Whew! I want all of you to be proud of me, as I have resisted DA2 to bring you this :P. Sorry if there's typos I missed. Enjoy!
I also feel like I should've titled this story Heed The Call: The Tale of the Deus Ex Machina, lol.
King tried to raise its voice above the others, but Husband and Lover drowned it out with their bellowing. Stupid! shouted King. Reckless! Pointless! But the other voices weren't nearly as articulate. They spoke no words. They simply threw back their heads and roared.
Alistair's fingers clenched involuntarily as his insides throbbed. He couldn't think over Husband and Lover. He knew this would solve nothing, but he'd lost the fight with logic the moment he'd seen her on the battlements. Now, all he had was a base, male urge to protect his wife. To see her back to safety. He was failing her.
He glanced at the sun. Almost time.
Gilmore glared down at her for a moment before sweeping her a mocking bow.
Lorelai's shock seemed to have pushed the presence in her mind even further away, and no wonder. So many questions, all of equal importance…and all equally absurd under the circumstances. All except one.
"You," she whispered, "you engineered this whole thing." Fury, confusion, and betrayal of the darkest kind drew around her like a storm cloud. "Why?"
His expression contorted, twisting and pulling the scars grotesquely. He bent forward, covering his face with his hands. "My lady, we could only hold the gates for so long." His voice was muffled against his palms. "When Howe's men came, they…they…" Choking, he backed up until he stumbled over the trailing edge of his cloak and spilled to the floor.
She stared at his shaking, sobbing body. Pity, horror, and sorrow all flitted near the surface of her consciousness. Everyone had their breaking point…and Howe's men had found Roland Gilmore's. She could afford to feel none of those emotions right now, however. The Gilmore she'd known had indeed died that terrible night. The man before her, who'd had her kidnapped, was not him.
The sobs quieted and his head jerked up suddenly. "The pretty Queen left us," he hissed, anger seething from his eyes.
She flinched at the look on his face and the return of that voice. "You told me to go," she answered reflexively, refusing to allow guilt to surface. She'd made her peace years ago with Rendon Howe's blood running over her hands.
"You left us!" he repeated, and spit flew from his lips at the force of his words. "Left your household to die! Ran off to be a pretty whore to a bastard King!"
The animal in her mind surged forward, stealing her breath even as her body wanted to surge forward, too. Wanted to claw his scarred face until it bled. "How dare you," she said in a strangled hiss.
"So many dead. They tried to force me to rape the maids, but I wouldn't. So they raped them in front of me. Mother Mallol…she…they-" He snarled abruptly, which died off to a plaintive whine. His body began to rock back and forth in eerie rhythm with his words. "They branded my face. I tried not to, but it hurt so much. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed." The more he spoke, the more hysterical he became.
"Gilmore, why did you do this?" she demanded, fighting to push the animal in her brain away, fighting not to lose the tenuous hold she had. Whatever this creature was, it was responding to the situation…badly. Lorelai feared what would happen if it broke the hold she had on her body, if it could use her as an instrument.
He ignored her, and the rocking got wilder. "Somehow, I lived after everyone else was dead." He stared into space at something only he could see. "I don't…remember much. An awful journey, being locked in a ship's hold." He sucked in a breath in surprise, as if he were shocking himself with the information. "Sold into slavery."
"Gilmore," Lorelai called firmly. Andraste help her, if she was to die in this room, she'd die knowing the why of this.
"I was a good slave, well-behaved. Assassins killed my master, and I was free." Those vacant eyes turned to her finally, and they slowly filled with a wild anger. "I had heard rumors, stories, of the Hero of Ferelden. How she was a highborn ranger, how she married Maric's second son." His head tilted freakishly. "How she was a daughter of Highever," he hissed. "How the pretty Queen had escaped the slaughter of her family and rose to greatness…without a thought for those left behind."
He rolled to his hands and knees, and started crawling toward her. Lorelai scooted backwards quickly, skinning her knees against the stone floor as she scrambled.
"And I thought, surely, the lady Cousland I knew would not have done such a thing. The lady Cousland I knew could not have let this happen. Could not have dared to find happiness after all we had suffered!" he screamed, lunging for her ankle.
Lorelai yanked herself out of his reach just in time; a short scream slipping passed her lips. She tried to put as much as space between them as possible, but she dared not stand up lest it made him get to his feet, too. She'd never beat him on foot. He'd always won the courtyard races with the castle's children…
"I told you to come with me!" she shouted desperately, even though she knew he was beyond reason. But she couldn't help it. The words were pouring out. "You chose to stay behind! I'm one person, Gilmore! Don't you lay this at my feet!"
