1 Kingsway, Dragon 9:30
Lady Cousland,
I bet you're surprised to get a letter from me, and, to be honest, I haven't decided if I'm even going to send it on. We're still in Lothering, about three days away from Ostagar. We've stayed an extra day to allow a new warden to Join. Then, he's going to help his mother get settled at the Denerim warden compound before coming down south to Ostagar. She bakes the most delicious pies! I'm almost more excited about her "recruitment" than her son's. I'm joking.
I'm currently traveling with Duncan and a bunch of new wardens: two mages from the Circle, Neria and Daylen, and a mage from the Dalish, Theron. I'm trying to keep my Templar twitchiness from showing, but it's difficult. The stable master who mostly raised me was very devout and, of course, you know about my long time in the Chantry in Denerim. I love being a warden, but it is an entirely new mindset. Whatever it takes to defeat the Blight. Right now, it's taking a great deal of untwitching on my part. Laugh. I am. There, I see that smile.
So, am I writing you to give you a report about what I've been up to? To be honest, I'm not certain. Like I said, I may never actually send it to you. The wardens have set up a nifty messenger service. We'll see how long my courage holds out. Yes, you can smile at that, too.
I still haven't gotten around to a reason yet, have I. Maker, this is difficult. You see, when I met you on Summerday, well, you sort of took my breath away. So many noblewomen act like husband-catchers. That came out wrong. It seems all they look for is the husband with the best credentials to elevate them in some sort of spouse's political rank. The dinner before the Landsmeet was the most horrible time I've ever spent in my life. Women I didn't know were constantly maneuvering to get my attention. Like I said, horrifying. Maker forgive me. I was actually relieved when Arl Urien was discovered dead and the dinner was concluded.
Anyway, you are quite different, my lady. Your strength of mind and purpose drew me to pay attention to every word you would say. After we left Thomas at Soldier's Peak and headed on to Denerim, I pestered Duncan to tell me why Thomas had volunteered. I'm glad I didn't know while I was there. Thomas wouldn't have survived to take his Joining. Not that I don't think you could handle the matter on your own.
Okay, here's what I'm trying to get to … I would very much like to get to know you better, Arlaine. Perhaps whenever I can get leave from the wardens, maybe during a warden run to Soldier's Peak, maybe not until after the Blight, I would like to travel to Highever and visit. If you don't mind. If you'd prefer that I stay away, just send word and I'll not bother you further … although my disappointment would take me a while to get over.
And, there you have it. I hope all is going well for you, my lady, and that your days are bright and sunny and filled with endeavors suited to your desires.
Your humble admirer,
Alistair
Neria had just started her watch with Theron, who was currently flying around the perimeter in his handy bird form. Theron was teaching Neria and Daylen the theories behind the shapeshifting abilities, but it would be a bit longer before they could try it themselves.
She saw Alistair read and re-read a couple sheets of parchment. Then, he crumpled them and threw them at the fire before walking to his tent. She snatched them up … Alistair threw them at the fire and missed entirely. Thank the Maker he didn't need to throw crumpled parchments at the darkspawn. Guiltily, she smoothed them out. It was a letter! Oh, she read it. She didn't feel that guilty. It was a lovely letter! All that education in the Chantry hadn't gone to waste, it seemed. Alistair was able to write almost eloquently all those things that his mouth would thoroughly muck up.
The ex-Templar, now Warden Prince, had become somewhat of an older brother figure for her and Daylen. She was delighted that he was interested in someone but had no idea who this Lady Cousland was. She recalled that the Teryn of Highever was someone named Bryce Cousland. Maybe this Arlaine was his daughter? Surely, it wasn't his wife! No, Alistair would never do that.
Neria added a postscript:
Lady Cousland, I'm Neria. Alistair tried to throw this letter into the fire, but I saved it from the flames. Actually, he missed the fire entirely. I think he unconsciously wanted someone to save it and send it on. So, I am. Without telling him that I did. Yes, I read it first. He's a nice man. I don't know you, but if he likes you, then so do I. I just thought you needed to know the circumstances. He's going to kill me when he finds out!
