-oOo-

"Arl Teagan."

The voice was cultured and vaguely familiar. He turned, eyebrows raised; in the Gnawed Noble one did not usually expect to be accosted with a stranger's hand on one's sleeve. The culprit was a young man, bearing the facial lines of one much older, and leaning on a cane; Sighard's son Os-

No, thought, Teagan, he's Bann Oswyn, now.

"Forgive me, Arl Teagan, but I wouldn't advise going in there; Ceorlic and Loren are bemoaning the fate of the nation."

"Ah, I appreciate your concern for my sanity then." Teagan released the handle of the sitting-room door and smiled at the young Bann. Oswyn looked inordinately relieved, enough so for Teagan to wonder how many of the nobles had spurned his company since his turbulent elevation to his father's seat. "Two of the worst bores in Ferelden are not to be undertaken lightly." He refrained for admitting that it had been his specific intention to engage with the notorious pair; rumour said that they ranked high in support of the Chantry, and Alistair needed information. "Perhaps instead you'd care to take a drink with me, Bann Oswyn?" He ushered the young noble to a secluded table and beckoned a waitress.

"My thanks." Oswyn lowered himself into a chair with exaggerated care, setting aside his cane with a sigh once he was settled. Teagan ordered some ale and wine, turning his attention to his guest once the waitress left.

"I imagine it has been difficult for you these past months, Bann Oswyn? It's never an easy thing to be obliged to step into such a role unexpectedly." The conversational lead was deliberately neutral, leaving Oswyn the option to brush lightly over the horrendous circumstances surrounding his elevation, and to make instead the usual small-talk that any noble would about the difficulties associated with controlling a section of the Bannorn.

However, the look he received from the young lord was disconcertingly direct. "It hasn't been easy, but… Arl Teagan, I hear that you stand close to the King. I wonder… would you be willing to pass along my thanks to him?" Teagan could only assume that his face expressed his surprise, from the way that Oswyn hurried on, blushing like the boy he still, in many ways, was. "Without his mercy – and that of his Queen – my family's heritage and reputation would have been utterly destroyed. Yes, it's difficult, and I miss my father, but at least I have the opportunity to rebuild what was lost. I've wanted to thank him ever since, but a letter seemed insufficient." The waitress returned, and Oswyn waited until she had served them and departed before continuing. "Both King Alistair and Queen Madeleina have my eternal gratitude." He sipped at his tankard. "My men caught some Orlesian weasel spreading lies about the Queen in Dragon's Peak last week, and I came down hard on the culprit. I won't have any such filth spouted on my land."

"Orlesian?" Teagan frowned. Over half of those who Leliana had discovered spreading the same rumours, and who now languished in Fort Drakon awaiting his Majesty's pleasure, were also Orlesian. As so many of the rumours in Denerim were being spread between sailors and traders, they hadn't thought anything of it, but Dragon's Peak was further inland. He made a mental note to mention it to the bard. "Do you have the man in custody?"

"I don't. I was tempted to hang him; if I'd found a Fereldan saying such things of the Queen then he would have swung, I can assure you of that. As an Orlesian, I suppose he's entitled to hold a poor opinion of our royalty, if he pleases, but for the crime of spreading treasonous rumours to good Fereldans I had him severely flogged and flung outside my borders." Oswyn's eyes flashed with righteous indignation, and Teagan hid a smile. It seemed that Alistair and Maddy had gained a champion.

"Very proper," he approved, soothingly.

Oswyn fortified himself with another swallow of ale, and his indignant flush gradually receded. "Arl Teagan, may I ask what's actually going on? King Alistair has called a Landsmeet, but no-one seems certain why, although there are plenty of rumours. Yesterday, I saw with my own eyes a wagon train roll into Denerim bearing crates marked with the mabari rampant, and with that strange mark that the Orzammar crown use on their goods. I heard someone say that they were filled with weapons. Tell me, are we going to war with someone?"

Weapons. That was one of the most popular rumours for the early shipments being moved from Orzammar to Denerim by those dwarves who lived in the surface clans. No-one seemed to have even considered that the, supposedly inviolable, lyrium trade could have changed hands, although Teagan suspected the Chantry had leaked the information to their most ardent supporters. The news was going to break in a matter of hours anyway; the first ships, pressed into service from the royal fleet until more suitable ones could be found, already sat in the harbour awaiting the loading of their shipments. There was, at this stage, little harm in breaking the news to Alistair's stauncher allies.

"No Oswyn, it's not weapons, it's lyrium." The young noble gaped at him, clearly caught unawares. "The Chantry has been up to some very dirty tricks these last few months, and one of those has made King Bhelen refuse to trade with them."

