I can only apologise for how bloody long this has taken; my best laid plans seem to have a habit of coming undone these days. Still, hopefully, this will compensate a little for all of you who've been waiting patiently; some sentimentality, a battle and of course the introduction of Arl Eamon into the story. Will be working on the next instalment on Monday, so should (god willing) have it up soon.
Yeah, the idea to include Eleanor in the Gauntlet came to me after playing DAII and getting through 'All That Remains' (no quest is as horrific and yet heart-wrenching at the same time), and I find that line quite poignant, helped along by the magnificent job the voice actress for Eleanor and Leandra did, so I thought why not? I'm glad to see it's a choice that went down with you all.
As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews and favourites my work; particular thanks to strifeandpestilence (three more chapters and we reach Orzammar), ethan89, Insidious,InuManKa91 and Mystic Gohan for your reviews, and to Ygrain33 for the message of support; knowing so many still enjoy this is a great boost to the spirits!
As always, Atrast nal tunsha-May you always find your way in the dark.
And above all else, enjoy!
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"Do you want to talk?" Leliana whispered, her head resting against his chest.
It was near midnight, and they were at least a day's journey from Haven and the temple. With the ashes in their possession, there had been no reason to linger on the mountain top. The four who'd gone into the Gauntlet had met up with Morrigan and Shale outside, the golem carrying the still unconscious Zevran in its broad arms, and they'd made their way back down to the temple's atrium. Before leaving, Arthur had sawn off the dragon's horns and opened up the wounds on the beast's carcass enough to pry free some of the longer bones, ribs, radii, ulnae and the like, in the hope Mikhael Dryden or another blacksmith might be able to do something with the invaluable dragonbone. Arthur had also cracked out several of the monster's teeth, one for each of the group, a memento of such an astounding victory over a mighty foe. As they departed from the carcass, Arthur had sworn "If we survive this Blight, I'm bringing every armourer and blacksmith in Ferelden up here, and I'm gonna auction this off to the highest bidder!"
They'd descended to the lower levels of the temple, rendezvousing with Brother Genetivi in the process, who seemed in awe of them for the fact they'd actually laid eyes upon the Urn itself, constantly asking to see the pouch of ashes again and again and making continual comments about how soon an expedition to secure the sight could be mounted. Arthur couldn't help but be impressed by Genetivi's fervent enthusiasm, undimmed and unbroken even in the face of all the villagers had done him; it was quite heart-warming in the wake of such death and madness. Considering the danger on the roads, Arthur had offered to let the Brother accompany them back to Redcliffe and Genetivi had agreed, clearly not wishing to run into any of the potential threats rampaging- darkspawn, bandits or the soldiers owing allegiance to either the regent or the numerous Banns trying to stave off Loghain's assaults.
They were now a day's ride from Redcliffe, and had made camp for the evening in a secluded grove. Shale and Morrigan were on watch, keeping an eye open for any sign of survivors from Haven come looking for revenge. Zevran had been deposited in a tent with Arabella tending to him, while the others had retired for the night. And now, lying on his back with Leliana's head resting over his heart, both basking in the post-coital glow, Arthur looked down at his lover curiously.
"What about?"
"What happened in the Gauntlet"
He was silent for so long, Leliana feared he would never answer. "To this day, part of me still asks why? Why did I lose everything? Why did good people have to die when scum like him live? Oriana, she'd never done anyone any harm in her life, and Oren...he was six years old, he had his whole life ahead of him, so much potential for good, for greatness. Why should he have died, and filth like Rendon Howe and Loghain Mac Tir live?"
"We can no more understand the workings of fate or fathom the machinations of the Maker's will than we can stop the sun from setting or the tides from turning" Leliana replied.
"Mother was right, I have grown so strong since that day. If, if I had been as skilled, as capable then as I am now, could I have saved them? Could I have stopped what happened?"
"No" Leliana replied sadly. It hurt her more than she could say to see his face fall, but it had to be said, lest he drive himself mad with wondering. "You would have slain more of Howe's men, but there were still too many of them. The end result would have been the same, except that you would have died with all the others at Highever. Is that what you want?"
"I...deep down, part of me knew" he admitted, looking away, his tone of voice sad but resigned. "No, I don't want to die, not any more. That was why my mother and father told me to go with Duncan. For more than just to see justice done. They didn't want me to throw my life away, I know that now. I blamed myself for leaving them, for not dying with them, but they wanted me to live, to make something of myself, to find what they had, what Fergus had with Oriana: to know that kind of love and happiness, and I found it with you."
"Your father was right" Leliana added. "Time heals all wounds, and it will help if you remember the best things about them, not focus on the darkest memories. That is what I try to do with my memories of Marjolaine, to try and remember the good times we had- the balls, the soirees, the times we spent talking and laughing into the small hours of the morning- rather than what she did to me, and how it all fell apart. I don't want to cling to the grief and the pain, but remember the joy and happiness. Such is the path to madness" she finished, referring to Zathrian. Judging by the look that flashed in Arthur's eyes, he caught her meaning.
"How would I do that?" he asked.
"For a start, you could tell me of them" she replied, smiling impishly, before a more worried cast set on her face, wondering about what answers she would receive.
"What do you want to know?"
"Do you think -" she started then faltered, gathered her courage and tried again. "Do you think they would be disappointed? In me? What I am...and what I have done?"
Arthur went silent for the longest moment. "They might have taken some time to adjust, to get around your past and what you'd done" he said at last, his tone measured and fair ,but his azure eyes had nothing in them but warmth and love, "But they would be glad that I have the benefit of your skill and knowledge, and knowing that I was happy would satisfy them. They would have come to love you for yourself in time. You'd have gotten along well with Fergus; once he was done cracking jokes about his wild brother finally having been gelded and how my fun was finally at an end now there was a woman full time in my life, I think he would have enjoyed having someone who could match him at cards, dice and archery. Oriana would have loved to have someone to discuss fashion with; I can just hear you two now arguing whether Orlesian or Antivan seamstresses were superior and comparing shoes, and Oren -" He broke off, his eyes clouding a little, but when he spoke again, his voice was clear and calm, his mouth turned into a nostalgic smile, "Oren would have been at you day and night, I can just hear him now. 'Please, Auntie Leli, one more song. One more story, Auntie Leli. One more trick with your bow, Auntie Leli, please!'" Arthur replied in a good-humoured imitation of his nephew's voice. "He always saw the best in people, that boy. He would have adored you from the moment he met you"
"And I would have loved him," Leliana replied, feeling the fear dissipating and the relief swelling into a bittersweet pang in her heart at having been denied that. She raised herself up on her elbow at that moment, resting her head on her hand, staring into Arthur's eyes, her emerald eyes sparkling with uncertainty.
"And what of your parents? Would they have liked me? What would they have thought of me?"
"Well, they wouldn't say anything. They'd have died of shock at the thought of me settling down with an Orlesian!" he joked, before his smile became a wince as Leliana pulled a large hank of hair from his chest with a scowl of mock indignation. Once the flare of pain and the tension in the wake of the levity dissipated, his expression grew solemn.
"All joking aside, they would have been happy to know I was, and once they came to know you, they would have come to adore you. My father would be glad that I was happy and focusing my compassion for others and willingness to do the right thing onto one who so clearly deserved it, and as for my mother, she'd want to meet you, if only to prove that there actually existed such as a thing as a woman who'd managed to make me settle down". When he looked her in the eye, there was no hint of mockery or jest, just the truth, plain, simple, but welcome.