The next day, Neria excused herself to do one last errand in Lothering before they left for Ostagar. She secured Alistair's crumpled letter and sealed it, addressed to Lady Arlaine Cousland of Highever. Then, she put it into a pouch marked for Highever at the messenger's camp. Conveniently, the courier was leaving that moment, so she watched the letter ride off and hoped it would reach Alistair's lady quickly.
Faren watched Sereda and Wills walk up to the Orzammar gate guard. Faren, Orich, Parsons and the warden healer were to wait at the bottom of the wide stone steps, but it was still near enough to hear the conversation. The Orzammar Market was busy today. Colorful. Cheery. Faren was afraid they'd gone to the wrong Orzammar. Tradesmen and merchants were easily going in and out of the Big Door that opened on the elevator that took visitors down to the city proper of Orzammar. He couldn't believe they were waiting in a sodding line to gain access to Orzammar! Sereda said that Orzammar had never been this accessible to surfacers. She was becoming more and more concerned as the minutes went by.
The only other member of their expedition to Kal'Hirol was Anders. Wills decided to leave him back at the Peak, said he didn't expect them to need a magical healer for this visit. Faren's loud guffaw earned him a glare from their Warden-Captain. So, they took Gared Almand, a guy from a town along the north coast who was down on his luck. He was what Anders called a "hedge" wizard. He knew enough healing magic to boost his bandages and poultices beyond what a normal healer could do. The dwarves would task Anders anyway with their resistance to magic, so Gared might actually be better. Anders had been working with him and said he was brilliant. He was a quiet guy, almost died during his Joining. Faren didn't know too much else about him. He wasn't an ass. That was good enough for Faren.
Finally, they reached the front of the line. "Wardens, state your business." The guard was smiling at Sereda when he said that.
Wills nodded to her and she glared back at him. Then, she stepped up. "We seek a meeting with the king of Orzammar." Faren always appreciated that she could get right to the point.
He nodded to another guard who slipped inside. "King Bhelen will see you as soon as he can, Warden." Faren's grin almost split his face. Unless bad things had happened, his sister might give birth to a Prince in a couple months! "I've sent word ahead. Take your time making your way through the Hall of Heroes and I'm sure the king's man will meet you at the Commons entrance."
Faren watched Wills' face as the gigantic doors of Orzammar clicked and whirred and boomed open. The messenger had gone through a small side door, but the visitors were to be given the entire treatment. Wills' jaw dropped. Literally.
"Amazing." The dropped jaw turned into a broad grin.
"First time here?" The guard laughed at Wills.
Sereda stepped back and looked sad. Faren stepped up to her while the doors were opening and the guard was giving Wills the usual speech about the superiority of the dwarves. "Hey, don't mean Trian is dead, Lieutenant."
She looked at Faren. She wasn't happy. "I can't imagine any other way Bhelen would be on the throne of Orzammar."
Faren shrugged. "Well, you need to imagine harder then. Maybe Trian's heading the Carta now."
That made her laugh a little. "Thanks, Faren. Keep that humor coming. I'm afraid we're all going to need it."
Once the door was fully open, the group stepped into the large elevator that quietly and very slowly started to descend to the level of Orzammar. The circular stairways on either side — where the messenger went to alert Bhelen that his warden sister had returned — were actually faster to go up and down, but not nearly as impressive. Everyone was quiet. Wills, Orich and Gared were still nug-choked with awe. Sereda was worried about what was left of her family. Parsons was mouthing words to himself, probably practicing his speech to the Shaperate. And, Faren was afraid if he started talking, he'd say something stupid.
When the elevator doors finally slid open, they stepped out into the Hall of Heroes. Even Faren had to admit it was impressive, but it was different from when they left. There were visitors from the surface, nobles, warriors … even brands! Faren knew he was in the wrong Orzammar now. Oh, the rows of statues to honor the Paragons of the dwarves were still there. Each statue was different, expertly carved to depict the dwarf and the reason he or she became a Paragon. This was the pride and joy of the Artisan caste. Unless they were stupid, they should be happier than a pampered nug on a noble's leash that so many could now see their fine work. They had maintained all this over the centuries, but the statue to Paragon Branka was obviously the newest. And, had the largest crowd around it.