"Maker's Breath."

Teagan waited while Oswyn processed the information, before continuing. "I can't go into details about how the Chantry had behaved, Bann Oswyn, or even how the King intends to respond. The situation is too delicate right now. But in all honesty, if you genuinely want to thank King Alistair and Queen Madeleina for their mercy to you and your father, then give them your vote at the Landsmeet. It's the finest gift they could receive from you."

"Then they shall have it." The response was immediate and unhesitating, bringing a smile to Teagan's face. Time would teach caution, as it did to all those who inherited control of the Bannorn, but right now Oswyn's boyish zeal was refreshing.

"Thank you, Bann Oswyn," he said gravely, "I honour you for your loyalty to the Crown."

-oOo-

The journey from West Hill to Highever took only a single day, during which time Maddy kept an anxious eye on her brother; she had never seen Philippe so wan and pale. For the first part of the journey he rode beside her in silence, forsaking his usual spot at Zevran's side. When she finally ventured to ask him what was wrong, Philippe's demeanour changed utterly; for the rest of the day he chattered his usual diverting nonsense, but with a feverish air that left her more worried than ever.

The city of Highever was an agreeable surprise, as unlike grim Gwaren, or filthy Denerim, as it was possible to be. The streets were clean and well-kept; the soft grey stone of the buildings was warm and welcoming. As was the Teyrn, whom she only vaguely remembered meeting during her wedding celebrations. Teyrn Fergus was sturdy and dark, with a no-nonsense manner and a friendly smile. This came as a relief to Maddy, who had feared what greeting she would get from Melissa Cousland's brother. It had been in her mind that there may be some awkwardness in meeting the brother of her husband's dead lover, and his warm welcome relieved her mind, even though it was likely due mainly to politics.

The Teyrn offered a similarly bluff greeting to Arl Wulff. If he was surprised to see his vassal arrive in the Queen's train he gave no sign of it that Maddy could see. Following her demonstration in the fields of West Hill, Wulff's demeanour had changed utterly, driven by new hope of seeing his land renewed. The following evening she outlined for him a far more daring plan, one that made her hands sweat with nerves: to seed the land between West Hill and Highever with trees, good strong oak suitable for ship-building. If Teyrn Fergus agreed, and she really couldn't imagine him refusing, then the agricultural focus of this part of Ferelden would diminish, giving way to lumber, shipyards and all the rich pickings of a major port.

Wulff was cock-a-hoop, any surprise or concern regarding lyrium or the Chantry swept away in the grandeur of this vision for his home. He would vote however they wished at the Landsmeet, she had no doubt of that. To be offered so much, after being reduced to so little… she could sympathise with his eagerness, willing to see it as hope for his people, rather than as greed for himself.

Maddy was doing her best not to think about the trees, about the silent screams she'd heard at Gwaren. Alistair was right, she told herself sternly, ships would be built, and trees must be felled to make them; it was only a matter of where they would be built. Common sense wasn't helping with the guilt, though. It wasn't helping at all.

-oOo-

To Her Holiness the Divine

Appointed Head of the Andrastian Chantry in Thedas,

Greetings

Some months ago, we requested that you appoint for us a Grand Cleric more in tune with the needs of the faithful in Ferelden. No doubt it was the exigencies of your High Office which prevented you from responding to our request, either in word or deed.

It has proved unfortunate that you did not find it possible to accommodate us in this matter. The situation here has become dire and, as a direct result of the actions of Grand Cleric Leanna, Orzammar has declared the ancient contract which provides lyrium to the Chantry null and void. We may only hope and trust that the Grand Cleric was, in this matter, acting upon her own cognizance, as it would reflect ill indeed upon the Chantry were she not.

With Orzammar lying largely below our land of Ferelden, the consequences of a bidding war for the lyrium trade filled us with alarm, as did the knowledge that the only remaining contract operated between the heretical Chantry of Tevinter and Orzammar. It was not in our interests to see either an extension of the existing contract, allowing the Tevinter Chantry to entirely control trade of such a vital substance, or to see open warfare break out over the securing of an alternative contract. Therefore, you will be relieved to hear that the matter is resolved in a manner that prevents both of these catastrophes.

A fresh contract has been drawn up between Ferelden and Orzammar, to the satisfaction of both. It is our intention to ensure that the distribution of lyrium throughout Thedas continues without interruption or disturbance. We will therefore require from you full information regarding the quantities required for the smooth running of the Chantry. I imagine that these will be considerable, and the Ferelden Crown will do what it can to accommodate your needs at a reasonable price. All shipments will be checked and marked with the combined Royal Seals of Ferelden and Orzammar, ensuring the purity of the lyrium. Any nation or organisation found to be selling or distributing lyrium where these seals are not intact shall incur our displeasure, and their deliveries shall be discontinued for as long as it pleases us to do so.