Alistair would be proud of her. That she was admitting that, in fact, she could not have saved anyone that night. That, in fact, without Duncan, she probably wouldn't have survived, either. She would not allow this broken man to convince her otherwise.
"You could have stayed!" he shot back, advancing as she retreated. He lunged again, and this time she had nowhere to go as she slammed into the wall when she tried to avoid him.
The vice grip on her ankle was terrifying, and she almost lost herself to the blazing white light of the animal again. Fighting to keep her vision, she twisted her body away from him, palms splayed against the wall. The fear of losing sight of him was far worse than the fear of looking at him, however, so didn't turn her face away.
The only thing she could think to do was to try to reach whatever was left of the Gilmore she'd known. There was something there; he'd called her "my lady". It was the only advantage she could hope to exploit. Lorelai gasped out, "What now, Ser Gilmore? Do you need to kill me to soothe your pain? Will my death banish all the horrors you've endured?"
He let go of her like her skin burned him, and pushed himself away from her with such sudden, violent strength that he almost fell over backwards. He stared at her for a moment, as if he'd just noticed her. "I don't know."
Nathaniel gritted his teeth as the King stormed back into the camp. He looked even more furious than before, his normally-friendly eyes filled with an anger so great it seemed to change their color. Jacob slunk dutifully by his side, but the mabari cowered like he been beaten. That was, of course, impossible. Nathaniel couldn't shake the visual, though.
Maker preserve them, what were they going to do? They'd come up with nothing. Any suggestion even remotely resembling a plan had been shot down by Zevran and Leliana again and again, all while they shared a guarded look with each other. Nothing anyone else brought up was safe enough. Or so they claimed. At this point, Nathaniel was positive they were hiding something.
Sigrun tensed next to him, and he took her hand firmly. Concentrating on her served two purposes: the obvious of offering her comfort, and the bonus side-effect of distracting him from his own worries. Why hadn't anyone told him being head over heels had these kinds of fringe benefits before? Sneaky bastards.
And thirdly, and Maker how he hated to even think it, the King wasn't looking too…stable at the moment. Deservedly so, but the archer was still being presented with a large, battle-hardened, normally-sword-and-shield-carrying, very angry man in close proximity to his lover. If he had hold of Sigrun's hand, he could yank her out of the way if necessary.
As that thought crossed his mind, Nathaniel knew he could not blame the King for his rash actions. He knew that what was between the King and the Commander was ten times what he felt for Sigrun, despite the intensity all new relationships have. He could not imagine how the man must be feeling. He squeezed his lady's hand, more in reassurance to himself that she was here and safe, than to comfort her.
"Well," the King demanded, stopping a few feet away from the group.
"Alistair," Leliana pleaded. "You must understand. It is not that simple-"
"Right," he interrupted her, turning away. He made straight for the pile of his armor, and started putting the pieces back on.
Aideen got to her feet, but Zevran grabbed her arm, keeping her near him. It made Nathaniel feel just a little bit better, knowing the assassin didn't want one of his lovers anywhere near the King, either.
Anders, however, was in no position to protect Leliana, at all. The bard rose to her feet, and shrugged off the mage's attempt to keep her back. She crossed the camp to the furious King.
Grab quicker next time, my friend, Nathaniel thought to himself at the stricken look on Anders' face.
"Do not do this," Leliana was begging. "You are killing yourself! You may be killing her!" She reached out and took a piece of armor from him, as if the lack of a glove or boot would stop the man.
That stopped him for a second, but it was only to gently remove the armor (which happened to be a glove) from her small hands and continue with his task. The Orlesian swung around, tears filling her voice as she speared Zevran with her eyes, "Zev-" she choked.
The elf stiffened immediately, and shook his head.
"Zev, I don't know what else to do!" she exclaimed desperately.
"You gave your word," he growled. "I did not know it was such a casual thing to be broken!"
She groaned and twisted her hands as Nathaniel blinked in alarm. The archer had never heard the former Crow speak to the bard that way. Granted, he'd only seen them together for a short period of time, but he'd spent a great deal of time with Zevran. The assassin had always spoken of Leliana with nothing but respect and bawdy, friendly affection. Anders seemed equally shocked by the harsh words, torn between outrage and surprise.
"Alistair, you can't do this!" she began again.
Zevran must have seen something in her face, because he got to his feet and pointed at her with venom, speaking Antivan rapidly. Leliana wailed back in Orlesian, to which the elf replied with more vehement Antivan.
If their tones were any indication, something was very wrong.
"You're both speaking too fast for me, so if you've magically come up with a plan, I'd like to hear it," the King barked, "but if it's more arguing, count me out."
