The Arlessa's "farewell repast" was a lavish affair that included all the noble and wealthier merchant families of Redcliffe. At least, those that remained and hadn't fled north. Jayne could barely contain her embarrassment when she entered the elegant salon in a simple tunic and trousers tucked into her boots. She'd had no idea of what to expect and hadn't bothered to find out much before a servant came knocking at her door, rousing her from the unintentional nap she'd been taking after enjoying the exquisite pleasure of washing herself in a proper tub. She had been given a large room at the end of a corridor, overlooking the craggy cliffs off the side of the castle. She had appreciated the accommodations, unaccustomed to comforts she had once taken for granted. Alistair had been given a room down the opposite end of the hallway and she had seen Oghren and Zevran ushered into a shared room right across his.
"Look! They gave us a double bed to share!" Oghren teased, peering into the room first.
"Dwarf, you are not my type!" Zevran warned him.
"I know. I am out of your league," Oghren boasted.
"And out of your mind." Zevran tapped his head playfully.
Leliana and Wynne agreed to share the room across from hers, as Morrigan laid claim to one of the last single rooms, Sten having taken the other. She'd noted, crossly, that all the rooms appeared to be in fine condition, having sustained no damage she could see.
While she stood beside a window in the grand salon, she cast Alistair an irritated look as he meandered over to her side, dressed in fine attire.
"Don't tell me you have been lugging formal clothes in your pack all this time. This is a cautionary scenario my mother always warned me about come true," she grumbled, eyeing the elegant embroidery on his shirt's collar.
"What? This old thing?" Alistair kidded. She smirked. "Actually, it's a loaner from Eamon's wardrobe." He raised the sleeve to Jayne's nose. "Smell it. I don't think its seen the light of day since the last Blight."
"Where are the others?" she asked, glancing around the opulent room.
"Let's see: Morrigan made up an excuse and got herself out of attending… Bodhan and Sandal preferred to have an earlier meal in the kitchen—they said Rune's already been fed… Leliana,Wynne, and Zevran are mingling…Oghren is sitting in a chair that is too big for him, and Sten is sitting next to him, on a tiny tuffet." He pointed at the mismatched duo.
Jayne leaned in to confide in him.
"I don't know what is more disturbing: the sight of those two sitting like that, or the fact you even know what a tuffet is."
She craned her neck to look over the room, catching a glimpse of Zevran.
That Zevran was up to no good was evident, she could tell. He was dressed in his most flattering clothes, looking as handsome as an elven sun god. She noticed his belted tunic framed his broad shoulders flatteringly and outlined his muscular arms. Of course, Zevran being Zevran, he'd somehow managed to have his clothes look crisp and uncreased. They were simple, unfussy pieces, but they were of good quality and expertly made.
"Antivan tailoring," he'd explained to her once, proudly, "is second to none. Our tailors can make even a sack of potatoes look stylish."
"I don't like where this conversation is goin'!" Oghren had yelled with irritation.
He'd left the top two buttons of the white tunic undone, affording a tantalizing glimpse of his sun kissed skin beneath. His sleek light gold hair had been braided and complemented his warm, honey colored eyes. She inhaled deeply as she contemplated the dashing figure he cut that evening…and the small entourage he'd managed to amass about him. She attempted to catch his attention, going as far as waving her hand at him, but he merely averted his eyes and finally turned his back to her.
What's up your sleeve, Zevran?… she squinted.
She realized she had never really seen the rogue under such circumstances. He appeared to be in his element, offering charming smiles and absorbing gazes. Four women watched and listened to him intently. She could almost empathize with what they felt, knowing that each time he looked at any of them, they would feel enveloped by the depth of his gaze, believe themselves admired, perhaps even beautiful. They would willingly allow themselves to be lured to his flame like the proverbial moths, attracted by nothing more than a desire to bask in his warmth, in his natural, easy charm. She watched disconcertedly as Zevran was openly gaped at, his arm intentionally grazed during casual conversation, those grown women giddily vying for his attention as if they were silly schoolgirls allowed to mingle after Chantry services.
He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, she realized, as his signature half grin spread languidly across his lips; she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.
They had nothing more than an arrangement.
An arrangement that said nothing about constancy and exclusivity…both things he'd indicated he loathed. For all she knew, they were still free to pursue others, according to their whims and desires. But what had she expected? To experience the blush of pure love with a jaded man such as her Antivan assassin? To find herself in the position to curtail his enjoyment of something he savored and force him to forsake all others for her?
She seized a crystal wine goblet from a passing tray.
I'm going to need a whole lot of these, she chastised herself. I do love him. Of that much I am certain. Even if all I am to him is a partner in this …"arrangement."
Maker, the word grated on her.
She realized, watching as he gestured gracefully while he spoke, she hated the thought of him so easily redirecting his affections. Yet, she couldn't demand that kind of faithfulness from him; she wouldn't dream of asking. He wouldn't expect it of her, either, she knew. And yet, somehow, he already had it from her. Willingly. Because she loved him— not the sensation of being in love, she understood. The thought of seeking pleasure for pleasure's sake did not appeal to her as it appealed, she suspected, to him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the Arl, eschewing his duties as host for a moment as he gathered her, Alistair and Teagan aside, towards a quiet corner of the room.
"The Landsmeet will be my last formal act as Arl of Redcliffe," he confessed to them somberly.
"I don't understand," Alistair protested. "You have been the Arl of Redcliffe for as long as I can remember. These people look up to you. They need you now more than ever!" he stated.