May the Maker bless and keep you.

Alistair Theirin

By the Grace of the Maker, King of Ferelden

Written at our Palace in Denerim, this twenty eighth day of Firstfall, in the second year of our reign.

The Divine picked up the scrap of parchment which had fallen out of the letter when the seal was broken. It bore only a few words, in the same handwriting:

Aren't lyrium mines fascinating places?

She folded her hands, resting them on the other letter from Ferelden, which had arrived on the same ship. This was from Grand Cleric Leanna, containing much of the same information, together with a great deal of hysterical waffle about the Chantry's Divine Right to lyrium and an impertinent, and hasty, demand for an Exalted March against Ferelden.

Lyrium mines… The threat was clear enough; King Alistair had uncovered one of the Chantry's best kept secrets, and unless the Divine accepted the new status quo, he would expose them. Never mind that the lyrium contract had now changed hands: one could not sweep aside a thousand years of slavery on so flimsy an excuse.

A note must be sent post-haste to intercept Empress Celene before she reached Orzammar. Her Imperial Majesty would be furious at this news, but even more so if she arrived at the gates of Orzammar in ignorance, and appeared foolish before King Bhelen.

Regarding the Ferelden Chantry… the Divine frowned down at her clasped hands, considering the situation. Rolling out the new regime in such a small and backward country first, as a test case, had seemed like a good plan, but it appeared that Leanna had made a hash of the endeavour. With the leverage which the lyrium trade gave him, King Alistair was already making demands regarding the disposition of both Templars and mages in Ferelden; it was curious that one who was, himself, Templar-trained should exhibit such sympathy with users of magic.

There could be no Exalted March of course, that much was certain; the situation required careful handling, far more careful than the Grand Cleric could provide. A Holy Legate must be appointed, one subtle and experienced enough to speak as the voice of the Divine. She had just such a one in mind, someone she could trust to make a cool and considered judgement on what could be salvaged from this mess. Immediate arrangement must be made for an entourage of such pomp and dignity that there should be no doubt of the power of the Chantry. There were a great many highly devout nobles in Ferelden; the Legate would well know how to utilise such a resource.

-oOo-

"Orlais?"

Alistair put his fork down, frowning across the table at Leliana. Since returning to Denerim, the King and his group of friends and advisors – Leliana, Anders and Teagan - had got into the habit of dining together, just as they had on the road. It was a good way to catch up on their news during this hectic time. And, it helped him to not miss Maddy quite so much.

"The rumours are coming from Orlais?" Thoughts flickered through his head and he snagged one. "You think it's the Divine?"

"Possibly." Leliana speared a small piece of carrot on her fork, eating it with a delicacy that had never failed, even at the darkest, messiest moments of the Blight. "Either our rumourmongers don't know the source, or I am not skilled enough to get to their knowledge." She looked haunted for a moment, but the Bard was in residence, Alistair had seen her often enough now to recognise the hard shell that Leliana encased herself in for this work. "It would be easier if Zevran were here."

He didn't doubt it; the assassin shied away from nothing. Bearing in mind exactly what these rumours threatened his wife with, Alistair was quite prepared to push aside any squeamishness he himself may feel about putting prisoners to the question. "What have you been able to discover?"

"That most of those we hold are mere gossips; sailors or merchants who picked up a juicy titbit on the docks of Val Royeaux and did not have the sense to keep their tongue between their teeth in the taverns of Denerim. One or two know more: if what they say is true, then they were paid to spread this rumour, paid by quiet nondescript men in private rooms of taverns in Val Royeaux."

Anders piped up from the other end of the table. "Well, I can't think of anyone else in Orlais who'd have any reason to do this other than the Divine. This is revenge for opposing them, Alistair, you mark my words."

"I don't see that." Teagan poured more wine, and twisted the goblet between his fingers, frowning. "It will have taken weeks to get these rumours as wide-spread as they are. Has the Divine been aware all this time that Ferelden is intending to secede? Or that Alistair was stealing away the lyrium trade? Surely not, or they would have taken far more direct action."

"Whoever it is, they are fighting a losing battle; if anything, the rumours about Maddy are escalating in a totally different direction." Leliana paused to chew and swallow her food, and Alistair made the mistake of putting his wine to his lips. "It's being said that she is Andraste reborn." Wine spattered over his plate, his napkin and a sizeable bit of table.

"What?"

-oOo-