of that, and of him. Home and home customs were always best.

Zevran, too, was going home: going home to confront the Crows. In a sense, he was going home to confront his family; to show them he had made good elsewhere. Signy did not begrudge him that. Perhaps he would end up ruling them. That was not so different from her own ambitions.

In a sense, Leliana was going home as well: going home to the Chantry, where she seemed to be most comfortable. There was no accounting for tastes. Signy thought that the doctrine the Chantry professed was ridiculous and its ideas imbecilic, but Leliana took comfort in them. Privately, Signy swore that she would not allow the Chantry to take root in the dwarven realm. If the human priests and Templars tried to make something of it, then she would cut off their supply of lyrium, and they could see how they liked it. Signy was not afraid of Templars, and she was most especially not frightened by the image of Templars bumbling about in the darkness and silence of the Deep Roads.

Signy had assured Oghren of an honored place in Orzammar, but he had too many bad memories. He had found himself a surface girl—with Signy's help—and seemed determined to make a new life here. His drinking would probably never stop, but for a while, at least, he had a good reputation among people who knew nothing of his past. Perhaps it was for the best.

To her surprise and pleasure, Gorim made an appearance at the Landsmeet. He had survived the sack of Denerim by the wise tactic of not being here at the time. He was richly dressed, and carrying a letter from Harrowmont. All was forgiven. She was welcome in Orzammar. She had been acclaimed as a Paragon. Harrowmont intended to make her his heir. Everything she ever wanted—and more— was hers to take.

"And are you coming as well?" she asked.

"For a time," Gorim said, looking torn. "I'm told that I'm restored to clan and caste, but I've made a life here. I have a child. I can't simply leave him."

"Take him with you. He'd be warrior caste, and your wife would be accepted as well. Your son should know his heritage. Orzammar cannot spare its sons."

He laughed his rich, warm laugh. "Or its daughters, like you. It's all turned out for the best, after all."

The herald thumped for attention. King Alistair had something to say.

"Friends, we meet here to honor those who fought against the Blight. Above all, we must honor the one who led the charge against the Archdemon. Grey Warden Signy Aeducan, Ferelden thanks you!"

Signy stepped up on the dais, bowing and smiling, diplomatically gracious. She might need these people someday. It did not hurt to be tactful, however much she despised them.

Alistair was still talking, grinning at her as if he was about to give her the finest present in the world. "The Arling of Amaranthine, once Arl Howe's, will be given to the Wardens. There, they can rebuild!"

Signy had not been consulted about such a move, and kept her face blank. Give away part of his realm to the Grey Wardens? Was he mad? No, he was a fool. Signy wanted Grey Wardens in Orzammar, but was not about to hand over a thaig to them. Was this some sort of consolation prize? A bone, thrown to a cast-off mistress? Did that ass Eamon think she should be grateful to be made a vassal of a petty human king?

Evidently so.

"Warden Aeducan," Alistair beamed at her, "what boon can I grant you worthy of your service?"

A number of amusing ideas popped into Signy's head: all equally impossible. She savored the moment, and then simply said, "I ask only that the sacrifices of the Grey Wardens be recognized and remembered."

Alistair was incapable of hiding his thoughts. He was puzzled/pleased/displeased/disappointed/confused in quick succession. The expressions flitted across his face like wind over a grassy meadow. Signy maintained her pleasant countenance, her laughter unheard and unseen.

"But…" Alistair tried again. "What are your plans?"

"I am returning to Orzammar. The dwarves need me."

He was thunderstruck. He gaped for a moment, and then hissed, "The Grey Wardens need you! Ferelden needs you! I'm offering to make you Arlessa of Amaranthine!"

"Well, there is but one of me, and I am not a human noble, but a dwarf. I shall indeed continue my work as a Grey Warden, but in the Deep Roads. I think the First Warden will like my ideas."

He sputtered for some time. Signy smiled and bowed, and joined the rest of the dwarves for a farewell round of drinks.

Home. She was going home.


