Chapter 35

"Even after the Blight, Tevinter commanded an army larger than that of any other organized nation in Thedas, but that army was scattered and its morale dwindling. The ruin of Tevinter was such that the Alamarri barbarians, who had spread their clans and holds over the wilderness of the Ferelden Valley at the far southeast edge of the Imperium, saw weakness in their enemy, and, after an age of oppression, embarked on a campaign not only to free their own lands, but to bring down mighty Tevinter as well.

The leaders of that blessed campaign were the great barbarian warlord, Maferath, and his wife, Andraste. Their dreams and ambitions would change the world forever."

—from Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar

Malcolm

Though they'd gone over the finer details earlier, and therefore the meeting that morning mostly a formality, it didn't stop Anora from being annoyed at Malcolm and Líadan's tardiness, with no blame being placed on Nuala or Cáel. As soon as the study's door shut behind them, Anora launched into a rant that had nothing to do with them and much to do with the Divine. From what Malcolm could gather, the Divine had complained that she was being made to wait to give her apology until after various internal Fereldan matters had been taken care of in the Landsmeet first. Alistair and Anora had made the decision for the Divine to wait until the end because they knew their Bannorn. The gathered nobles would want to address the matter of a possible new royal heir first, not last. Servants and spies had heard enough in the taverns and markets of Denerim to know the subject most on the populace's minds. Not that the Divine's appearance and her pending apology wasn't a close second, but Fereldans thought about Ferelden first, and any Orlesians a distant second, and second only if said person was the Divine.

"She's lucky we're letting her into the Landsmeet at all," Anora said, ending her tirade with a resolute nod.

"Damn right," said Alistair.

Anora glared at him.

The King composed his expression into one of perfect innocence. "What? I thought you'd like some support, so I agreed. Was I wrong?"

"No, you weren't." Anora sighed instead of explaining herself, rubbed at her forehead, and then glanced toward the door. "Where's Captain Somerled? It's time to begin."

When the Alistair, Anora, and Malcolm entered the large chamber of the Landsmeet, shouts to see the new Theirin went up immediately. Most, Malcolm noticed, referred to Cáel as 'child' or 'boy,' and only a few labeled Cáel a bastard out loud. He took that as a good sign. Were the Landsmeet not predisposed to legitimizing Cáel, there'd be a lot more yelling about a bastard—and probably a lot of yelling at him for producing one. Alistair tried to hush the gathered nobles so that he could officially begin the Landsmeet, as he had technically been the one to call it earlier in the season than usual, but the shouting only got louder. They'd judged more than correctly, that much was certain. Despite the Divine's objections, tending to the matter of an heir was indeed more pressing to Ferelden's nobility than even the leader of the Chantry.

After a third attempt at getting the crowd to be quiet, Alistair shouted, "You'll never see him at all if you don't shut it!"

The nobles fell silent and stared at the King.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Malcolm thought he heard Bann Teagan say from his place on the Landsmeet floor.

Alistair smiled at the bann. "Hey, it worked. Don't knock it." Then he finished his walk over to the throne, Anora beside him, and stood in front of it before he formally addressed the crowd. "My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, your patience gives you much merit as we convene an early autumn Landsmeet here today." There were a few snickers at Alistair's crack at their ill manners, and Alistair waited for them to subside before continuing. "I gather from your initial reactions that you would rather address the issue of my nephew first before we hear out the Divine?"

Several banns called out their assent.

Alistair nodded, and then motioned to Captain Somerled, who'd waited at the main doors. As Somerled ducked out to fetch Nuala, Líadan, and Cáel from the anteroom, Malcolm willed himself not to give into the impulse to shuffle his feet nervously. He could already feel the Landsmeet's eyes on him, and before now, he hadn't given as much thought to how judged he'd feel when the nobility learned of his illegitimate son. As a bastard himself, legitimized or no, he knew how important it was for a noble to refrain from producing bastards. He'd spoken with Morrigan about it more than once, and she had assured him she had no wish to have an unplanned child. It had certainly been truth on her part. When it came to her future, Morrigan disliked leaving anything to chance if it could be prevented. Of course, the ritual and its necessities had thrown both their plans awry, and one of the products of failed plans was now being carried inside the Landsmeet chamber, held in Nuala's arms. Líadan walked at Nuala's right side, and Kennard kept to Nuala's left, both of them with wary eyes on the crowd.