"Alistair, stop!" Leliana shouted, grabbing his hands. "You can't do this! You're going to be-"
"Leliana!" Zevran snarled.
"-a father!" she finished.
The assassin cursed luridly, his face filled with rage. "You gave her your word," he spat.
Nathaniel wasn't playing much attention to him, though. He was too busy staring at the King while his own mind exploded into little, tiny pieces. A father? Meaning the Commander was pregnant? In there…with those cowardly, vile, Maker-forsaken pigs?
He suddenly felt like throwing up. No, they couldn't have. They couldn't have touched her… But they had to. For Wardens to have children, two Wardens, the chances were next to impossible. It was horrifyingly more likely that one of those mercenaries had-
It seemed the King had reached the same conclusion he had. His face had paled at Leliana's pronouncement, to the point where Nathaniel doubted there was any blood left in his head. But now the color came rushing back in a torrent, turning his face scarlet. "No," he whispered, snatching his hands from Leliana's grip in horror. "No."
"It's yours, dear one!" she added quickly, recognizing the look on his face for what it was. "Lorelai swears on Andraste's pyre. She said it was the night before she left Denerim. She would not lie about something like this!"
He paled again, much faster this time, and he swayed on his feet like grasses in the wind. Leliana grabbed him, but she clearly wasn't going to be enough to grant him a soft landing if he lost his feet. She'd probably be going down with him.
It was that thought that got Nathaniel to his feet and by his monarch's side. Just in time, too. The King's knees buckled and the archer was suddenly bearing most of the larger man's weight. Between himself and Leliana, they got him to the ground gently.
She gripped his hands tightly. "Alistair, you have never doubted her a moment in your life, do not start now."
He raised his eyes to stare at the redhead. "Mine?" he whispered.
Leliana smiled at him, and her tears finally spilled out of her eyes. "Yours."
The King turned to look at Nathaniel, like he needed someone else to confirm what he'd just heard, someone to nod and agree. Swallowing hard, the archer did nod, though the expression on the other man's face made any words he'd had die on his tongue. Wonder and fear; there were no words in the face of those.
Nathaniel heard a soft gasp, followed by Oghren's rough cackle from behind him, before he heard an echoing, gravel-filled voice say, "I suppose congratulations are in order."
The three of them turned, and it was the archer's turn to feel faint. Isabela had entered the camp with…with… He'd seen them before in the Deep Roads, but it did not diminish the effect. Especially with the scattering of sparkling gemstones driven into its rocky skin.
"Shale, my sweet stone seductress, are those new stones you have?" Zevran asked, his fury at his partner seemingly forgotten in the face of an opportunity to flirt. "They are gorgeous, second only to you, of course, in beauty."
The golem glared. "Ah, the painted elf still lives. Unfortunate." It paused then. "But yes, they are new," it added, preening ever so slightly. If something with stone features could preen. It turned back to the King, and Nathaniel tensed slightly to be even near its focus. "Elder mage tells me that when mortal women have other small mortals growing inside them that I am to offer congratulations to the mortals involved. Elder mage claims this is the 'polite' thing to do, though I do not see how it should deserve any recognition, since it appears that it is the female that does all the work." It scowled. "Congratulations."
The King burst into mildly hysterical laughter and sagged against Nathaniel. Oghren rubbed his hands together. "Now we got us a plan!"
"And the drunken dwarf still lives, as well. Pity," Shale commented.
"You don't know?" Lorelai echoed, curling her legs as tight to her body as possible. "You've orchestrated this elaborate fiasco, and you don't know?" she shouted. This time, she allowed the animal to tighten its grip, and her ears rang with the intensity.
Gilmore had the audacity to look embarrassed. He whined in that plaintive, almost-Gilmore voice, "I thought if…if…"
"Grady," she interrupted sharply. "What about Grady? Why did you need him? Why is he here?"
"I spent years locating the mercenaries," he answered, his eyes losing focus again. "Years tracking them down, but after all that work, they wouldn't listen to the likes of me." His gaze sharpened on her abruptly. "Look at me! I can't sway men, not like this."
"Not without fistfuls of gold, you mean," Lorelai snarled. "That's how you got them to agree to assassinate my husband and me, isn't it?"
"No!" he said frantically, cringing from her. "I told them that…to turn them against Grady, to instigate the fighting. I knew your bastard King," he hissed the last two words, "would come for you. I needed the mercenaries ready to fight, not ready to let you go peacefully like Grady wanted."
"Fight to kill him!" she half-shouted, and the presence that shared her mind bellowed in agreement.
"No, fight so they would die!" he shouted back. His features tightened and twisted, and the pitiful voice vanished into the strange, husky one. "I spent years finding as many as I could, and if I couldn't find them I found those close to them. Someone's blood would be spilled!"