"They would have loved you like their own daughter, I know that in my heart".
"Thank you, my love" Leliana replied with a grateful smile as she leaned forward to press her lips to Arthur's, the kiss expressing clearly how relieved she was to know that the Couslands would have been so accepting, so willing to welcome her as willingly as their son had, to make her one of the family.
"They are your family too, now," Arthur told her, "for all that you never met them. I want you to know them, as I wish they could have known you."
"Then tell me more of them." the bard asked. "Please?" This sharing, and the trust that it implied, was something that she would come to treasure, namely because it was nothing that she had ever before known. In addition, she knew that focusing on the better memories of his parents and his family would help Arthur to remember the joy and , rather than sink into despair and rage focusing on the dark memories of how such a treasured thing had been torn away from him.
"Your wish is my command, then," the Warden agreed, settling back and pulling his love close, his left arm's grip around her waist tightening as his right reached up to run softly through her auburn hair.
"My parents first met while fighting under King Maric during the rebellion against Orlais..."
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Perhaps it was the talking, or just the memories of his parents projected by the Gauntlet that caused it, but the dreams that came into his mind that night were of home, and of the dark events that had torn it apart...
It seemed as though he had never left as he emerged from behind the burlap sacks stacked atop the secret passage; he could feel the lumps of potatoes within the rough fabric, smell the faint odour of dirt and the more aromatic scent of dried herbs and cooked meat from the evening's dinner...all overwhelmed by the scent of his father's blood.
He lay just where Arthur had last seen him, his back propped up against the wall, Mother kneeling at his side, vainly trying to staunch the wound, heedless of the spreading pool of crimson that was staining the leggings of her armour. Neither seemed aware of the presence of their son.
"They're gone, Bryce," Eleanor Cousland soothed her husband, her fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead, "and with the trapdoor hidden, they'll have a good head start on any pursuit that bastard tries to send after them."
"You should have gone with them, Eleanor." Bryce replied, his face set in a grimace of pain, his eyes dim with sorrow at having been unable to save all those he cared for; his vassals, his friends, his daughter-in-law, his grandson, and now his wife.
"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "My place is at your side, unto death and beyond." Shouts rose suddenly on the opposite side of the door, and a moment later, it shook on its hinges. His grandfather hadn't placed the escape tunnel from the castle here on a whim route; the door was stout oak, the lock heavy and firm, but it would not hold forever.
Eleanor's face hardened, her eyes glinting like sapphires in the darkness of the room. Everyone said while he'd inherited so much of his appearance from Bryce, he'd inherited his mother's eyes; Arthur remembered distractedly, trying to deny what he knew was going to happen.
"And every one of the bastards that I kill is one less to go after my boy" Eleanor announced grimly as she pressed her lips to her husband's forehead for what would likely be the last time, before her hands reclaimed the sword and dagger that had fallen to the floor beside her.
Half a dozen violent blows and the door began to splinter. Arthur watched in growing horror as his mother took up position in front of the door, weapons raised. Eleanor Cousland, Teyrna of Highever and the woman who had spent years trying to temper and cool her wild and wilful son's impetuousness, launched herself at the first man through the door with a war cry that would have sent a rage demon scurrying away; the sword found the gap between mail and gorget, the man falling to his knees, vainly trying to stem the blood pouring down his front. The second took a dagger in the eye, while the third lost his head as Eleanor spun on her heel, and Arthur felt a fierce pride rising within him despite his horror. The next two came through together, however, shattering the last remains of the door, and while the Teyrna buried the sword to the hilt in one's heart, the second struck her on the side of the head with a mace before she could draw it free, sending her sprawling to the floor. Unable to stand by and watch any longer, Arthur's hands flew to the hilt of his sword and he charged at the thug who just smashed his mother to the floor, but it made no difference; Asturian's Might simply passed through the figure as if the man was made of mist, the sword cleaving through the man's neck, but the thug acted as if nothing had happened.
'There is nothing I can do' he knew sadly. He could no more change this than he could undo what happened that night.
Two soldiers dragged his mother upright, forcing her hands behind her back; even half dazed from the blow, her blue eyes blazed with defiance and not a trace of fear. She tried to throw off her captors' grasp and received a vicious slap in return.
"Eleanor! Get your filthy hands off her, you scum!" Her father was trying to drag himself forward, his face a mask of rage, despite the pain from the deep wound in his gut, accompanied by gouts of blood. Two of the invaders moved to stand over him, drawing their swords to finish the helpless man off.
"Hold a moment" that smug, self-satisfied voice that haunted the darkest recesses of his mind; that sneered and taunted in his worst nightmares, or screamed and begged in vain for mercy in countless fantasies of revenge.
Rendon Howe stepped through the door, his expression hatefully calm, and unbelievably, temptingly real. He'd dispensed with the trappings of nobility, now dressed in a suit of leather armour of the finest craftsmanship that had clearly been brought using gold embezzled from Amaranthine's treasury for his own profits, and carrying a blood-stained dagger, no doubt the one he'd driven into the gut of the man who'd trusted him, invited him into his home, only to have his hospitality repaid with murder.
"He's as good as dead already," Howe said, regarding the ruined body of the man he'd called 'friend' only hours earlier with a sneer of satisfaction, "and I'd like him to take one last sight with him into the Void." Stepping up to Eleanor, he grabbed her chin; she spat in his face, her eyes blazing with hatred, but Howe merely chuckled as he struck her a vicious blow across the face in answer. "Something else a damn Cousland took from me."
And then the dream changed.
As Howe tried to paw at Eleanor's chest, groping crudely at her breasts and trying to pull off her armour, a sword erupted from his own, the blade punching easily through his leather armour. Howe gasped in shock, bright blood leaking from his mouth as he looked down to stare at the blade jutting from his chest, and Arthur saw it too; it was a scimitar, its blade rusted, notched and serrated. The design was one Arthur knew only too well.
It was a darkspawn weapon.
A clawed, near skeletal hand seized Rendon's shoulder and drew the sword free, but the hurlock wielding it was not done; seizing Howe by his hair, the beast pulled the arl's head back to expose his throat and sank its fangs into flesh, tearing out Howe's throat with a meaty ripping noise that Howe accompanied with a wet, gurgling scream, arterial spurt splattering the hurlock's bald pallid green scalp with scarlet. Arthur exalted at the sight of it, and yet regretted some faceless hurlock had taken his vengeance from him. Before Howe's men could intervene to save their master, the sacks of potatoes that covered the entrance to the hidden passage out of the castle were sent flying as the trapdoor was smashed open from below, and genlocks swarmed forth like ants, overwhelming Howe's thugs through sheer weight of numbers, dragging them down and tearing them apart, stabbing and biting in a blood-crazed frenzy with knives, axes or just their own teeth and claws. The screams and pleas for mercy were drowned by a cacophony of chittering screeches and the grisly sounds of fanged mouths ripping still-warm meat from the bone. Set in the middle of this carnage were Arthur and his parents; the darkspawn were ignoring them for now, too intent on gorging themselves, but surely that wouldn't last...