Nuala gave Alistair a questioning look, and he motioned her forward. Once she was close enough, he directed her to hand a sleeping Cáel to Malcolm. Then Alistair said quietly to his brother, "All right, your show."

Malcolm frowned. He hadn't planned—none of them had planned—on Cáel being and remaining asleep through any of this. "He's asleep," he whispered to Alistair.

"Well, poke him or something," Alistair whispered back. "We need him awake."

Instead of following his brother's advice, Malcolm brushed his fingers lightly through the thick, light reddish hair on his son's head. It was enough of a departure from being cuddled that the boy woke up, his eyes blinking rapidly at realizing that he wasn't in a familiar place, not entirely. While he was familiar enough now with his father's arms, the Landsmeet chamber was an entirely new experience. Even for a grown man, it could be rather intimidating, and Malcolm couldn't imagine it being anything less than overwhelming for a babe. Cáel let out a quick cry of protest, and then was distracted by the murmurs from the crowd in front and around them. He quieted and stared at the many, many faces as Malcolm turned him around for the Landsmeet to see. "This is Cáel," he said, projecting his voice enough so that all gathered could hear him. "He's my son. I bring him before you today to ask the Landsmeet to consider granting him legitimacy."

The murmurs became louder. "He's a Theirin, that much is certain," said Arl Bryland. "I'd stake my firstborn on it."

"I'd feel better if you'd stake your secondborn on it," said Arl Wulff. "Sad to say, Leonas, but it's your younger daughter who inherited all the sense in your family." He chuckled through a mutter from Bryland before he went on. "But, I see your point. The boy's a Theirin, without a doubt."

"Is his mother the witch or the elf?" asked Bann Vaughan, whose eyes skipped right over Cáel and straight to Líadan, who stood near the dais with Nuala and Kennard.

"You mean Warden Líadan?" asked Bann Alfstanna, her point about respect for Líadan's title clear, and then punctuated with a scowl in Vaughan's direction. "I highly doubt it. She wintered in Denerim and has been in the city in the past year. We would well know if she'd had a child."

Vaughan seemed somehow disappointed, if Malcolm hadn't known better. Then the bann asked, "So the boy's mother is the witch, then?"

"The one the Chantry was after?" asked Bann Franderel. "The maleficar?"

Malcolm's attention snapped from Vaughan to Franderel, along with a heavy glare. "Morrigan was no blood mage."

"Was?" came the question from Bann Shianni, standing near Bann Alfstanna. "Morrigan was alive, last I heard. Has this changed?"

Anora cleared her throat. "Morrigan was lost during the Battle of Highever."

Malcolm supposed that was technically true. It was close enough to the truth, if a bit misleading, that he didn't feel too terribly bad about the Landsmeet believing what they would from Anora's words. It wasn't like they could tell the plain truth in the first place. The Landsmeet wouldn't understand, and there were truths involved in telling the truth that the Landsmeet couldn't know without revealing Grey Warden secrets.

"She fought for us?" asked a bann Malcolm couldn't see, from somewhere in the upper gallery.

"She was one of our own," said Fergus, "even if a mage."

"And she did help the Princes through the Blight," said Teagan.

"Only to abandon them at the end," Eamon said, more to his brother than to the rest of the Landsmeet, bringing to memory arguments they'd had at the end of the Blight.

Teagan crossed his arms as he faced off with his elder brother. "If you knew Isolde was with child, could you ask her to do no less?"

After a moment of thought, Eamon gave Teagan a grudging nod. "I suppose not." Then he huffed. "But why didn't she inform Malcolm sooner?"

"Maybe because he was angry that she'd left?" Teagan had yet to let go of his defensive pose, his frustration with his brother evident. Usually, the two Guerrins presented more of a united front at Landsmeets, but they'd apparently not been on the same page when they'd entered the chamber that morning. "Or perhaps it was because there was another woman by the time the babe was born? Or perhaps she even had her own reasons we'll never know because she's gone. Let us not speak ill of the dead, brother. What's done is done, and now we have to decide what we will do."