"Gilmore, what are you talking about?" she demanded.
"They're Howe's men!" he screamed at her. "As many as I could gather, they are here! Grady's men were his, he would trust no one else with him to get you, but the mercenaries are Howe's men."
Lorelai could only stare at him; even fear was crushed under this revelation. "How? After his death, they must have scattered."
"I found them," he insisted firmly.
"So, you found Howe's men, and put them forward in this treason, to get them killed?"
"Yes," he whispered, and his eyes glinted with a sickly light.
"And Grady?" she tried again. "Why is Grady here?"
"I heard of Grady, and his distaste for you, through gossip. I used him to recruit Howe's men, since no one would listen to a face like this. I pretended to agree with his pious desire to give Anora back the throne. He thought me a silent partner, but once we got here," he let out a high-pitched giggle, "I turned the tables on him. Doled out the coin, made Howe's men look to me for orders. Killed his men, leaving only the mercenaries who thought the plan was to kill the King and Queen. Lambs going to the slaughter."
She blinked in naked shock for a few seconds, and the animal retreated a bit. Of course. These kind of emotions, this kind of logic, was completely beyond it. Lorelai knew how it felt; this mess seemed completely beyond her, as well.
"And me," she finally said. "What do you intend to do with me?"
His body crunched forward, hunching until his face was hidden. "The pretty Queen should pay," he hissed. "Pay for her happiness. Pay for the fact that she survived while other suffered!"
The animal rushed forward in such blinding power that Lorelai felt her heart shudder in her chest. Everything became so clear in seconds, all confusion wiped away. It wasn't one animal, but many. A herd with a collective subconscious, an underlying link to each member. There were some smaller fires that burned with masculine flames, but most of the fires blazed with femininity, brazen and strong. A matriarchal society.
One of the fires had surged to the forefront, bringing all the clarity with it. Undeniably the matriarch. Gently, but firmly, she ran through Lorelai's memories, examining her life in a blur of images, lifting information as easily as if the ranger were a book to be read. The sifting became more urgent as all the pieces of the puzzle became clear.
[Sister. Not like the others. You can hear us.]
The Warden almost wept with relief. With the matriarch controlling the connection, the presence became solid and reassuring, a welcoming voice in her pit of lonely despair.
She sensed lashing fury, and a seething thirst for death, for punishment. [Your kind cage you. We shall crush them.]
No, no, no. She couldn't allow them to dictate the terms; there would be pandemonium. Frantically, she threw up memory after memory of Alistair, letting the emotions embedded in those memories flow down the vibrant connection to the matriarch.
Puzzlement was the response. [Your for-all-time mate? Odd. We do not keep mates for-all-time. Understood. He is here, he shall not be harmed.]
Her presence receded like a gathering tide, and the white light faded slightly to give Lorelai a horrifying vision: Gilmore was gripping her ankle again, and dragging himself closer with every second. She hadn't even felt it, the power of the matriarch was so consuming.
With a terrified gasp, she kicked out violently, trying to dislodge him. He grinned tightly and his hold intensified. "I thought, perhaps," he grunted, "you'd be pleased with my initiative. That you'd be happy that you had a part in punishing every…last…one of them."
Apparently he hadn't noticed her lapse. She didn't know whether that was reassuring or not. "Pleased?" she retorted. "Pleased with my own kidnapping? Don't hold your breath!"
"The pretty Queen should be thankful she has lived this long!" he hissed as his face contorted, the scars twisted grotesquely.
Panic seized her heart and she couldn't control it. She swung her other foot in a desperate arc, connecting solidly with his temple. Not enough to knock him out, but it surprised him, and he surrendered her ankle. Lorelai leapt to her feet, but at the last second he snatched at her. He didn't get a hold, but he tripped her, and she sprawled on her back.
Flat on her back. Plastering the flimsy, ragged dress across the front of her body. Displaying her bulging belly for the world to see. She froze, breath hitching in her throat.
Gilmore's eyes widened as color seethed into his face like a sickness. "The whore ran off to be Queen," he growled, "and now, right in front of me, carries the bastard's seed? The bitch would create life, after all the life that was lost to save her pathetic, worthless hide!"
He shoved himself to his feet, scrambling at his waist for the dagger that had been hidden in the voluminous folds of his cloak. "I'll cut the bastard's spawn out!" he screamed, drawing the dagger and raising it above his head.
Terror flooded her veins. She screamed out loud, and in her mind, she screamed, as well. Screamed down that blazing cord of fire, screamed to the animal that had called her sister. Screamed to the matriarch.
[Now! Now! Now!]