The roof of the kitchen shuddered, loud cracks sounding as the stone was shaken by something very large. There was a deafening bellow from above-part roar, part scream- followed by another ominous crack above them; it sounded as if the ceiling were about to give way...and after a few nerve wracking moments, it did. With another bellowing roar, the ceiling of the castle's kitchen caved in as an immense, serpentine form forced its way in, its scaly, red-black hide easily smashing aside the centuries-old masonry. Arthur heard both his mother and father scream in horror at the sight of the archdemon's hideous reptilian face, the stench of disease and decay the dragon exuded, the cavernous mouth lined with dagger-sized teeth, opened wide enough to swallow them all whole, accompanied by the carrion reek of its breath. The darkspawn around the room looked up from their feeding frenzy and abased themselves before the dragon, making guttural noises that sounded almost worshipful , but the beast's dead-white eyes paid their display of obeisance no heed, narrowed in disdain as it took in the scene around it...and then those eyes fell upon Arthur.
The archdemon growled angrily at him, and to Arthur's horror, he could hear a voice reverberating in his head, redolent with power, authority and menace. He remembered Alistair telling him of how some of the more senior Grey Wardens could interpret the archdemon's communication with the darkspawn, but he had never thought, so young in terms of his place in the Order, that he would be able to make sense of it. The fact he could hear the voice resonating inside his skull could only mean one thing.
The archdemon wanted to be heard.
"You cannot hide. I see you. I will always see you, slayer of my kin, butcher of my children". Those dead white eyes flicked over him disdainfully, the edges of its mouth pulling back to expose the yellowed fangs, the forked tongue darting out, almost mockingly. "Turn away now, leave the task your ilk prides itself upon-the unrelenting urge to destroy my kin- and I will let you live. You are but a hatchling, a striping raised to a task beyond your ability to fulfil. You are no threat to me and I have better things to expend my energies and those of my children's upon than to hunt you down. Go now and live".
"No" Arthur replied. The archdemon-if that was indeed what was speaking- would not cow him into submission with the threat of death, no more than any of the others who sought to kill him had. To give in to fear, to yield to the seeming hopelessness of the task ahead that had been impressed upon them almost from the off , would be to damn Ferelden to destruction and spit on the graves of all those who had died to stop the Blight, and for all the memories of those who had given their lives for him, Arthur could not turn back now.
'No. I will not turn away' he retorted. 'I have a duty and I will do it...a duty to destroy you'
"Then you will die" was the reply. The archdemon let loose another howl of anger, and in it, Arthur could hear that same redolent voice bellowing furiously "Destroy them all; devour their bodies, crush their bones to dust and spill their blood upon the earth. Let none survive. Such is my will!"
And, shouting so loudly it sounded as if they were standing barely inches away, a cacophony of high-pitched, reedy voices shrieked back "We obey the will of Urthemiel"
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Arthur bolted awake, sending the blankets falling away and Leliana sprawling from where she'd fallen asleep with her head on his chest . He barely heard Leliana's attempts to soothe him, her gentle caresses meant to calm and ease him back to his rest, her whispered reassurances that all was well, that it had just been a dream, because he could feel otherwise. His veins itched like crazy, a constant flaring irritation that ran through the course of his entire body, like simultaneous mosquito bites all over him and he knew it could mean only one thing.
They were close.
Pulling himself out of bed and advising her to get dressed and arm herself, Arthur seized his gambeson and donned it, throwing a chainmail shirt over it for added protection- there was no time to don the plate armour. He'd just managed to buckle on his sword belt when Alistair's head protruded into the tent, his eyes wide and fearful.
"Did you feel it too?" he demanded of Arthur.
"Felt what?" Leliana asked, clearly worried by the wary manner in which the Wardens were acting.
"The archdemon! It was like it saw us! SAW US!"He blurted out. "What does that mean-!"
There was the sound of a twig snapping to their left and Alistair's gaze flicked in that direction. "What was that?"
His question went unanswered, because with a feral shriek, something slammed into Alistair at considerable speed, sending the Warden and his attacker crashing in a heap to the ground. Arthur burst out of the tent, drawing his sword to see Alistair on the floor, wrestling with-something- that was straddling his chest, trying to pin his arms to the floor. Arthur wrenched his sword free, trying to run to assist, but at that moment, the camp descended into pandemonium.
A screech so loud it nearly shattered Arthur's eardrums ripped through the night air, and out of instinct, Arthur covered his ears to blot out the sound, vaguely hearing the others cry out in pain at the shrill noise. From nowhere a horrifying creature appeared to his left as he and the others stood stricken, emerging out of the very shadow itself. Its face was long and narrow like a dog's, its permanently grinning mouth packed to the brim with rows of needle fangs and the sides of its bald skull crested by long pointed ears like a bat's...or an elf's. The rest of its body was as disproportionate as its head; long, thin arms and legs made for running, a slender, almost skeletal torso. It was clad in crude leather armour painted black to help disguise it, armour that seemed to shift and alter in colour as it moved from the shadows into the light. Its long fingered hands were tipped with scythe-shaped claws, while the leather bracers it wore on its arms were festooned with an array of spikes and hooks, clearly intended to maim and mutilate anything they struck.
And judging from the sensation in his veins that felt like ants trying to chew their way out through his skin, the creature was definitely a darkspawn.
More shrieks rang out into the night and Arthur whirled round, seeing more gangly creatures emerging from the shadows; the camp was completely encircled. He could already hear the ring of blade on blade as his companions took on the darkspawn assassins. One of the creatures took a swing at Morrigan but before the barbs on its arm could sink into flesh, the witch was gone, her body exploding into a swarm of hornets that swiftly enveloped her darkspawn attacker, the creature howling as the insects bit and stung it unrelentingly.
The one pinning Alistair down suddenly released him, letting out another scream, but one of pain as two arrows sank into its back. Before it could recover, Alistair's free hand found the haft of his mace; the weapon swung up and connected with the creature's head with a dull crack. He could make out three more of the creatures still fighting, two more darting forward to stab at Shale, before leaping out of range of the golem's fists, their almost-supernatural agility granting them the advantage. Arabella was nowhere to be seen, nor was Brother Genetivi, but there was no time to wonder at their whereabouts; the darkspawn needed to be destroyed.
Arthur made to help Shale fend off its attackers when he heard a strangled moan coming from a tent to his left. It was the one they'd placed the unconscious Zevran in to rest after they'd tended further to his injuries...and Arthur could see a dark shape in the tent with the supine elf. Pulling back the tent flap, what lay within chilled Arthur's blood; Zevran, on his back, with one of the darkspawn straddling its chest, one hand wrapped round the elf's throat, the other hovering inches from his face. Arthur could hear the elf muttering softly in his delirium "Bit tighter, dear; a bit of a choking, that's what I'm paying you for, girl..."
The darkspawn hissed in answer and pulled back its right arm, poised to slash the barbed hooks festooning the limb across Zevran's throat. Arthur reacted without thinking; he'd come to appreciate the elf's talents, even enjoy his good humour and easy going manner a little; 'I won't stand idly by now' he knew. With a roar, Arthur seized the darkspawn about the middle and bodily dragged it off Zevran, the creature shrieking angrily at him, lashing out in an attempt to get him off, and by chance, the hooked barbs on its arms managed to cut through the gambeson and draw blood. Arthur recoiled, more out of surprise than pain, and the creature pressed its advantage, spinning round and lunging with snake-like speed, swiping at his face and then biting into his neck when he jerked away from its claws. Arthur gave a yell of pain, but his was accompanied by one from the creature as it screeched as if in deep pain, clawing at its mouth as if it had swallowed acid, desperately trying to spit out the poisonous blood it had swallowed. Before it could recover, Arthur tore free the dagger at his belt and stabbed upward; the blade bit into the creature's neck with a spray of dark blood. Arthur wrenched the blade free and threw it at one of the darkspawn battling Shale. The creature wailed as the thrown weapon sank into its lower back and staggered forward...straight into the path of the golem's fists. There was a dull crunch as Shale's boulder of a hand connected and the darkspawn's spine snapped with brutal ease.
