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To Ygrain33 for being such a brilliant teacher. My heart goes out to anyone living in the non-existent Czech Revar. Hope ffnet finds the time to look into it! ;D
The thought of King Cailan as an old man was an inspiration, for some odd reason.
^.^
He was a simple man with simple needs. First and foremost he was a family man, with a beautiful wife, enchanting son, and devoted brother.
Born into the Fereldan nobility meant he naturally stood out from the crowd. His dignified bearing alone was testimony to the aristocratic blood coursing through his body. The commoners' commendable admiration for his ancestry did keep him humble, and grateful, for the opportunity to make a difference in their lives. These days Ferelden needed a unifier. He knew he was the best man for the job, and would do what was necessary to see his kingdom united once more.
The first task of returning reins of rule to worthy hands had been completed impeccably, with the assistance of the Cousland girl, of course. Rowan would have been proud of his achievement.
Next on his agenda was the need for a protective barrier in the south.
The disturbing news of the darkspawn invasion from of the Korcari Wilds was just one example of how vulnerable they were to invasion. A barricade was needed to ensure the safety of the southerners. Though many had lost their lives during the Blight, even more had lost their homes and vocations. The survivors would surely be jubilant at the thought of keeping their country safe from future destruction.
Homeless and unemployed survivors would be gathered up to march down to the Korcari Wilds. There they would dig a trench or canal right across southern Ferelden, from the mountains to the ocean. The seawater would flow through to flood the hidden caves, drowning the insidious darkspawn. The idea was simply brilliant. The only glitch in his plan was the probable change in geography. Ferelden may be altered, ever so slightly, by the surging seawater. He would have to consider a name change for his kingdom, just in case - preparation was the most prudent path, after all. Quill in hand, he scribbled.
By the Maker! What genius! Why not name the soon-to-be-altered Ferelden after the river. Ferel Dane! He grinned with delight.
Ferel Dane Canal was added to the agenda.
A pity about the Chasind and Dalish, but he had to ensure the protection of his own people first. The wild folk and nomads would be most welcome to assist in the creation of the Canal, though. Many hands make light work, so it was said.
With that problem decided upon, he scanned his list. Next on the agenda was marriage.
Not his own, of course. He was deliriously happy with his wife. Teagan, on the other hand, had been stubbornly resistant for far too long. As the new Arl of Redcliffe, it was time the man found himself a wife to lift his spirits, inspire his passions, and bring forth light into his rather gloomy life. Perhaps a letter emphasizing the need for an heir would inspire Teagan to begin his search.
Heir was added to the agenda.
Hmmm. There was something else he had planned to take care of. What was it?
Ah, yes. Alistair!
He did regret Isolde's rejection of the lad all those years ago. If given the truth, he knew she would have been ecstatic at the thought of raising Maric's son. Unfortunately, Maric didn't specify the type of care the babe was to receive; only that he was to be sheltered, given the chance to live a life free from royal constraints. The knowledge of Alistair's lineage was to remain a private matter. It was a regrettable lack of clarification on Maric's part, but one that worked out well in the end. By the time Alistair joined the Grey Wardens, he was already accustomed to an austere life.
In hindsight, Alistair should have been schooled rather than left to run around in stables and kennels. The boy lacked political savvy as well as emotional self-control. If he had known how shoddy the level of education was in the Chantry, he would have searched for an alternative residence for the youngster.
Alistair's unflagging loyalty and devotion toward him, akin to an imprinted Mabari, was endearing, but the lad's Mabari-like stubbornness brought to light possible challenges in their future rule together. As well, the moments of uncanny insight that shone from the young man's eyes could be rather unnerving.
Weariness crept over him at the thought of the unenviable task before him. Within the space of a few months Alistair would have to be transformed into the king that Cailan had been. If she would be willing to accept her proper place in the order of things, Anora could be of great assistance in Alistair's training.
Educating Alistair was added to the list.
As all great men find sooner or later in their lifetime, he had detractors. It was easy to ignore the petty minds and jealous spirits of those who felt diminished by his noble persona. Guerrins naturally cast a far-reaching shadow whilst striding upon the path of purpose and duty. The naysayers would have the people believe he was a manipulator - a puppet master, even. He scoffed at them, knowing that much of his ability to sway the crowd was innate; a gift passed down through generations of well bred forefathers. His wife constantly reminded him of his preeminence through her adorable bouts of jealousy.
Critics tried to attack him through unfounded rumours. He'd heard the innuendoes concerning his wife and brother. As preposterous as it sounded, some dared to suggest that Connor was actually his nephew! Hogwash! His son looked nothing like Teagan! The hair was the wrong colour, for example. Even though it had been decades since there'd been any real hue in his own mane, he was positive Connor's colouring was much like his own when he was a youngster. Perhaps he should look through the Guerrin estate for old portraits of himself. Hanging them up around the palace would definitely put an end the gossip about Connor's paternity!
He added the palace portrait placement onto his burgeoning agenda.
As for Connor's parentage, Teagan couldn't possibly be the father, as he had never displayed magical ability. Come to think of it, no-one in the Guerrin family had ever shown signs of being a mage, according to the Redcliffe historical scrolls. The Orlesians, however, were a very magical people. Isolde was an enchanting example of that.
Eamon congratulated himself for being blessed with such a gracious, loving, and noble woman as his wife. That she displayed decorum while walking in the shadow of a Guerrin spoke volumes of her own faultless breeding.
Grimacing at his empty teacup, he began to scribble again. That brew of hers was so delicious; he knew she had much better things to do than constantly be at his beck and call for a refill. To ease her workload, he'd have his servants prepare the tea for him from now on.
Isolde's Tea Recipe was added to the list.
^.^
Oh noes! Remember chapter 10?
Thank you for warming me up on these rather chilly Canadian days: Lehni, Shakespira, Reyavie, Enaid Aderyn, ChampionTheWonderSnail, interesting2125, Abydos Jackson, mutive, Ygrain33 and Kendoka Girl!