Eamon flashed a weary grin filled with genuine affection at Alistair.
"And I will not let them down. I do this precisely for them," he declared, looking out the window rather than at the nobles assembled in the room. He sighed gravely. "Isolde and I will remain in Denerim, in the old Guerrin estate," he explained. "And Teagan will run the Arling. I have no doubts regarding his capacity to do so. He has ruled Rainesfere prudently and efficiently as Bann. He has had to step into my position several times over the past few years, under trying circumstances no less, and he has always excelled."
"What has compelled you to make such a decision?" Jayne wondered, concerned.
"The truth is, I must step down," Eamon explained. "Ever since it came to light that Connor is a mage and that we tried to harbor him from the Circle and the Templars…relations between the village and the castle have been strained," he sighed. He glanced across the room, where Connor sat beside his mother. " As a mage, he cannot inherit my title or the land. There is no reason for me to cling to power. For me to do so would only foster further instability and mistrust."
The pause in their conversation afforded her the opportunity of shifting her eyes to where Zevran stood, his circle of admirers growing. She caught the tail end of an introduction and watched as he delicately took an extended hand and brushed his lips over the fingertips. He must have uttered something witty, she imagined, for a burst of laughter filled with frisson echoed back to them.
Jayne exhaled heavily, burying her nose in her goblet of wine.
"The people still trust you," Eamon continued, addressing his brother. "They respect you as someone who did not abandon them during one of the most harrowing times they faced." He placed a stolid, trusting hand over his shoulder. "You will make a splendid Arl," he told him earnestly.
Teagan grinned wanly.
"I suspect he has mixed feelings because along with the title comes a different kind of responsibility…" the Arl confided meaningfully to her and Alistair. "His days as a carefree bachelor will have to come to an end," he teased, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "It won't be so bad," he grinned. "I only hope you can find a wife as loving and as devoted as Isolde."
Alistair began to cough loudly behind his goblet of wine.
"Excuse me," he apologized between breaths, pounding his fist over his chest lightly. "It went down the wrong way."
Jayne pressed her lips, disguising a smile just before she noticed Teagan's eyes linger upon her. She swiftly took another swig from her goblet.
Yes: much more of this to make it through the evening.
"Speaking of arlings, what do you suppose will become of the teyrnir of Highever?" Eamon inquired of her. "If we can muster enough support, there shouldn't be any question of restituting the title to the Couslands…And as the sole surviving heir…"
"I am now a Grey Warden," she interrupted him. "I have no claim to any titles."
"Well! If our plan to reinstate the Theirin line to power, by making our own Alistair here king, succeeds, I am sure that provision will be promptly struck down…"
She shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't thought of that: if a Grey Warden could be king, then she most definitely could be Teyrna.
"You should consider the possibility, Lady Cousland, and ponder how forging certain…alliances… could benefit you," Eamon said with a courteous nod. He tapped Alistair's arm. "I need to introduce you to a few people of interest," he said pointedly, escorting him towards another group at the center of the room, leaving her alone with Teagan.
Eamon is a political siege weapon.
She watched his serious expression quickly morph into an affable smile as he approached a small group of guests. He was constantly plotting and machinating, it seemed. Was it any wonder Loghain had wanted the stately man dead?
Teagan uttered an uneasy laugh.
"My brother…" he sighed. "Only happy if he has two simultaneous fronts to charge," he apologized.
"It's ensured his survival in Ferelden's many power shuffles," she stated, avoiding Teagan's eyes.
"I am not sure I agree; it almost cost him…everything."
They stood in an awkward silence observing the other guests in lively conversations.
"I don't know if you were aware, but I knew both your father and brother," Teagan continued.
"You did?" she turned to him, intrigued.
"We met several times over talks involving the Bannorn. Teyrn Cousland was well-respected and he was often sought out as a neutral observer and advisor when the Banns met to negotiate various matters," he stated. "Regardless of how heated discussions became, your father always remained level-headed. More recently, your brother had been the one attending negotiations in your father's stead. I remember thinking he was so shrewd, we had best read and re-read our treaties and contracts. One of the Banns used to say that once Fergus Cousland was done addressing the Council of Freeholders, we'd all be persuaded to gladly hand over our lands and wives," he chuckled, reminiscing. He turned his eyes upon her, admiringly. "Are you as effective a negotiator as your brother?" he wondered.
"I'm afraid I did not inherit their sanguine dispositions," she admitted. "I tend to be more outspoken, more impulsive." She smirked. " There's a reason why you only ever saw my father and brother at those talks."
"Ah, then you and I have something in common," he tilted his head, entertained. "I wonder if it is because we are the younger siblings? But… don't dismiss those qualities," he advised her. "There is much to say for passion and sentiment, at the right time, in the appropriate measure. Eamon was always the planner, but he needed me to win over and rally our troops," he explained. "And you…I imagine it must be the same with you, given how you have garnered the support of old allies," he pointed out.
The bright tingling of a small bell resounded throughout the room.
"Dinner is served," the Arlessa announced, standing up. "Please join us in the dining room," she smiled coolly. Jayne turned her head instinctively to where Zevran had been standing. As the crowd began to file into the large room, she noticed him wander towards the entrance with two women clinging proudly to his arm, all heads turning to follow them.
Suddenly, I've lost my appetite, she thought morosely. She noticed, though, that Teagan had not left her side. Instead, he gallantly offered his own arm to her.
"Shall we, my Lady?"
She took it.
"It's been a while since I've been called that," she confessed.