The battle seemed to have turned in their favour; Alistair and Shale put down the last darkspawn, Shale's fist slamming down onto the thing's leg, the limb snapping like matchwood, and Alistair stove in its chest as it thrashed in agony. Another expired with a death rattle inches from Leliana, its chest riddled with arrows, and Arthur raced to help Edward with the last, the creature too busy trying to beat the mabari's jaws off its leg to see the sword descending until a second before its head rolled. Arthur could hear yet more running feet, the sound of more darkspawn approaching, but before he could ready himself to fight on, there came a roared incantation and the night lit up as a ring of fire encircled the camp. Beyond the flames, he could see more of the strange darkspawn prowling about at the fire's edge, eager to get at their prey but unwilling to risk going through the fire to do it. As the group slowly lowered their weapons, Arthur heard a gasp from behind and turned to see Arabella climbing down from a tree almost outside the fiery cordon. "Sorry that took so long" she said deprecatingly "but incantations of that magnitude require time and concentration if they are to be perfect. A single slip up can be disastrous"
"How long will it last?" Alistair asked warily, chancing a look at the gathered darkspawn beyond the fire's edge, screaming in thwarted rage, dead-white eyes scanning the barrier blocking them for any sign of weakness.
"Hard to say, but I reckon with constant infusions of magic from myself and Morrigan, we could at least make it last 'til morning"
"Then we should do our best to help make it last. If we can provide fuel to keep the blaze going, hopefully it'll require less from you two mages" Arthur replied. "Toss them into the fire" he said with a gesture to the darkspawn corpses littering the camp. "Better to make use of them than leave them to foul this place beyond recovery"
As Shale dragged the bodies to be tossed into the flames and Arabella helped Brother Genetivi down from his hiding place in the same tree she'd clambered up, Alistair sighed as he wiped his sword clean of darkspawn blood. "I guess it's like Duncan once said. We can sense them...and they can sense us". Sheathing his sword, the Warden added "And the archdemon..."
"You had a dream of it too?" Arthur asked. Alistair nodded and Arthur could see his fellow Warden looked extremely unnerved by the memory.
"Yes, and at the end I got the feeling it saw us, was aware of us, whatever you want to call it. It could just have been my imagination, I suppose. What do you think?"
"I think that archdemon needs to die. Soon"
"Well, short of waltzing through the entire darkspawn horde and tapping it on the nose, I'm not quite sure how we're going to do that" Alistair replied, trying as always to disguise his fear with humour. "Still, killing the archdemon is the general plan. Glad to know you're onboard"
"What were they?" Leliana muttered, staring aghast at the mangled form of one of the creatures as Shale dragged the slain darkspawn by its foot to the makeshift pyre provided by the flames encircling their camp.
"Shrieks" Alistair replied. "Grey Warden lore calls them 'sharlocks', but they're more commonly known because of the racket they make when on the attack. They're the horde's scouts, infiltrators and assassins, and we should be grateful we got off lightly; the other Wardens told me stories about the scale of damage a large number of those things could do to a fair-sized company of men. And my guess is that if one group of assassins can come after us, there will be more; the archdemon wants us dead as much as Loghain. We'd best take more care from now on. This camp isn't safe any longer" Alistair said plainly. He made to depart, only to turn back as a final thought struck him.
"I guess one thing's for certain, as if we needed it. It's official now. This is a Blight"
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None of them slept much that night. Morrigan and Arabella did not sleep, periodically to infuse the fire with enough magic to keep it burning, the others keeping watch to make sure there was no signs of it dying out, or that the shrieks were about to try their luck. When the sun finally began to appear on the horizon, the shrieks gave up and retreated; with the element of surprise lost, it was plain the creatures didn't want to fight on when they didn't have the advantage of darkness on their side. The group broke camp within the hour. It was too much to hope that another band of darkspawn assassins wouldn't follow the trail left by their predecessors and finish what the others had started. The second the camp was packed up, they were gone, racing across the countryside to get back to their destination, hoping that they were not too late.
Their hard ride was worth it; it was late night on the second day of their journey when the shape of Redcliffe Castle, lights glimmering faintly in the windows, illuminated by the light of the moon, came into view. Overjoyed to be back in relative safety, they'd spurred their horses on, meeting a rapturous welcome from the handful of villagers still awake, most of them patrons of the tavern or militiamen on duty who cheered and applauded with delight as they saw who had returned.
"Wardens, you return" Ser Perth remarked as they rode into the castle courtyard. "Is it possible you have what you set out to find? Arl Eamon's condition has begun to deteriorate and if the Urn has been found, then we need a miracle"
By way of an answer, Arthur pulled the pouch of ash from his belt and held it up to the night sky, calling out for all to hear:
"Tell Bann Teagan the Maker has answered our prayers!"
They were escorted into the Great Hall while Ser Perth relayed the news to Bann Teagan, who had retired to his bed several hours earlier. A few moments later, the Bann came racing down the stairs, his hair tousled and wild and his clothes looking as though they had been thrown on hastily, but a hopeful look was on his face as he took in the new arrivals.
"Is it true? Ser Perth said..."
"We found the Urn" Arthur replied, holding up the leather bag and its contents for all to see. Teagan's face lit up, his eyes wide with joy at the news, a broad smile creasing his lips as he darted forward and wringed the hands of each of the companions who'd gone after the Urn in turn, grinning from ear to ear like a boy who'd loosed his first arrow. Arthur couldn't fault the Bann's enthusiasm; it was, in all likelihood, the best news Teagan had had in so very long.
"Wonderful! Let us go at once to Eamon's side and see if their healing powers live up to their reputation!"
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The miracle of the Sacred Ashes was something Arthur would never have truly believed in had he not been there to see it in person. Wynne continued to channel healing energy into the Arl's body, while Revered Mother Hannah intoned a stanza of the Chant. As Wynne's spell reached its climax, the Revered Mother filled a chalice with holy water, into which she deposited the Ashes and then gently tipped the goblet's contents down the arl's throat.
Arlessa Isolde was on her knees at the foot of the bed, her head hung low, humbly and feverishly praying underneath her breath for a miracle to be granted upon her comatose husband and despite his earlier disdain for her, Arthur couldn't help but feel empathy, just as he had for Connor. Had this been his own father, or mother, or Fergus, to what length would he have gone for a cure to them? Or for Leliana, Alistair or any of the others who'd become as close as family to him? Deep down, he knew the answer: there was nothing he wouldn't do to save any of them, and he knew that they would do the same for him. To know that he was in the presence of friends, comrades whose sense of duty and loyalty to him was as great as his to them was a welcome knowledge, to know that in the trials and tribulations still ahead of them, he would not be alone, not in such good company, and Arthur could only hope the bonds of loyalty, friendship and duty this mad journey had forged between them would not break.