"She did not have to bear the child if she hadn't chosen to do so," Teyrna Cauthrien said before Eamon could reply to Teagan. "Nor did she even have to tell Prince Malcolm at all. And yet she did. Maybe the Chantry went after her in an attempt to gain control of the babe, and thereby gain some control of our monarchy."

"So she protected him," said Eamon, sounding as though he didn't quite believe what he was saying. Yet the murmurs through the crowd indicated the others believed it, some wondering out loud why they hadn't seen it before.

Cauthrien nodded. "She protected Ferelden. She is one of the Heroes of the Blight, whether we like it or not."

"And because she is dead, Prince Malcolm cannot marry her in order to retroactively legitimize their child," said Delilah Howe, created Bann of Amaranthine only in the last winter Landsmeet.

"Which is why we are here," Anora said, giving Delilah a grateful look for bringing matters back to their original topic. "The Landsmeet would do well to remember that the throne is without an heir for a generation beyond our own. Legitimizing Cáel would add security to the line of succession—security we have been without for several years."

"I'd be fine legitimizing the boy," Bann Sighard said slowly, "but I'm not sure about immediately putting him in the line of succession."

"I suppose you have a reason for that, Sighard?" asked Fergus.

"Given that his mother happened to be an apostate mage with magic so strong it was rumored she was a Witch of the Wilds, I'm hesitant that the boy be put in the line before we're sure he won't be a mage himself. That's all. Worried about magic in the royal line." Sighard cringed a little at the fierceness in Fergus' unrelenting gaze, but did not take back what he'd said. Malcolm withheld a sigh. It wasn't like they hadn't expected this very objection to come up, not once the Landsmeet found out it was Morrigan who'd given birth to Cáel.

"Would we do the same to Eamon's new child because his firstborn was a mage?" asked Arl Bryland.

"Of course not," Cauthrien answered with a scoff. "It isn't the way things are done."

Wulff nodded in agreement, catching on with Bryland and Cauthrien's reasoning. "Then we shouldn't do so with our royal family, either. It smacks too much of Orlesian control."

A wave of murmured assent swept through the crowd. Then Bann Loren called out, "Chantry control."

"After their rather un-exalted march on us recently," said Wulff, "they are one in the same entity for me."

Shouts of agreement followed Wulff's statement, along with a few chuckles.

Once the laughs and shouts died down, Eamon cleared his throat in the silence. "We need a clear heir. After our civil war during a blight, it's also clear we need as many legitimate Theirins as we can find, even if we have to legitimize them ourselves."

"While I don't disagree with your point, Eamon," said Bann Sighard, "I do think it's becoming a bit of a trend. How many bastards will the Landsmeet be legitimizing? Will we start to assume that our royals and nobles need not marry? That they need not produce legitimate issue when they can simply keep whatever company they wish and instead ask for a legitimization later? It sets a poor precedent, I believe." Protests started rising from half the gathered nobility, and Sighard raised his hands to quiet them. "I'm not disagreeing with granting the boy legitimacy! I'm just saying that we also need to pay attention to what precedents we're setting. I understand that these are different and trying times, that we've just come through a blight and a civil war, and that the Theirin line still hadn't recovered from nearly being wiped out in the Occupation. I get it. I understand. But we have to be careful here, too. That's all."

Eamon considered Sighard for a moment, and then grasped the rail in front of him with both hands, leaning his weight on it. "A compromise, then," he said, glancing quickly over at the dais where the King and Queen stood and listened, and then looking down and out over the rest of the Landsmeet. "We make this boy legitimate, and then require the next few generations to be born legitimate if they are to inherit or even be recognized as having the blood of Calenhad. The rule would only be broken if we are left with no other choice—such as, Maker forbid, every legitimate Theirin is killed."