As they walked down the row, they overheard. "The Ancestors themselves guided Branka back here when we needed her," one dwarf said. "Hah, it was her husband who dragged her back here," another argued. "Well, if she hadn't ended the fight over the throne, those Aeducans would have destroyed Orzammar," said a third. The first dwarf answered, "Bhelen sponsored Oghren to find her. Only fair she pick him."
Sereda spun to stare at Faren, the slightest glimmering of hope on her face. He just grinned back and shrugged.
"Faren!" A very pregnant Rica was waddling as fast as she could toward him with a platoon of royal guards following and surrounding her.
He felt moisture in his eyes as he gently squeezed her. "You look about to … you know."
She laughed and patted her middle. "A couple more months, they say." She leaned in close to both Faren and Sereda. "Bhelen is a great father-to-be and husband."
Faren and Sereda gave each other a quick stare and said at the same time, "Husband?!"
Rica beamed. "So much has changed in the time you've both been gone. Bhelen's been good for Orzammar. Not everyone agrees, but the ones who don't like the changes are moving to Aeducan Thaig." She put her hand on Sereda's arm. "Trian is still settling in Aeducan Thaig, but I think he's happy there. Quite a few of the noble families went with him." One of the guards cleared his throat. "But, we can talk more later."
Faren asked about Leske and it brought down the good mood. Rica said not to mention Leske's name in front of Bhelen. Seemed he went and joined up with Jarvia to run the Carta. Heh. Some things hadn't changed. Leske never thought with his brain, only his privates. The Stone-forsaken bastard used Beraht's blackmail journal to get in good with the woman who once said that she'd kill him quick since he was such a good guy.
They all had lunch with Bhelen and Rica. The Harrowmonts went with Trian, so Bhelen gifted Harrowmont's old house to the wardens for a compound. Bhelen was honored to host a Grey Warden compound in Orzammar and Wills was beside himself for being right. More than right. Because the Wardens had approached Bhelen to set up a compound in Orzammar — something no other warden had ever done — he pledged an army along with some weapons experts and a list of surfacer contacts to go to Ostagar … apparently, the Shaperate had a copy of the treaty between the wardens and the dwarves. Naturally.
Of course, Bhelen was having an agreement written up to be signed by the First Warden stating that the wardens would stay in Orzammar even after the Blight. Faren wondered how that was going to go down, seeing as the First Warden was a dwarf from Kal-Sharok. He was curious how that "wardens know no borders" thing would apply to Orzammar's rather vocal enemy to the north.
Bhelen also seemed tickled that Sereda was coming back. From what Faren could tell, Bhelen was even sincere, not just spewing nug-shit in front of the Warden-Captain. Time would tell on that one. Bhelen didn't want to talk much about Trian. Faren was pretty sure there was something going on there. He'd have to keep his ears open. Maybe try to find Leske when he could sneak away.
Nobody mentioned ol' Gorim. Faren was dying to, but managed to keep his mouth shut during lunch. Afterwards, Parsons went to the Shaperate, telling us not to wait up for him. Gared wanted to look through the new compound and start to set up an infirmary. He was an odd one, all right. Sereda was all business with Wills and the two of them stayed at the compound to start to organize and plan. Bhelen even gave them a budget to use with any fixing that needed to be done.
Orich and Faren dumped their stuff in a room and headed to Tapster's. Faren never got tired of watching surfacers spew their first taste of lichen ale. The place was packed. Stone's balls, Bhelen was a genius. Places in the Commons like Tapster's were probably making more coin than the nobles. Faren could just imagine what Aeducan Thaig was like. Boring.
"I'd heard you came back." And, there was ol' Gorim. Still looked like a warrior.