Alistair was quiet but restless. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, anxiously clutching his fists tight during the ceremony. Arthur placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, while Leliana took his fellow Warden's hand in hers, offering her silent support as they waited for the miracle to occur.
And it did.
After moments of nerve-wracking silence, Arl Eamon coughed vigorously. As he did, his eyes shot open and he bolted up as if just woken from a terrible nightmare. Teagan, Isolde and the knights in attendance tried to get Eamon to lie still on his bed as the arl struggled to sit up.
"Where-where am I?"
With an effort, Eamon's younger brother forced him to lie back on the bed.
"Be calm, brother. You have been deathly ill for a very long time, and you are still very weak; it could be a good while before your strength returns in earnest. Do you remember nothing?"
"Teagan? What are you doing here? Where is Isolde?"
"I am here, my husband." Eamon's face lit up joyfully at the sight of his wife, pulling her into a close embrace, kissing her full on the mouth, before another thought occurred to him and his expression grew fearful once more.
"And Connor? What of my boy? Where is our son?"
"He lives, though many others are dead," Isolde replied sadly, her face downcast, no doubt fearing what her husband's reaction would be when he learned the extent of her folly. "Dead?" Eamon echoed sadly, his head sinking back to his pillows. "Then... it was not a dream?"
"I'm afraid not," said Teagan. "Connor lives thanks to Alistair and Teyrn Cousland."
"Alistair?" Eamon struggled to look over his wife's shoulder. "My lord," Alistair inclined his head awkwardly.
"Alistair! It is you!" The arl looked him over a few times as if in disbelief that the once skinny, mud-soaked little boy whose care he'd been charged with had grown into this fine young man. "And you said... Cousland, Teagan?" Eamon added, his gaze shifting to Arthur and doing a double take.
"Maker's Breath, is that you, Bryce? What on earth are you doing here, we're a long way from Highever, you know? How are Eleanor and the boys? And how did you get so young? Did the Ashes that healed me grant you back your youth?"
"I fear you are mistaken, brother" Teagan interjected. "Bryce and Eleanor Cousland are, alas, no longer with us. This is their youngest son, Arthur" and it was Arthur's turn to bow respectfully.
"Bryce's son? Why are you here?" the arl questioned, an eyebrow raised in uncertainty.
"Much has happened since you fell ill, Brother," informed Teagan. "Some of it will not be... easy for you to hear."
"Then tell me" Eamon's voice was adamant. "I wish to hear everything."
#########################
The fireplace in the great hall of Redcliffe castle crackled, providing much needed warmth for the occupants of the room. Although still frail from his recent illness, Eamon's face was set in a determined expression and his eyes were bright and alert, taking in every facet of detail from the information his brother and the Wardens were providing him with on Ferelden's current turmoil.
Initially, the arl had insisted on hearing the bad news all at once whilst still lying on his sick bed, but Isolde refused to allow it, insisting first that they wait until morning before such matters were attended to. Then she insisted they wait while her husband took the time to bathe and have his hair and beard trimmed back to a respectable length. Finally, as the servants, as delighted as everyone else in the castle to have their lord restored to them, began to serve breakfast in the great hall, Eamon summoned Teagan, Arthur and Alistair to sit at his table as the arl broke his fast and bade them tell him everything that had happened since he fell ill. They had no choice but to oblige, leaving no details behind. Arthur began the tale first, speaking about the destruction of the Couslands- Eamon was understanding and sympathetic, and so did not press him for details, sensing the memories were still bitter. Alistair then took up the telling, speaking of Ostagar, Cailan's death and the destruction of the Grey Wardens to Loghain's perfidy, and Teagan interjected at that point, adding his telling of Loghain's usurpation of the throne, his demands that the nobility of the Bannorn mindlessly fall into line or face the consequences, and his brutal actions that had served to unite nearly all of Ferelden against him and start a civil war that threatened to do the darkspawn's work for them. Finally, Arthur and Alistair explained about the treaties, of how the Dalish elves and the Circle of Magi had promised their support against the darkspawn and of how all that remained was to journey to Orzammar and seek the aid of the dwarves and their king.
When all had been said, Eamon took a deep breath and ran a hand through his grey hair, thinking to himself.
"This is most troubling." The arl frowned gravely when he finally spoke. "There is much to be done, that's true. But I should first be thankful to those who have done so much. Arthur, first of all, my most sincere condolences. I knew your parents, not well, but well enough to respect them and to mourn their passing. Teyrn Bryce was a good, honourable man. He and Teyrna Eleanor will be sorely missed"
"Thank you, milord, for those kind words. It is good to know some of the nation remember my father as he was-a man of honour and integrity- not the traitor his murderers would see him painted as"
"You need not fear on that, friend Arthur" Teagan added. "My brother and I will eat horseshit before we take a single word that comes out of Rendon Howe's lying mouth seriously"
"My brother puts it in a rather coarse manner, but I share his sentiment" Eamon nodded. "By your own actions, you have proven yourself your father's son. You have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt."
"I most certainly did not do it on my own. Alistair and my companions have been with me every step of this journey"
"But it was your decision to save both Isolde and Connor," Teagan reminded him firmly.
"It was 'our' decision, my lord," he corrected the bann with a glance at Alistair. He was bending the truth slightly did bend the truth a bit; it had indeed been his decision, yet the arl didn't have to know. His message to Eamon was clear: Alistair had helped him just as much as any of the others, and the bastard prince would not be shown the same disrespect he had endured before again.
"I owe both of you a debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?" asked the arl earnestly.
"Were this not a time of war, I would request military aid to retake Highever and help put Rendon Howe to the sword, as King Cailan, your kinsman, promised he would" Arthur replied honestly. "But this is a time of war, and it would be most foolhardy to ignite yet another conflict when two already rage within Ferelden. For the moment, I will settle with your support against Loghain and the Blight, and a promise that the Guerrins will honour King Cailan's pledge to the Couslands"
After a few moments pause, Eamon finally nodded in agreement. "Justice must be served, I agree. If Cailan swore it then I will consider it my duty and honour to help. What Rendon Howe did was an aberration that cannot go unpunished. He and his master will answer for their crimes; you have my word, Arthur. And what of you, Alistair? Will you allow me to offer you a reward?" asked Eamon as he looked at his former ward.
"Er, me? I'm just glad you are all right, my lord. There's no need for a reward or anything. But if you'd help Arthur and the Grey Wardens, I'd really appreciate it." Arthur inclined his head in appreciation of Alistair's support for him.
"Then at least allow me to declare you and those travelling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls". Arthur shot a glance at Alistair, but if his fellow Warden felt any irony at this statement, he made no comment. Fortunately, Eamon didn't notice the exchange, for the arl at that point clicked his fingers and two of his knights stepped forward, bearing shields of red steel emblazoned with the Redcliffe coat of arms, the work of a master blacksmith.
"And for you Wardens, shields of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knights."
"T-thank you" Alistair seemed both surprised and pleased as he slid his arm through the shield's straps, testing its weight, as if he had finally been given recognition from the home that had abandoned him. Arthur likewise inclined his head gratefully, but once the formality was done, he was back to business.
"I thank you for your gift, but there is much to be done now"
"Arthur has the right of it" Teagan nodded in agreement. "We have no way of knowing what Loghain will do once he learns of your recovery". Eamon sighed at this, shaking his head ruefully at Loghain's stupidity.
"Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are massing on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power."