At the thought, Malcolm's arms unconsciously tightened around Cáel, as if he could protect him from a hypothetical death. Even contemplating it scared him to a depth he hadn't thought possible. Before he'd had Cáel, he'd thought he'd understood what it would mean to think about losing a child, and afterward, he'd realized he hadn't even scratched the surface of the lurking fear. Even now, he still couldn't imagine just what his brother must have felt—what Fergus must still feel—about losing Oren. For what Eamon spoke of to come true, it would be like the Fall of Highever again, only with dead Theirins instead of Couslands.

"Like before?" asked Sighard.

Eamon stared at Sighard for a moment, and impressively did not roll his eyes in exasperation. "The goal is to begin with more than we started with last time. If we legitimize this child, I believe we will have met that goal."

Sighard inclined his head and gave Eamon a rueful grin. "I can agree to that."

Before Alistair could put the matter to official vote, the nobles of the Landsmeet began shouting their opinions. To Malcolm's great relief, the majority of the shouts were variations of "Aye!" and the like. Some tension visibly left Alistair's body, and he worked harder to get the Landsmeet to quiet down. Once they finally allowed the King to speak, Alistair asked, "So, that was just a warm up, I presume? Are we that out of practice when it comes to civilized Landsmeets?" Then he waved off their replies lest they get worked up again and back to shouting. "All right, before you lot change your minds, let's have a vote. Malcolm Theirin has presented to you the infant Cáel, whom he as acknowledged to be a son of his blood. He has asked the Landsmeet to grant Cáel legitimacy, and therefore, a place in the line of succession. Were this measure to pass, Cáel would become the first heir of the generation after mine, and heir presumptive until such time as Anora and I have our own child. Now, how say you?"

The replies remained the same, and were shouted with the same enthusiasm as before. There were a couple banns who gave no opinion, and one who loudly denounced the legitimization. Malcolm was entirely not shocked to find the owner of the dissenting opinion to be Bann Ceorlic. He resisted shaking his head, but still whispered to Alistair, "Oh, look, Ceorlic disagrees. Big surprise."

Alistair glanced over to where Ceorlic had started arguing with Bann Alfstanna. "I thought with had him killed."

"We did. That's the son."

"We need to have him killed, too?"

Malcolm lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "He might have valid reason to hate us, you know. Our father did kill his grandfather."

"Only because his grandfather killed our grandmother."

"We also put his father to death."

"He was caught conspiring to commit treason," Anora whispered to the two of them. "And his treason would have put Malcolm in danger, which is also treason."

Alistair gave his wife a conceding nod. "Point."

Anora returned the nod. "However, if you wish the son and current bann killed, I am sure Baltasar can arrange it."

"No, not yet." Alistair studied Bann Ceorlic the younger once more. "He's just disagreed. That's allowed. We aren't despots, so no treason thus far. But if a member of that family conspires or commits treason again, we'll have them attainted, and their bannorn passed out of their line entirely."

"We should do that just so we can stop hearing the name Ceorlic," Malcolm said, still speaking under his breath so the debating nobility wouldn't overhear. "It sounds like a respiratory condition."

"Don't you dare make me giggle in front of these people," said Alistair. "Or—"

His threat was cut off when the debating suddenly quieted, and Arl Eamon cleared his throat before addressing those standing on the dais in front of the throne. "I believe the Landsmeet has reached a decisive majority, Your Majesties. It seems we are in favor of granting legitimacy to the boy known as Cáel, henceforth properly known as Cáel Theirin."

A cheer went through the Landsmeet chamber, from nobles to pages to the guards. The enthusiasm of it took Malcolm by surprise. He'd assumed—hoped, really—that the nobility and people of Ferelden would be happy to have another Theirin in place should something happen to him and Alistair, but it seemed he'd underestimated how much stock Fereldans put into the line of Calenhad. As much as he hated admitting it, Eamon had proven himself right yet again. Despite there being a way to elect a monarch from another line, and Ferelden having a great many nobles fully capable of ruling the country, as a whole, the Fereldans wanted Theirins on the throne. The response to the newly legitimized Cáel illustrated that preference rather strongly.