"Yep, the wardens are gonna take up residence here now." He leaned closer to Gorim. "After I heard about Trian and the tight-assed nobles settin' up in the Aeducan Thaig, I figured you'd go there with 'em." Gorim's red face told Faren he should stop, but hey, it'd been a while since he'd started a fight in Tapster's. "She did, too."
He should have seen the fist coming. A dwarf-made massive armored glove to the side of the head hurt … or it would have if Faren would have been conscious to feel it. Too bad he missed the brawl that followed.
When Eamon crested the hill and saw the devastation, the disaster of the Landsmeet paled quickly in comparison.
"Your Grace, only one lookout is still alive. The rest are all dead … more than dead … skeletal corpses, as if the flesh had been flayed from their bones. Tomas reports that the dead rise at night and attack. There are a few boarded up in the Chantry, but the rest of the village is decimated." Ser Perth had ridden ahead with several of his knights to assess the reason for the destruction. "Bandits would not be so bold. Could the darkspawn have attacked Redcliff?"
The darkspawn were as easy a reason as any, but why would they single out Redcliff? And why the skinned corpses and walking dead. So much for the power of the wardens to save Ferelden if they couldn't even protect Ferelden's strongest citadel. Indeed, Eamon wondered if the wardens had anything to do with the destruction. They knew Eamon disagreed with them. Anora had tied his hands at the Landsmeet with that promise of a hearing on Alistair's abduction from the Chantry. Alistair, no doubt, told Duncan of his letter to the First Warden. Was this warden retribution? Fear gripped Eamon's heart as he recalled the report about Rendon Howe's death at the hands of the darkspawn. He motioned to his fastest squire. "Ride hard toward Lothering and tell Teagan to hurry."
The boy nodded once and was off. Eamon turned in his saddle. Along with himself and seven of his knights, he traveled with three squires, about twenty soldiers and five staff. Hardly enough if he needed to retake the castle.
"Stay here with the soldiers, Your Grace, while I take the knights ahead …" Ser Perth was about to do his duty and insist that his liege stay behind.
"No." To forestall any arguments, Eamon added. "Not negotiable, Ser Perth. If my family …" He couldn't even finish the sentence. "We're not separating." He raised his voice. "Everyone stay together. I know a secret way into the castle. Perhaps surprise can aid our small numbers."
Slowly, the group rode toward the windmill. It was still standing but the outer door was hanging from its hinges and the blades were scorched from a fire that had blackened the entire area. Eamon always liked this overlook the best. The castle was strong and imposing. He turned to the four youngest boys. "Lads, take the horses beyond the farthest lookout. Ser Donall, go with him." They nodded to Eamon as he handed off his horse and went inside. Fortunately, the entrance to the tunnel was still hidden under several heavy crates. As he slipped off his signet ring and pushed it into the indentation, Eamon was relieved to find that it still worked. "Everyone down the ladder. I'll go last and secure it behind us."
Eamon was alarmed at the ankle-deep near-freezing water they had to make their way through. The tunnel was always dry and secure when he and Teagan trekked through here hundreds of times as children. It was the perfect hiding place from their father's threats of increased martial training for his boys. Arl Rendorn Guerrin was a fair, but tough father who made no truck with politics. When the rebellion began in earnest, Eamon and Teagan were shipped off to the Free Marches. That's where Eamon had learned the finer points of negotiation and manipulation, from his cousin in the Free Marches. Eamon's older sister and younger brother, Rowan and Teagan, were always more at home with a shield and sword than a wine glass and a fake smile. Sadly, it was times like this that Eamon despaired of not training harder with his weapon as well. If he made it out alive, he swore to himself to remedy that.
They had to battle their way through the dungeons and storerooms to the kitchens. He and his men had to kill walking corpses of people they knew. Mayor Murdock, Dwyn the dwarf trader and others. The most horrifying were two skeletons huddled in a corner in the last room before ascending into the castle. A small skeleton was wrapped in the arms of a larger one. Immediately, Eamon assumed the worst. "Connor and Isolde," he whispered.
