Chapter 13: Something to Prove
As Maric rides along he thinks that it will be nice to visit with a friend who is not Loghain. The years have made him harder and colder until he is a glacier of a man, inaccessible to his friends and even his own daughter. Sometimes Maric wonders how Anora handles being cut off like that, and how she can manage to maintain such a veneer of grace and patience when she visits with his son.
But Maric has concerns about his own child. Cailan has grown quiet of late. Sometimes he disappears, and only offers offhand shrugs and vague responses when Maric asks where he's been. Maric has even had his seneschal go to the Pearl, much to the man's discomfort, and ask after Cailan, but Mistress Sanga insists the prince has not been in attendance. She even showed her well-kept books to prove it. Honestly, Maric wouldn't have been surprised if Cailan was going there; he may have even been a bit relieved, because then at least he'd know what Cailan has been up do.
And it's not so much Cailan's business that bothers him. Whatever his son is doing, he's been so secretive about it that very few people seem to recall seeing him. He's obviously being discreet. It's the effect it's had on Cailan's behavior. Maric recalls the bright, talkative fourteen-year-old, so different from the pensive eighteen-year-old riding beside him up Gherlen's Pass in the Frostback Mountains. Maric watches his son from the corner of his eye. At Cailan's age, Maric was leading a rebellion for the freedom of Ferelden. Cailan has not had that sort of soul-sucking responsibility, and should not be so burdened. Maric sighs quietly, barely audible over the crunch of hooves on crusted snow. Maybe it has to do with Anora.
Maric certainly understood those sorts of problems at Cailan's age.
As they crest the pass and emerge in the open-air market outside the gates of Orzammar, he sees Duncan waiting for them. A grin spreads across his face and in his hurry to dismount and greet his friend, his foot catches in the stirrup and he finds himself face-down in the snow.
Cailan reigns in his horse; Strider prances nervously while Duncan and several dwarves run to the fallen king. But Maric is laughing. He brushes off his breeches and readjusts his chainmail shirt as he clambers to his feet. "No worries, good ser," he tells the breathless dwarves, glancing up to catch Duncan suppressing a grin. "I fall off horses; it's this thing I do." He turns his attention to Ferelden's Warden Commander. "Duncan, it's been too long." The two men clasp hands, and it becomes an embrace.
Duncan appraises Cailan and Maric gives him a questioning look, forgetting that the last time he saw the boy Cailan was probably only six or so, and that was probably only in passing. "If he weren't the crown prince, I'd be tempted to recruit him," Duncan says, giving his old friend a mischievous grin.
Maric can only shake his head at the thought of his son as a Grey Warden. "Cailan, this is Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden," Maric tells his son.
Cailan's blue eyes widen. "Really?" he asks with a glimpse of his childlike curiosity and excitability rekindled. "Have you fought darkspawn?"
Duncan chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that is warm and reminds Maric of the camaraderie he shared when they were so much younger. "How about I tell you later this evening after we've settled down in King Endrin's palace," he says with a smile. "I'll tell you anything you want about the Grey Wardens, Prince Cailan."
"Anything?"
Maric knows that tone of voice and he pins Cailan with a glare that warns him to behave. Cailan just looks back, face blank, blue eyes wide and clear as the winter sky above them. Maric knows that look. And it worries him as they make their way to the Gates of Orzammar.
He's traveled here before but it doesn't make it any easier to cross the threshold and know that he's surrounded by tons of rock. He remembers visiting King Endrin shortly after his coronation. Thinks about good memories. But there are far fewer of those than there are bad. He looks around the Hall of Heroes and sees reminders of spiders; cobwebs; corruption. Katriel and Fiona.
He turns his attention to Cailan's first reaction to Orzammar. Maric is pleased that his son's first experience with the underground lairs of the dwarves is much more pleasant than his own. Being underground disagrees with him, but he pastes on a smile and leads his son into Orzammar proper where they will view the Grand Proving of the dwarves.
"Is this his first Grand Proving?" Duncan asks, smiling at Cailan's wonderment. Maric nods, focusing instead on his son rather than the tons of rock above and around him.
Cailan likes King Endrin. The dwarf is regal, proper, and shrewd, but also kind. It appears the only people at court who have no respect for him are his own sons. Cailan feels the tension between the three of them, throbbing like an abscess about to burst. But King Endrin himself is wise and fair, and Cailan sort of wishes his father brought him to Orzammar before now. "When you're king, Cailan, you'll be expected to make a state visit," his father tells him when they've settled into the sitting room that joins their separate bed chambers. "It's good that you'll already know King Endrin." Maric rubs the back of his neck and grins. "I sort of stumbled through his kingdom before meeting him a long time ago. It's funny now, at least."
Cailan's breath catches in his throat. "In the Deep Roads?" he asks.
Maric watches him. "Yes. Long before you were born. Loghain told you the story about how he, your mother, and I had to use the Roads to get to Gwaren."
Cailan fixes his father's slightly narrowed stare with one of his own. Father and son both know Maric isn't telling the whole truth, but neither will concede. "Right," Cailan drawls at last. "I suppose I do recall that." His face breaks out into a smile. "May I go to the market with Duncan?" he asks, voice bright as sunlight even this far below ground. Maric blinks, taken aback by Cailan's sudden change in mood. But Cailan has learned in the last few years that if he plays clueless and perky, people underestimate him. And when they underestimate him, he can usually get away with anything and still come out smiling in the end.