Cáel, on his part, had gotten past the incredulous fascination with the room of new people and new noises, and startled at the sudden, great roar of the cheering after a relative quiet. Following the startle came the beginnings of crying, and Malcolm did his best to comfort him. But he was wearing armor, and cold dragonbone wasn't the best thing for snuggling. Close to the worst, really, as Cáel discovered when he tried to bury his face against his father's chest. His cries became even more dismayed, and Malcolm was at a loss. He glanced back at Líadan, who at first looked like she was going to take him, and then she glanced down at her own armor and scowled. Nuala sighed at the two of them before sweeping forward to take a squalling Cáel.

"He's hungry," she said quietly to those gathered on the dais. "The goings-on here distracted him well enough to make him forget for a little while, but now he's remembered with a vengeance. He's done his duty today, thought, hasn't he? If I go feed him, need I bring him back once he's done?"

"No, he's all set for now," said Alistair. "He did a good job. He lasted longer before bursting into tears at a Landsmeet than some grown men I know."

Nuala smiled at the King, dipped her head in a quick bow, and then bustled from the room as she shushed Cáel. Kennard followed close behind, but Líadan remained in the Landsmeet chamber. Since Malcolm was filling more royal duty at the Landsmeet than Warden, it would be her responsibility to represent the Grey Wardens' position from the Arling of Vigil's Keep in Malcolm's stead. Which, Malcolm thought, was a bit strange, since he was supposed to already be filling in for Hildur. He supposed they should eventually figure out who'd come after Líadan if the both of them were indisposed, and Hildur unavailable.

Not Oghren. Definitely not Oghren.

When Líadan moved away from the dais, up the stairs, and into the place in the upper gallery where Hildur usually stood, it was noticed. However, the majority of the looks cast in her direction were of confusion or curiosity rather than anger or dislike.

Finally, Arl Wulff asked, "And where is Warden Commander Hildur? I had expected to see her here, and not one of her Senior Wardens." The heavily bearded man inclined his head to Líadan in a gesture of apology. "I meant no offense, Warden Líadan. I am sure you are capable. It's just that we had expected to speak with Warden Commander Hildur in some detail about her plans for the Grey Wardens."

Líadan returned the gesture, and then flashed a smile. "No offense taken. And I'd much rather Hildur be in the hot seat over me. Answering in-depth questions from the Landsmeet is way beyond my pay grade."

"Personally, I'd rather the darkspawn," said Teagan, which made the already warmly laughing Landsmeet laugh more.

Once the chuckling quieted, Alistair said, "Hildur is recruiting at Kinloch Hold. The Fereldan Wardens are dangerously short on mages, healers in particular."

Bann Franderel frowned as soon as Kinloch Hold was mentioned. "Why not bring Wardens in from elsewhere instead of removing more mages from the safety of the Circle?"

"If that's what you prefer, but..." Alistair shrugged for effect. "I have to tell you, there's a high probability those Wardens would be Orlesian."

"Better a Fereldan mage made a Grey Warden than allowing any more Orlesians here than absolutely necessary," said Teyrna Cauthrien.

"Then where is Nathaniel Howe?" asked Sighard. "Was he not supposed to succeed Hildur at Vigil's Keep? If that's so, then it's he who should be here representing the Warden Commander, not one of the Senior Wardens from the Denerim compound."

"He was lost," said Malcolm. "The Grey Wardens suffered many losses in the past year." He was very careful not to specify. If they worded everything correctly, they wouldn't have to give away any Warden-kept secrets. Alistair had already spoken with Delilah Howe and secured her secrecy before the Landsmeet, so that she would not assume that her only living brother was dead. As for the rest of the Landsmeet, Hildur had decided it would be best for them to assume Nathaniel had died.

"During the Battle of Highever?" came the question from the upper gallery.

"Yes," said Anora. "He was scouting when he was lost."

Though he'd been briefed of the plan, Malcolm was still almost shocked at the amount of tiptoeing going on around the line between truth and lies.

"The Wardens' numbers do seem a bit thin," said Arl Bryland.

"Dangerous, not to have enough," Teagan said after nodding in agreement at Bryland. "The Blight is still too close to forget the dangers of not having enough Wardens to keep vigil."