Everyone was stunned to silence, but finally Ser Perth spoke, despair heavy in the sound of his voice. "Your Grace, they are unrecognizable …. only bones and no clothing unlike the rest. There were many mothers and their children in Redcliff. This may be one of those families, Maker rest their souls."
Eamon couldn't speak. He nodded toward the door to the stairway up. Perth was right. The mother and child skeleton hadn't risen up against them. Perhaps the Maker intervened to prevent such a heinous abomination. He prayed he would find Isolde and Connor locked in the steel-reinforced vault upstairs, the place he had told them to go in an emergency.
After killing three horrible, twisted creatures that Ser Henric identified as shades, the depth of the wardens depravity began to sink in. He'd always heard that Grey Wardens took in maleficars. It would be a simple matter for mages who turned to evil magic to create such horrors. Eamon's suspicions were confirmed when they came upon a man unfamiliar to anyone, wearing a Grey Warden tabard.
"Search his body." Eamon was curious why this man was just a corpse, not a monster. "Why is he here, just outside the throne room?"
Ser Perth found a parchment and handed it to Eamon. It was a note from the First Warden to go to Redcliff and assess the situation. No other instructions. Eamon crumpled it up but held it in his hand. "This is all my fault."
"Your Grace?!" Ser Henric was a Templar-trained knight in Redcliff's service. He was steadfast in his allegiance to Redcliff, but everyone knew his first loyalty was to the Chantry — something Eamon actually found comfort in. Everything Eamon did in life, he did to assure his place at the side of the Maker in death. Even some of the things he had done recently were done at the behest of the Right Hand of the Divine, Grand Cleric Callista in Orlais. Isolde's family was well-connected with the Chantry in Orlais. They had even sent Seeker Jeaneve as a messenger, to illustrate the dire importance of a stable Ferelden to the Chantry. A desire he shared.
"I spoke out against the Grey Wardens usurping the attentions of the king and abducting our Alistair from the Chantry where he was safe. I wrote a letter to the First Warden, hoping he was a man who would see reason." Eamon handed the crumpled note to Ser Perth. "And, now he sends a warden maleficar to destroy my arling, my family."
Perth read the note. "I would not have thought the wardens capable of such malevolence."
Ser Henric agreed with Eamon. "They are an unholy alliance of bandits, apostates and maleficars. Their motto is, 'Whatever it takes.' They picked a time when you were away, Your Grace, to rid themselves of your opposition." Henric took a deep breath. "It took something this horrific to bring down Redcliff castle." He gripped his Sword of Mercy tighter.
The time of righteous indignation and simmering vengeance was short-lived, however. There was one final horror for Eamon to endure. Isolde wasn't in the vault. She was sitting on the throne. "Welcome home, my husband. You are just in time to enjoy my revelries for the afternoon." Her eyes flashed red and several skeletons rose from the various locations where they had been laying.
"Use your shields! Bash them! Swords are next to useless!" Ser Henric was the expert in dealing with this kind of evil so Eamon and Perth gladly gave deference to him. The battle was long and difficult, but they prevailed over the skeletons. Henric started to smash the bones apart after they fell and the rest of the soldiers joined him. "These will need to be burned immediately."
Eamon spun on Isolde. "What did the wardens do to you, Isolde?! Where is Connor?!"
"Wardens? Oh, you mean that man who tried to rally the villagers against me? You saw what I did to him." She laughed. "I am the power, old man. I always have been. So, shut up!" She held up her hand and pushed an invisible force toward Eamon that threw him to the other end of the large hall. Fortunately, nothing was in the way or he might have become her next monster. But, her tirade wasn't over. "Connor has been stolen from me! Treachery and deceit from the woman you hired to teach him!" She reached up and motioned to everything in the room. "All this is because you took Connor away from me and gave him to her! You are a fool. So easy to dominate to do my bidding. You thought you were in love with me. You thought I loved you. I've been watching you for years." She was screaming now, a strange bass quality added to her voice. Her eyes glowed a brighter red and a dark red mist started to surround her, drawn from two of Eamon's guards. "You must be controlled. I command you to bring Connor home!"