Merchants hawk their wares in the main market. Cailan tries to take it all in, but there's more to see than he can possibly process. At first he is embarrassed about towering over the dwarves, but for the most part they ignore him. It's nice, feeling normal, even if only for a little while. He sticks close to Duncan as the Warden Commander explains dwarven society to him. "What's down that way?" he asks as they walk through the main market square outside the Diamond Quarter gates.
"Dust Town," Duncan says, his brows knitting together in a hint of a frown. "It's where the casteless dwarves live." He explains the caste system in a low voice so as not to offend passing dwarves.
"It doesn't seem right," Cailan says at last, glancing around the bustling market, and remembering back to the somber splendor of the Diamond Quarter, home to King Endrin and other dwarven nobility. Cailan sighs. "Don't get me wrong, I've studied all of this with Brother Severus, but… to actually see it is harder." He's always preferred applied knowledge over theoretical; the problem with applied knowledge is seeing the reality of it, and being unable to do anything about it.
They head back the way they came, but Cailan passes the Diamond Quarter gates and pauses before a gaping maw of stone and darkness. Duncan is beside him, silent as a ghost, and Cailan jumps when he speaks. "You won't be going down there, not if your father, myself, or anyone else can help it," Duncan murmurs, his voice, his face, everything about him absolutely haunted.
The Deep Roads, Cailan realizes. He gazes into the shadows and knows that's where everything that defines him now truly began.
Later that night… is it night? The three humans sit before a fire. Cailan leans back on the floor, pale hair loose about his shoulders and a look something between caution and mischief in his blue eyes. "What was your first time in the Deep Roads, Duncan?" Cailan asks suddenly.
Silence. Duncan glances at Maric who glances between the Warden Commander and his son. Duncan nods once, barely perceptible and Maric tries to feel relieved. The Grey Wardens are masters of secrecy, after all. He learned that as well as any Warden would.
"It was a long time back when I was new to the Wardens, and not much older than you are now," Duncan says.
"Were there other Wardens with you?"
"Yes. They were all good people," Duncan says, doing a poor job of hiding the emotion in his voice.
Cailan latches on. "Can you tell me about them?"
Maric rises. "I think Duncan's had a long day," he says. "And we have as well. I know you're excited to be here, but perhaps you should think about turning in so you're in top form for tomorrow's Proving."
Cailan raises one eyebrow and Maric is surprised by the defiance he sees in his son's face. "I'm not tired, and I'll be fine tomorrow."
"I don't mind talking with the boy," Duncan says with a smile. "He rather reminds me of you when we first met."
"Cailan, I insist," Maric says, struggling to keep his voice even. He tries to give Duncan a warning glare that Cailan won't catch. Tries to be the fatherly authority figure to his son, who has become a young adult overnight.
Cailan levels a stare at his father, with only the faintest flush in his cheeks to suggest his embarrassment, or anger, or… something else Maric can't put a name to. "Very well," he says, and heads for his bedchamber. As he passes, Maric senses the tension in his son and wonders why Cailan is so agitated. Maybe it's being underground. Maker and Andraste both know how well Maric himself is doing with that. Even as he thinks that, he knows he's wrong, that there's more, and he doesn't know how to approach it.
It's thirteen years ago, all over again.
Cailan watches the armed dwarves beat one another senseless in the arena below and thinks maybe he will institute Provings when he is king. He's beginning to think it will take nothing short of a Proving to get King Maric to admit what Cailan has long suspected about Alistair. He can understand his father being tight-lipped in front of other people; he is the king after all. But his own son? When it entails information about another one of his own sons? Cailan's brother?
He glances down the front row where House Aeducan sits with its honored guests. He knows the three brothers don't trust one another further than they can throw each other. But they are still brothers. Cailan applauds the winner with everyone else, but his heart's not in it, especially not when he sees his father leaning forward, elbows resting on knees, chin resting in hands, looking pensive, as if he doesn't really want to be here.
In fact, his father's been agitated ever since they came down here. Is it the enclosed space, or the tons of rock all around them? Or the memories triggered by being underground?
A break in the fighting: the unconscious loser is dragged off and the winner is resupplied. Cailan leans over to Duncan, seated between himself and his father. "How long have you and my father known one another?" he asks during the lull.
"You were probably too young to remember our first meeting, Highness," Duncan says evasively. He smiles. "Maker's breath, I was so young I barely remember it," he adds with a wink. Maric is noticeably tense.
"Was that the same age you were when you first went into the Deep Roads?" Cailan asks.
"Cailan," Maric says through clenched teeth. "This is hardly the time or place."
"When will be the time or place?" Cailan retorts, surprised by how steady his voice is.
King Endrin glances down and Maric smiles back. Cailan wishes his father were like King Endrin: staid, stoic, knowing just what to say and when to say it. He doesn't even pause to consider that like any royal, Endrin likely has his share of secrets the way Maric has had, the way Cailan does have.
"If not now, when?" Cailan persists. His anger has reached a boiling point and it doesn't matter that he's the Prince of Ferelden, or that his father is the King of Ferelden. It matters that his father has hidden this secret from him his entire life, and it takes traveling into the depths of the earth to get him to consider admitting it.
"What are you trying to prove?" Maric hisses past Duncan, who glances between the Theirin men, looking like he'd rather face down a full horde of darkspawn. Maric's face is red as the lava flows that light the market outside the Proving Grounds.
"I…" Cailan cuts off. It is an excellent question. Is he trying to prove:
A.) He has a younger bastard brother
B.) His father has lied to him for most of his life
C.) He can play this game as well as his father
D.) All of the above
E.) None of the above
He thought he'd have more answers by now. But he's getting closer.