There were more nods of agreement, and a vigorous one from Wulff. "The Southern Bannorn learned that the hard way, unfortunately." He looked over at Malcolm. "Are there more recruiting efforts beyond Kinloch Hold?"

Malcolm was getting slightly perturbed—only slightly—that they kept addressing him with Grey Warden questions and not Líadan. But most knew he was technically the highest-ranking active Warden in the city for the time being, and since he was physically there, though not standing where the Warden representative would stand in the chamber, they were most likely finding it difficult to not address him. A quick glance over to Líadan revealed that she didn't mind in the least, her posture relaxed at not facing the Landsmeet's questions on her own. He returned his gaze to Arl Wulff. "We'll be actively recruiting through the year from the compound here in Denerim." He looked beyond Wulff to sweep his gaze over the crowd. "If you know of anyone interested, send them to see me there."

"So you will be staying in the city, then, rather than traipsing all over Thedas?" asked Eamon. "Because the newly named prince will need to be raised at or near the palace. Preferably at, but near will suffice in comparison to where you've been in the past year."

Malcolm resisted the flare of anger caused by Eamon's not-so-subtle dig. Teagan noticed, judging by the glare he gave his brother, and then he spoke to soften the jab. "Though we do understand your heavy traveling has to do with matters from the Blight. Really, you've not had time to stop and truly rest since the start of the Blight. Rest from such matters would do you good. You've worked hard enough."

If Eamon hadn't spoken first, Malcolm would have suspected Alistair of putting Teagan up to his comment. However, Teagan was more observant than he let on, bann of a minor holding or not, and his views were given weight and consideration from the Landsmeet. Most did not forget that it had been Teagan who'd called Loghain on his actions during and after Ostagar, before the civil war really started in earnest. He nodded at Teagan, and then directly addressed Eamon. "I'll be stationed at the Denerim compound, heading it for the foreseeable future."

"Excellent." Eamon steepled his hands from where he had his elbows propped on the rail in front of him, looking pleased with himself.

"If Nathaniel was lost during the Battle of Highever, is it true that other Wardens came to Ferelden's aid? I heard rumor that they had, but wasn't sure how much credence to put in them, because I've also heard the Wardens are supposed to be politically neutral," Bryland said after a brief silence. Then he chuckled. "Well, Grey Warden king aside."

"They did help," said Cauthrien. "They did much of the scouting, and drew away the second dragon when it looked as if it might turn on our army."

"I also heard some of the Orlesians were made Wardens," said Wulff. "Is this true?"

Alistair straightened to his full height. "They requested asylum. They were thoroughly vetted to make sure they weren't spies. However, if any come under suspicion in the future, they will be sent to Weisshaupt for the Wardens there to deal with."

If it came to that, Malcolm wished Astrid were alive and there to 'deal' with them. She would've been a particularly well-suited choice for it.

"It still remains that the Wardens require higher numbers," said Anora. "Warden Commander Hildur has assured me that, going forward, all efforts will be made to recruit from our countrymen, if they are to be assigned here."

Wulff shifted his weight, seemingly unsatisfied with the answers he'd received. "What of the new Warden from Kirkwall, found after the Orlesians were recruited?"

"Conscripted," Malcolm said under his breath.

Anora sighed just loudly enough for him to hear.

Malcolm ignored the implied admonishment in favor of answering Wulff's question. "The new Warden was a refugee from Ferelden before she lived in Kirkwall. Lothering, to be specific. Weisshaupt thought it best to assign her to her home country."

Finally, Wulff seemed to have heard enough satisfactory information to let the matter drop. "Miracle that anyone made it out of there alive. I've no argument with that."

"If there's anything else?" Alistair asked during the pause. "If not, I believe the Divine would like an audience. She has been waiting." No one missed that the King left out 'patiently.'

Alfstanna scoffed. "She can wait the rest of her natural life, for all I care about her Orlesian apologies." Several of the nobles voiced their agreement, accompanied by a bit of rabble rousing and stamping of feet.

"She's getting on in age," said Malcolm, "so that wait may not be as long as you'd assume."