"Silence! Speak no more of your filth, demon!" Ser Henric lowered his sword at Isolde and nodded to Perth and several others who surrounded her. "She is an abomination, Your Grace. I regret … I regret to tell you that she must be killed or this will not stop."
Isolde's face changed and the two guards fell, pale white, but alive. Her haughty smirk was replaced by horror and shock. "Eamon! What is happening to me?! Why are these men pointing weapons at me? Eamon, help me!" She held her hand out to him.
"Your Grace, do not fall for the demon's tricks." This time Henric had gone too far.
"Lower your weapons." When none of his knights moved, he repeated louder. "Lower your weapons! Now!"
Everyone but Henric lowered their swords but didn't sheathe them. "Ser Henric, the demon has left her." He smiled at Isolde. "Can't you see she's back to herself?"
He wasn't going to back down. "Once a demon has hold in this world, it will not back down, Your Grace. It will lie, plead and try to convince you to let your guard down. Think, Your Grace. This is likely how she lulled others in the village with a false sense of security. Others that we had to destroy in the dungeon."
Isolde slipped down to her knees. "Please, my love. Don't listen to this horrible man. Take me away from here. We will look for Connor together. Become a family again."
Eamon smiled at Isolde and started to reach down to help her to stand. Ser Henric stepped in the way. Eamon became angry and pulled his own sword. "Move out of my way, Templar."
"Forgive me, Your Grace," Henric whispered, eyes filled with tears. The Templar Knight of Redcliff spun around and his sword neatly sliced off Isolde's head to the horror of everyone in the room. He dropped his sword and shield and knelt in front of Eamon. "I submit myself to your justice, Your Grace, but it had to be done."
The Arl of Redcliff couldn't speak or move, then over over the next few days. He didn't recall much of what happened until Teagan arrived with Connor and his teacher, Jenra. Teagan told him that he had found them in Lothering. She had taken Connor and fled from the chaos that broke out at the castle. Having Connor home helped Eamon a great deal. And, Jenra was such a comfort to both himself and Connor over the harsh days that followed. He owed that woman everything and wondered why he hadn't noticed her beauty and courage before. When he discovered that she had fled from a noble family in Tevinter, thoughts of marriage to her began to surface … after an appropriate time of mourning. How long did someone need to mourn a demon wife?
Isolde was an abomination that had to be killed. Eamon knew that in his rational mind, but his heart was still broken, even with the calming presence of Jenra. In deference to Eamon, Ser Henric was sent back to Denerim to the Chantry there. Teagan had taken over the day-to-day duties of the arling, such as it was. Eamon needed time with his son before he would be taken to the Circle Tower for training. Mother Hanna said that Isolde must have been a maleficar all along. The news was another crushing blow. Thank the Maker Jenra was there to help him through it all.
They found the Seeker's body in a corner of the courtyard. It was wrapped for Redcliff's unique pyre ritual of setting a boat alight as it floated out onto Lake Calenhad. They didn't have enough boats for all the souls they needed to send to the Maker, so, this one time, they built a large pyre next to the windmill. They would need to rebuild, attract new villagers. Mother Hanna opened the Chantry to any and all refugees and Eamon gave them as much as he could. He was content to a point. But, on those dark and quiet evenings while he sat in his study, drinking brandy in front of the blazing fire … if he were truly honest with himself … he had to recognize that perhaps not everything he had done had been the right thing to do.
AN: Heartfelt thanks to all the reviews, favorites and follows!
Judy, I hate Isolde, too. Can you tell? LOL!
anesor, you are exactly right! I should have written something like: "So, the worst Alistair has to fear is king-regent … and then, only if the unimaginable happens." Thanks! :)
Lady Cougar-Trombone, Isolde has skeletons in her closet, her bedroom, her dining room, her ceiling, her bathtub .… hehe "Funny how the Blight brings folks together." Hmmm, maybe I should make that this story's subtitle. :D