Arthur gave a disparaging snort at this. "I can think of many words to describe Loghain Mac Tir at this particular moment in time, but 'sensible' is not one of them"
"I must agree again with Arthur. I was there when Loghain announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon." Teagan shook his head disgustedly at the memory. "He's gone mad with ambition, I tell you."
"Mad indeed," the arl agreed. "Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Madness or ambition, whatever has happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarcely afford to fight this war to its bitter end."
"But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?" asked Alistair hopefully.
"I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies."
Arthur had to agree with the arl. He had seen enough throughout all the years in Highever and Denerim and knew enough about the proceedings of politics to know one thing about nobility: almost to a man, the nobles were all out for themselves. It only strengthened his belief that everything that happened was not the work of random coincidence; Loghain was clearly working to eliminate anyone who possessed a stronger claim to power than he. With Bryce dead, and Eamon incapacitated, many of the lesser nobility would fall under his banner even if they weren't allied with him to start with, simply because there was no one stronger to join forces with. And others would rally to the regent because they saw the chance to advance themselves with his rise to power, or because they feared his wrath were they to fall on the wrong side of the conflict.
"We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn.
"Loghain must be made to capitulate" Arthur replied in an adamant voice. There was no two ways about it; Loghain was at the centre of everything that had happened, everything that had gone wrong to Ferelden. His actions in this conflict only proved the regent was rotten to the core, and if Arthur had a say in it, Loghain would face trial and the gallows for his crimes...at the least.
Eamon nodded in answer, but there was a shrewd look in his eye that piqued Arthur's curiosity. "I agree; Loghain will pay for his heinous crimes, but our armies must be reserved for the darkspawn, not each other. I will spread word of Loghain's treachery, both here and against the king, but it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen."
Alistair... Arthur shot a look at Alistair, who seemed to have developed selective hearing, having made no reaction to Eamon's statement...
"Are you referring to Alistair, brother? Are you certain?" asked Teagan.
This time, there could be no pretending he'd misheard. Alistair's face paled and his eyes went wide with unease. He could no longer pretend the discussion didn't concern him when his name was being said loud and clear. Arthur noticed the rest of his companions, sat at a table slightly away from the arl's were all looking up and listening carefully, just as intrigued to hear the arl's plan as the two Wardens were.
"I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."
"You intend to put Alistair forth as King?" Arthur enquired. In truth, the proposal didn't surprise him; after all, he was a descendant of Calenhad-crowning Alistair would continue the near-unbroken tradition of one of the Theirin line on the throne. His illegitimacy wasn't much of an issue-there was precedent for such actions- and while he was untested, as far as Arthur was concerned, his fellow Warden couldn't do a worse job than Cailan. For all his distaste for politics and running a nation, Cailan had kept the peace his father had engineered. 'And Alistair is not his brother; who's to say he couldn't do better?'
"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage-as you know, our sister was Maric's queen and Cailan's mother- but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood."
"And what about me?" Alistair protested, angry that the three men were talking over him. "Does anyone care what I want?" Arthur winced; he'd quite forgotten the greatest opposition to such a plan was likely to be Alistair himself.
"You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?" The arl's voice was gentle, but his tone was firm and would clearly brook no refusal, reminding Arthur of his own father trying to coax a particularly recalcitrant youth into acquiescence.
"I..." He looked at the arl, then to his companions, trying to find some support, any one of them who might provide him a way out. But though he found sympathy for his unease and distaste, Alistair saw nothing that suggested they would help him shirk duty. Faced with that, Alistair reluctantly looked back to Eamon.
"But I... no, my lord," he conceded with a heavy sigh, defeated...for the moment.
Satisfied with Alistair's acquiescence, Eamon turned his attention back to Arthur. "I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another."
Alistair looked even paler at that idea and Arthur moved his chair slightly away from his friend, just in case Alistair's breakfast decided to make a reappearance. If Eamon noticed this, he gave no sign, merely continuing to lay out his plans.
"Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing."
Arthur blinked in surprise. "My blessing? Why do you need my blessing?"
"None of this would be possible without you. You led Alistair here, you saved my family and my life with the Urn of Sacred Ashes... It's your lead I follow," the arl claimed humbly. "You are a Grey Warden and more importantly Bryce Cousland's son. Your late father was beloved by many, second only to Maric in some cases, and they will continue to hold Bryce in high regard, regardless of what slander Loghain and his sycophants might try to smear his memory with".
"In addition" Teagan interjected "By your own actions, you have done more to defend this land from the darkspawn than Loghain, and you are poised to be the general of the one army that has pledged itself to protect Ferelden, not help Loghain tear it apart; your exploits have already made you famous and popular amongst the common people, and that will only grow when they hear how you uncovered the final resting place of Andraste and recovered the ashes to save my brother. That should also help undermine Loghain's cause further, coupled with the fact the people are already beginning to hate him because of his brutal excesses and his demands that all the nation submits mindlessly to his whims; your actions have proven you to be able and willing to fight to protect this country from its enemies and itself, while all Loghain has done is prove he is willing to become an even greater tyrant than Meghren to keep his hands on a throne he has no right to. Finally, while it would suit the 'Hero of River Dane's' arrogance to paint himself as the only one who can save this country from the Blight, any fool who's studied their history knows that it's only by the sacrifice of the Grey Wardens that the darkspawn have been defeated four times before. Loghain and his cronies may have forgotten that, but a great many more of us haven't".
Eamon nodded in agreement with his brother's statement and concluded "I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you. Surely, you see that."
"Would it not be better to simply kill Loghain?" Arthur said at this point, voicing another potential solution to their problem. "His faction is held together only by his strength of will, the chance to advance themselves by aligning with him or the fact he has bribed, coerced or bullied them into following him. Kill him and they will scatter to the winds..." but a single shake of the head from Eamon silenced him.
"I'm not sure that would help our cause. We'd become the criminals, and our accusations excuses. Furthermore, I have no notion where Loghain even is at this moment"
"There are other ways to kill a man besides turning to the likes of the Crows" Sten cut in from where he sat at a lower table, dining on a simple repast of fresh fruit. "What if you were to defeat this dathrasi Loghain in battle? Even with your forces depleted by the demon's predations, they are still numerous, and combined with the army the Grey Wardens are amassing..."
"No" was Eamon's swift reply. "Unless we can convince some of Loghain's allies to abandon him, qunari, that's not likely to happen. Our army just isn't large enough. The Grey Wardens may gather allies to them, yes, but we will need them to battle the darkspawn. I truly believe the Landsmeet is our best option. We could attempt to wage a military campaign against Loghain, but even if we win...would we have enough left to face the darkspawn?"
"No" Teagan agreed "but neither would Loghain"
"Perhaps Loghain gambles on this attitude" the arl postulated "that everyone will decide facing the darkspawn is more vital than facing him, so he leads us against the horde"
"And what's to stop Loghain from simply dismissing your request for this Landsmeet and launching an attack on Redcliffe to try and kill you again?" Arabella put forward from her own seat. "Loghain isn't exactly one for keeping his word; Uldred found that out the hard way when Loghain left him and those who followed him to the mercy of the templars after all those promises of support..."