"She going to steal any more of our land like she did Fergus?" asked Sighard.

"Only if the Landsmeet ratifies it," said Alistair. "If you're so inclined."

"She can take Teagan's bannorn," said Bryland, his tone teasing and very not serious.

Teagan made a show of stroking his goatee. "Provided I get your arling in return, Leonas."

Malcolm couldn't help the smile he felt forming and finally stopped holding it back. There were reasons why he loved this place, these people, and their approaches to life—despite how much they could vex—they were very much like his own. He felt at home here, and doubted he'd feel the same anywhere else.

Anora clapped her hands to draw the wandering attention of the nobles. "Lords and ladies, if we could attend to the final matter scheduled for this first day of the Landsmeet?"

"Not until we recognize Teyrna Cauthrien for her actions during the battle," said Fergus. Then he shared a look with Anora and Alistair that revealed they'd planned this move previously. It was calculated; they would be honoring Cauthrien not only while the Divine wasn't present, but before the Divine was granted her audience. Malcolm nearly wished they could honor Cauthrien with the Divine present—and silent—so they could rub in the victory. Nearly wished, though. He recognized the need for civility, especially when the Knight-Vigilant knew about Líadan. If Fereldan's Landsmeet chose to insult the Divine and the Chantry so openly, the Knight-Vigilant could easily strike back with his knowledge of the secret.

Since the Landsmeet had just granted Cáel his legitimacy, Malcolm didn't think news of another possible bastard would go over well. Not that Líadan's child would technically be a bastard, not if Dalish bonding was recognized as valid in some way. He'd somehow have to investigate it without giving anything away. He knew it wasn't possible that bonding was fully accepted, and so he needed the details, to make absolutely certain that at least the children would be considered legitimate.

Messy, very messy, the whole thing. Best to turn thoughts back to easy things, like honoring Cauthrien for being a very good general. Loghain had taught her well, judging by the march and victory she'd managed at Highever. Even without the dragon, Ferelden very well might have pulled off the victory, though with far greater losses, including a sacking of Highever Castle. Flemeth's intervention, however, had saved much of Ferelden's army, even in its sorry post-Blight state.

"Would you agree, Your Majesties?" asked Fergus. "Because without Cauthrien's fast march from the Southern Bannorn, her strategy when she arrived, and the fierce fighting of our army under her command, Highever, Drake's Fall, and possibly all the Coastlands could have been lost to the templars. Instead, the Orlesians have once again been chased from our land, the only ones left remaining here to bow and scrape before us in apology for their rash actions."

Alistair gave Fergus a solemn nod. "The Crown agrees. Entirely." Then he shifted his serious gaze to where Cauthrien stood on the ground floor of the chamber. "Teyrna Cauthrien, if you would step forward." As Cauthrien shot Fergus a dirty look then started to make her way out of the crowd, Alistair signaled to a waiting page. After a curt nod, the page rushed off through a side door. When Cauthrien reached the clear area in front of the raised dais, Alistair grinned at her, and then turned his gaze over the Landsmeet. "Lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, may I present to you the Hero of Drake's Fall, who turned the tide of battle against the Orlesian templars, and remains an inspiration to all Fereldans."

Though a slight blush could be detected on Cauthrien's cheeks, she took the accolade well, offering a bow to the gathered nobility as they applauded and cheered.

Then the page returned, accompanied by two other pages, all of them helping to carry a large, cloth-covered crate.

"We also have prepared for you a token of our appreciation," said Anora.

As the pages set the crate between Cauthrien and the dais where Alistair and Anora stood, Cauthrien gave the King and Queen a quizzical look, a look that could almost be named as trepidation. Malcolm didn't blame her, even though he knew what was in it.

"It's armor," Alistair said when Cauthrien continued regard the crate warily.

The wary look shifted to Alistair. "Armor, Your Majesty?"

He half-rolled his eyes, yet managed to appear kingly while doing it. "Yes, armor. Like you'd wear on a battlefield or a Landsmeet, even." After allowing a pause to let the light laughter dissipate, he gestured toward his head. "There's a helm." The way Alistair said it, it sounded as if he were a merchant convincing Cauthrien to buy the armor.