Note: It is a mystery to me why a dwarven Warden would want to stay in Ferelden. Dwarves aren't Fereldan. They're dwarves, and there's no reason an Aeducan would look upon Ferelden as better than Orzammar. There would be great satisfaction in going home in triumph, and getting everything he/she ever wanted. Why would a dwarven Warden feel it was more important to defend surfacers from the Thaw than the dwarven people? A commoner origin Warden? I think the triumph would be even sweeter. A Brosca Warden would always choose Bhelen, for sister Rica's sake. Bhelen would want his brother-or- sister-in-law back in Orzammar, where he/she could be of immeasurable help in furthering his reforms.

For that matter, it's a mystery to me why the Wardens don't have a post in Orzammar. In Victory at Ostagar, I created a Warden hostel, which makes sense since Wardens must be in and out of there all the time. However, that's not canon at all. It would make sense if Orzammar had a proper base for the Wardens to work from, at least on training missions. However, it's obvious from canon that the Grey Wardens have never really cared much about anything but the surface.

Signy Aeducan, as a long-time Orzammar intriguer, would, I think, have a very cynical opinion of Alistair's abilities and advisors. She would be very alive to Eamon's personal agenda. If Alistair becomes King, we see him in DA2 on that very stupid mission to Kirkwall in which he is insulted and humiliated by Meredith. Teagan is there with him, apparently as companion and, I think, as "minder." Yes, Teagan is "nice," but he did not exactly go out of his way to make Alistair's youth anything but a shameful exercise in child neglect. The Guerrins, in the end, are for the Guerrins. I also have my own views on the meaning of the alternate scene in DA2, in which Teagan comes to retrieve a drunken, exiled Alistair. Maybe there's a story there.

Signy has no intentions of killing Rica, little Endrin's mother. Why would she? Rica will be very useful raising the little boy, but politically she will have no standing at all. Signy will be his legal guardian and his mentor. Then, too, Signy might very well marry a suitable noble and produce children of her own.

As to Goldanna, the Market District is a wreck after the final battle. In the Darkspawn Chronicles, she is explicitly killed off. I think we can take it as canon that Goldanna dies in the Blight. Probably her five children, too. While it is likely that she is not actually Alistair's blood relation, he does not know that. Since she wounded his feelings, he made no effort to get her and the five children that he would have believed to be his nieces and nephews to safety.

There are certain changes to DAA in this timeline. Among other things, the Legion assault on Kal'Hirol is a success. The Orlesian who is sent to Amaranthine as Warden Commander meets up with Signy Aeducan there, and the battle against the Architect and the Mother goes far more smoothly. The city of Amaranthine is never attacked, nor is Vigil's Keep subjected to an siege.

That does not mean that the Orlesian W-C does not have other troubles. The nobles' plot is far more widespread, mainly because there is no perceived danger from the darkspawn. The Orlesian eventually puts down the rebels, but there is a lot of resentment in the Landsmeet, because those people had relatives throughout Ferelden, who were not happy at the executions of Fereldan nobles by an Orlesian. The whole situation did not do much to make Alistair look good. I can't believe that most Fereldans would be fine with their king giving away part of the country, as they would perceive it, to Orlais. Nor did the Amaranthines hwo lived there like it, since the Orlesian W-C had very Orlesian ideas about ruling. Many lords and freeholders changed their allegiance to Highever, and there was considerable emigration there as well. The Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, was not happy about the situation, either. I might write a followup to this story, from Fergus Cousland's POV. What would he think about returning to a Ferelden with an illegitimate Grey Warden on the throne and the Guerrins firmly in the saddle, giving away Highever vassalages to Orlais through the agency of the Grey Wardens?

Giving Amaranthine away strikes me as one of those things that seems like a brilliant idea for about two weeks, until everyone goes home and thinks again. It fits in with a presumed pro-Orlesian policy of Arl Eamon, of course. Perhaps he will even have Alistair marry an Orlesian. That, however, might be the last straw.