"Why do you think he had me poisoned? He wanted me gone without having to confront me directly. If I call for the Landsmeet, refusing the comprise and attacking Redcliffe will only give strength to our accusations. Loghain is already under suspicion for murdering one member of my family; openly trying to kill me now would likely convince most of his allies to realise the truth about what happened at Ostagar" Eamon gave a brief sigh. "I'm sure Loghain had much rather I died from the poison...had Connor and the demon not interfered, that's exactly what would have happened"
Arthur mulled over the next great task laid out before him, one of many that, less than a year ago, he would never dreamed. He was the younger son of House Cousland; the challenges of leadership and rule were never likely to be his, but now he was required to first reclaim his home from the traitor Howe, and then it had become his task to defeat the darkspawn and end the Blight. And now, he was being called upon to overthrow a usurper and his puppet monarch to end the civil war. Now he could understood the terrible burdens Alistair was drowning underneath as the chosen successor to Cailan's throne.
He turned to Alistair for support and found him studying his fellow Warden. The resentment on his face had long gone, replaced by sympathy. His face said it all as loud and clear as though he'd voiced it: 'Welcome to the club, we have jackets'. Once again, they were both tossed on the same boat, shouldering the same responsibilities, walking on a path they had no choice but to follow, for it was the only one left to them. 'And if he can face his duty, I can do no less' Arthur knew.
"It seems we have little choice" Arthur replied. "I say full steam ahead". Eamon nodded in acceptance of the decision.
"Very well, I will send out the word. But before we proceed" and at this, Eamon's voice grew cold "there is still the matter of the mage, my son's tutor. He still lives, I understand"
Arthur cursed under his breath; he'd completely forgotten about Jowan, imprisoned since Connor was cured. He also saw Arabella had looked up in interest; Arthur remembered she hadn't been privy to the conversation where Teagan had chosen to re-imprison the mage, and was no doubt wondering who had
"He does. He is in the dungeon, brother" Teagan replied.
"Have him brought here, Teagan. I want to see him" Eamon growled angrily. Teagan nodded and motioned for two of the guards standing about the chamber to obey the arl's command. Five minutes later, there came the rattle of chains and the guards re-entered the room, dragging Jowan into the great hall, still manacled hand and foot.
"Jowan!" Arabella yelled incredulously, leaping out of her seat "They told me you were dead!"
"Bella, what are you doing here?" Jowan replied, his face torn between amazement and regret. "I thought the templars would..."
"Punish me for your sins?" Arabella scowled. "They very nearly did, you son of a bitch! I was lucky to get away with just being locked in solitary: Irving was barely able to talk Greagoir out of transferring your sentence of Tranquility to me!"
"You two know each other?" Arthur asked. Arabella nodded and replied "We were friends growing up in the tower; we kept each other sane and alive in there. I helped him escape the tower after he was about to be made Tranquil, but the templars caught us coming out of the phylactery chamber. This bastard attacked them, then ran and left me to it!"
"Enough!" Eamon snapped, irked by the interruption, his face set in an expression of deepest loathing. "I had you brought here for a reason, Jowan. What you have done is not in question; you tried to assassinate me and set into motion a series of events that nearly destroyed everything I cherish".
Arabella looked mortified at this, shaking her head as she heard the accusations, clearing unwilling to believe the worst of her friend. "It can't be...there must be some mistake" she said desperately, but Arthur shook his head solemnly.
"Arabella, he confessed to it" Arthur replied sadly. "One way or another, this isn't going to end well for him"
"What do you have to say in your defence?"
"Nothing, my lord...other than to say I am sorry. I expect no mercy for what I have done"
"I...see" Eamon replied softly, clearly having expected Jowan to make excuses for his crimes or plead his innocence. "Arthur, do you have anything to add on Jowan's behalf?". Arthur was a little caught offguard; he'd barely spoken to the mage, and he couldn't say his feelings for Jowan were that warm, given his own hatred for men who snuck into the homes of people who trusted them, only to stab them in the back. On the other hand, Jowan had stayed behind and tried to rectify his mistakes, heedless of the cost to himself and had not attempted to make excuses or try to explain away his deeds.
"He seemed earnest in his desire to repent"
"Oh, that is...unexpected" Eamon remarked with a raised eyebrow. "And what would you have me do? As the injured party, my ability to see the merciful path is strained"
"Give him to the Circle of Magi. He claims he wishes to answer for his crimes, and the Circle is the proper authority to deal with individuals like him. Let the templars mete out justice as they see fit".
'It's the only form of mercy he can be given' Arthur knew. 'The templars will, in all likelihood, kill him, but at least it will be seen as justice, not vengeance'
"True enough, and wisely said. Jowan, I hereby turn you over to the custody of the Circle of Magi. You will remain imprisoned until such time as the templars arrive to take you back to Kinloch Hold. And may the Maker have mercy on your soul".
"No, you can't!" Arabella protested. "Jowan is a good man, he all but looked after me growing up in the tower. I grant you, he has made some foolish mistakes, but-"
"Mistakes? By his actions, so many good, innocent people have died, deaths that could have been prevented were it not for his selfishness and stupidity. Justice must be done" Eamon retorted. "If he is not handed over to the templars, I will have him hanged. I am sorry, girl, but I cannot forgive what he has done, both to me personally, and to the people whose care I am charged with"
"Arthur, use that, that Right thing! Make him a Warden!" Arabella begged desperately, but Jowan silenced her with a raised hand, smiling softly as she turned her attention to her old friend.
"Bella, it's alright. I'm tired of running from the Circle, from what I've done. We all have to face our sins some day, in the next world if not this one. All I've done since I ran from the tower is delay the inevitable, and I'm at the end of the line. I will run no longer, and if this is my last chance to do something right with my life, I'll do it".
"I' m sorry I couldn't do more for you and Lily..." Arabella said sadly, her eyes downcast, sounding close to tears, but Jowan had no recriminations
"Bella, I'm the one who should be sorry" Jowan replied earnestly. "You did so much for me, and I repaid you with betrayal. I can never make it up to you, and you owe me nothing, my dearest friend; you've already given me so much. If you want to do something for me, forgive yourself, forget me and live. Be the mage I could never hope to be. Be the best of us". All she could do in answer was nod mechanically.
"Take him away" Eamon snapped and the guards removed Jowan from the halls. Arabella glared at the arl for a moment, then excused herself and departed from the hall. Eamon sighed solemnly and Arthur empathised with him; it could not have been an easy decision but Arthur supported his decision; no one was above the law, and after what he had done, Jowan had to face justice. 'I'll just have to try and make Arabella see that at some point. Maker help me when that moment comes'
Eamon was quick to return to the matter at hand. "It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, I suggest you pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde."
"Surely the treaties can wait for a few days, my husband?" asked Lady Isolde as she appeared from a doorway. "Our friends must be tired from travelling all across Ferelden. Let them rest for a few days before sending them off again. At the very least, allow me to show my gratitude for saving my boy and my husband, Teyrn Arthur"
"That is most kind of you. But I did not do it alone." Arthur pointedly looked at Alistair to get his point across.
"Yes, of course. I have both you and Alistair to thank." The grateful smile on the arlessa's thin lips was genuine. "As my husband has said, both of you and your companions are always welcome in our home. You must stay and rest, I insist."
"Well, you've heard my wife and she is nothing if not stubborn. Besides, I imagine a couple of days living comfortably will be a nice change from the hardships of travelling on the road" the arl shook his head rather affectionately. ". Alistair, perhaps we can talk later tonight?"
Alistair seemed surprised by the request. "I- of course."