"I have a helm. It's perfectly serviceable. I do not require commissioned armor, Your Majesties. While I am honored—"

Anora let out a frustrated sigh with such force that it made Malcolm wonder exactly how long she'd been holding it in. He also wondered just how frustrated she was, because it wasn't like her to display anything less than complete control while in public. Cauthrien's thoughts must've been along the same lines, because she fell silent and stared at Anora in askance. Anora met the stare, and then said, "I believe you will approve of this armor, Teyrna Cauthrien. I suggest you look at it before you render your decision on whether or not it is acceptable."

At Alistair's nod, the pages removed the cloth covering the top of the crate. "Armor of the Divine Will," said Alistair. "You may recognize it, for it once belonged to the Knight-Vigilant who led the Orlesian troops on Highever. We didn't think she needed it any longer." He pointed toward the crate, where pages were lifting out some of the major pieces to display to Cauthrien and the Landsmeet. "We had a master smith replace the spaulders with pauldrons, since the weak spot under a spaulder was what allowed the mortal blow to fell the Knight-Vigilant."

A mortal blow that Cauthrien herself had delivered. The armor was a war-prize, to be sure. An unsubtle reference to what the Hero of River Dane had done at his defining battle, when he slew the Chevalier commander of the Orlesian forces.

A smile twitched at the corners of Cauthrien's mouth; she had easily caught the reference. "I believe this armor may suffice as a replacement for my own."

"Thought so." Alistair grinned again, this one more mischievous than the last.

Cauthrien bowed toward the King and Queen. "Thank you, Your Majesties."

It wasn't until she began to walk away that Alistair spoke again. "Wait, one more thing." He nodded at another waiting page, who had been standing quietly in the periphery, holding a large leather pouch. At the King's command, he opened the pouch and handed over the folded papers within. Cauthrien watched the exchange with increasingly puzzled eyes, even going so far as to give Anora a questioning look, but Anora's schooled expression gave nothing away.

"I recently came into possession of a letter." Alistair held up the letter and waved it about for illustration. "A letter that recognized your true heritage, Teyrna Cauthrien. At the request of my wife, the Queen, at the witnessed statements of my father, King Maric, and—" There, Alistair paused until he'd gained Cauthrien's direct gaze. "—your father, Teyrn Loghain, I grant you the rightful surname of Mac Tir. Considering the actions of Teyrn Loghain in the waning moments of his life, it will be your duty to return full honor to the name. We believe you are up to this challenge. Indeed, you have already begun."

Cauthrien said nothing, her disbelieving stare flitting back and forth between the King and the Queen. The Landsmeet was equally silent before the energetic murmuring struck up amongst the crowd. Then Arl Wulff began to clap, the other arls quickly following with more applause and shouts of, "Well said!"

Meanwhile, Cauthrien was still speechless, still staring at the King and Queen as if no Landsmeet existed around them, as if there were no possible way she could believe what the King had just told her.

Alistair handed the papers to Anora, who then stepped off the dais and over to Cauthrien. Once there, she pressed the papers into Cauthrien's hand and whispered something that Malcolm couldn't hear over the din of the crowd. But he did see Anora's tight smile, Cauthrien's cautious one, and then Anora embraced Cauthrien, as one would a sister. Which, Malcolm knew, was intentional. While it had probably been planned, the honesty of the gesture could not be hidden.

"Well, that's one way to show the Landsmeet her approval of the name," Alistair said to Malcolm as they waited for a break in the noise. Anora and Cauthrien were still whispering to each other. "I wonder if we should've commended Flemeth for her actions while we were at it. Her dragon certainly helped with all the templar burning. Do you think she'd like a medal?"

"I'm not going to ask her. I'm lucky enough to have survived our last encounter. I've no wish for another. You're on your own, brother."

Alistair sighed. "No, I suppose no medal for Flemeth. Too bad. I would've liked to see the Divine face off with her. Instead, it'll just be us and the Landsmeet dealing with the Divine." Anora nodded at him, and Alistair nodded back. "And it looks like it's time to summon the divinely impatient Divine."