####################
"So when do you intend to depart?" Eamon asked. "It'll probably take you about a week to reach Gherlen Pass, so I'll ensure the quartermaster provides you with enough supplies to reach the gates of Orzammar-"
"We're not going to Orzammar. Not yet, at least" Arthur replied from his place at the end of the arl's table. Eamon looked at him askance, clearly surprised by this statement. It was early evening, and they were once again sat in Redcliffe Castle's great hall, awaiting the servants providing the first course of the celebratory banquet Isolde had organised to celebrate her husband's recovery. Most of the day had been spent in the village, Eamon having gone to prove to his vassals that he was alive and well, greeted by much cheering and jubilation from the villagers, overjoyed to see their lord restored to them after so long. Eamon had joined the villagers in a special sermon at the Chantry, both to give praise for his recovery and remember those who had lost their lives in the assaults on Redcliffe, before the Arl had made commendations and praise to the militia for their courage and bravery during the undead attacks and knighted several of the squires who'd gone with their knight patrons in search of the Urn. Arthur had also heard rumours the arlessa was planning an extravagant gala to both celebrate Eamon's restoration and give the villagers something to help forget their troubles with a celebration to raise their spirits. Eamon had also confirmed in private that a good number of the nobility Eamon felt certain he could rely on their support would be invited so as to sound out their position in the coming Landsmeet, and that he intended to hold off the soiree until after the last Grey Warden treaty had been honoured.
"Then where? Surely you can't intend to head back to Denerim again by yourselves?" Teagan added. "Word has reached us from the city; since your exploits there, Loghain's cracking down even more fiercely on any signs of dissension against him. He's raised the bounty on your heads to near 90,000 sovereigns..."
'And that will only grow larger when he learns one of the Grey Wardens he despises is claiming the throne' Arthur knew. 'How much of the treasury will you squander to try and hide your treason?'. He'd heard the rumours about what hadbeen unfolding across Ferelden, the atrocities Loghain was committing to try and shore up his crumbling hold on power; the carnage at Winter's Breath, the brutal execution of the hunters from Oswin and the cruel pride Loghain seemed to have taken from it, the murder of Bann Grainne for no greater crime than simply denying Loghain's forces food, an act the Bann was at perfect liberty to do...part of Arthur wanted nothing more than to march into Denerim with the army they'd gathered and put Loghain, Howe and all those who stood with them to the sword for their crimes, but he knew it couldn't be done, at least not yet.
'We still have more to do before that day comes'
"No, we must go south. Back to Ostagar"
"Ostagar?" Eamon repeated, his tone and expression incredulous. "What in the Maker's name would possess you to go back there? By now, there's probably nothing there but blood-stained snow and bones picked clean by darkspawn, so what could possibly be worth returning to that blighted pit for?"
Arthur quickly relayed their chance encounter with the last surviving member of Cailan's Kingsguard and what the man had told them was could be found among the ruins of the fortress and the royal encampment.
"Did he say what might be found there?" Eamon questioned, a more interested look entering his eyes at the mention. Teagan made no reply as he drank from a goblet, but from the look in his gaze, Arthur knew the Bann was listening intently.
"No" Arthur replied sadly. "But he implied that the documents contained proof that Cailan was planning an alliance with Orlais against the Blight, among other things".
"Would that be enough of a reason for Loghain to murder Cailan?"Teagan mused. "Loghain hated anything remotely connected with Orlais-his obsession with it has near-destroyed this country- but would that be enough of a reason to abandon his king, his daughter's husband, to his death, simply to prevent an alliance? I knew that in recent months Cailan's relationship with Loghain had turned sour, but still...enough to want him dead? I'm not sure"
"All the more reason to return to Ostagar"Arthur pointed out. "If we can obtain these documents, if we can prove that Loghain acted out of base greed and ambition to seize control of the country and stop Cailan's plans for his own ends, then I'd say it would be another rope with which to hang him at the Landsmeet"
"How do you know they'll even still be there?" the arl replied fairly. "Ostagar has been in the hands of the darkspawn since the battle, and it's been nearly five months. The chest might be gone, smashed open, its contents looted or discarded by those monsters..."
"That may be" Arthur agree "but if there's a chance they remain, a chance to obtain the information they contain and use it to damage Loghain's position at the Landsmeet, I say it's a risk we have to take"
"Very well, your arguments make sense" Eamon conceded "but I must insist Alistair remain here-"
"Don't even think about it!" Alistair burst out hotly, rising from his seat.
"Alistair, you are the heir to Cailan's throne, the one upon which we're placing all our hopes for the Landsmeet. If you die in the south, Loghain will have won the Landsmeet before it's even begun"
"Alistair is a Grey Warden" Arthur replied fairly "and he has already risked death many times already. Besides, he's more likely to be safer on the road dealing with an enemy we can see and face, rather than sitting around here, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the next servant Loghain sends you to try and cut his throat"
The meaning could not have been clearer; Jowan may not have been the only traitor in their midst. 'Who can say whose loyalty you can trust now?' Arthur mused. Howe's actions had made him much susceptible to look for signs of betrayal, and after all they'd been through to restore the arl to health, it would be the height of irony if Eamon were killed by another servant of his who turned out to be in Loghain's employ.
"Your point is well made, Arthur. I shall go to great lengths to make sure I can rely on the loyalty of the people I have here"
"Sounds like a plan. I will of course leave some of my companions to assist you with this; Zevran's injuries would make him a good candidate to remain behind, and he has a knack for this kind of work. I'll also leave Morrigan; her presence would also be useful for interrogation..."
"Why am I not to come?" Morrigan interrupted angrily, disregarding the surprised glances that were cast at her at her interruption.
"Because you are needed for this task, and because after we're done at Ostagar, I intend to pay a visit to a mutual friend of ours. A rather old friend"
Teagan and Eamon looked at him askance, but fortunately, Morrigan caught his meaning and fell silent. Fortunately, the conversation shifted as the next course of the evening meal came, turning to more, as Eamon turned to question Teagan on the status of Redcliffe's standing army and spoke of the new arrivals that were beginning to arrive- scouts and outriders of the Dalish clans massing in the Brecilian Forest who'd brought word from Lanaya that Gwaren was all but sealed off, the land routes all guarded carefully by Dalish archers and sylvans that destroyed anything trying to pass through the forest, as well as apprentices and more senior mages from the Circle eager to put their powers to use against the darkspawn. When the meal concluded, Eamon said that quarters had been prepared for them in the castle, a not so subtle piece of advice for them to get a lot of rest for the long journey ahead back to Ostagar.
As Arthur made to the upper levels of the castle, he found Morrigan once again outside his quarters, and once again, the moment she caught sight of him, she spoke in a blunt manner that seemed almost demanding.
"Arthur, listen carefully. When you confront her, you must be swift and attack without mercy. Flemeth is like any other demon; she will try to persuade you, to dissuade you, she will offer you anything to convince you to let her live. Ignore it and cut her down; make a deal with her and it will have dire consequences for me, I know that..."
"Have no fear; Flemeth will die" Arthur replied, raising a hand to forestall any further protests from the witch. Morrigan nodded in acceptance of the statement and Arthur thought he saw a flicker of something that almost might have gratitude. Before he could say anything however, she made to leave and Arthur turned to enter his room, he heard the sound of Morrigan clearing her throat.
"And Arthur...do try to come back alive. I'm not all that wealthy in allies these days"