A/N: Thanks to those who took the time to review the last chapter. And thanks for sticking with this story.
Warning: This is a Howe chapter so it'll contain some adult content including domestic violence, references/mentions of torture, rape, sexism, etc.
War of the Laurels
By Spectre4hire
Howe
"I will not marry him!"
Even in the ground his wife vexed him with their insufferable children.
"You will watch your tone," Howe snapped at his daughter.
She did not buckle to him. "You cannot make me!"
He slapped her for that. "You are my daughter," He watched the red bloom into her cheek in the shape of his hand. "This is your duty. This is your purpose." He raised his finger when she looked to interrupt and it made her quiet. "You are to advance our family's name."
"I will not," she shook her head.
"You ungrateful girl," Howe's hand twitched at his side but he did not strike her. "I'm putting you beside the throne of Ferelden!"
"I don't want it." She stood stiff and stubborn against him.
"I don't care what you want," He told his daughter bluntly. "You will marry the Theirin bastard and you will give him a son, a future King of Ferelden with our family's blood."
They were in the chambers he took in the Royal Palace. The rooms given to esteemed guests and who was more esteemed than him? The father of the future queen of Ferelden.
His daughter who should've been thankful for everything he had done for her seemed more like her stupid and pigheaded mother. She was unable to understand her singular role and what it entailed.
I'll remedy this slip in her education.
Thankfully her appearance has not been sullied in the same way. She took after her mother in the only regard that counted for something-her looks. She was still comely enough to infatuate this Warden bastard. Hopefully, she's fertile like her mother too.
"Father, I can't marry this bastard because I'm already married."
Howe's growing frustration stilled within his chest. "What?" He asked softly.
"Yes," she raised her chin in defiance to him, brandishing her cheek with his hand print as if it was some badge of courage. "His name is Albert. I love him."
This time he slapped her other cheek. "You dumb bitch!" Howe shouted at her, the rage burning hot inside him. "You had no right to marry this man!" His fists were shaking and the urge to hit her again filled him. "I did not permit it!" He continued in his angry tirade at how his foolish daughter was risking everything he had been carefully building these last few months.
"It's too late," The smile she gave him made him think of her mother and that only fanned his fury.
"I give you a crown and you give me, what?" He demanded, "Some up-jump knight? A minor bann?" The more he thought over this Albert he could not think of any within his Arling that bore that name and was of the acceptable nobility.
"He's a shopkeeper."
"WHAT?" He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. The hot lash in his belly, thrashing and turning at his daughter's wantonness and incompetence. "You opened your legs to a shopkeeper?" He bellowed, "You are a HOWE of Amaranthine! Not some whore." His hands were shaking and his urge to further punish her grew with every breath he took. "YOU DUMB BITCH!"
"A mabari bitch is fierce, Father," She shot back, "I take it as a compliment."
"You'll take this correction," He slapped her again, and she cowered, and let out a whimper that was more pup than war-hound. His hit had drawn blood, a small cut below her right eye. She wiped at it, but it smeared, resembling some savage warpaint.
He saw the tears in her eyes that she refused to shed, but it did not quell his fury. He did take pride in her not dirtying her cheeks with tears, a woman's weapon. There's something redeemable.
"Guards," Howe ordered them inside. "My daughter is tired. Escort her back to her chambers where she is confined until further notice."
The guards seized her arms roughly.
"She is a Howe," He warned them in a low voice. "And will be treated as such."
They bowed in submission and carefully took her out of the room. Sullen and silent, she didn't look back, but neither did she cry.
He stomped across his chamber towards his desk where he kept his wine and poured himself a generous offering. He did not sit. He was too restless. The anger was slow in fading. The wine's taste could not douse the flames that lingered. He poured himself a second and drank it until he saw the bottom of his glass.
"Your Lordship?"
Howe looked up and was pleased to see his dutiful Captain Chase standing in the doorway. Loyal and competent, a good man, though his low birth marred his qualities. He had delusions that he'd one day be able to marry Howe's daughter. The thought of some low birth captain marrying his daughter use to make him laugh.
Now, my daughter has married some shopkeep. He poured himself another.
"When you apprehended my daughter," Howe said slowly, his plan quickly formulating in his head to undo his daughter's spontaneous stupidity, "Did she speak of anyone?"
"She did, Your Lordship," Captain Chase's eyes flickered down to his boots.
"What was their name?" Howe asked quietly.
"Albert, Your Lordship," Chase answered with just a noticeable hesitation.
"Where is he?"
"I believe he may have followed us to Denerim."
Howe nodded, "Thank you, Captain Chase," he dismissed him.
"Your Lordship?" Confusion colored the captain's tone.
"That is all," Howe forced himself to smile. "Thank you."
Captain Chase gave a tentative nod before he stepped out of the room.
It was when he saw the plan in front of him that he allowed himself to sit down. The cushioned seat was comforting. The anger was dimming from his thinking and drinking. He leaned back in his chair, knowing what he needed to do.
Black will become her, he mused, reflecting on the next time he'll see his daughter.
A widow's garb to mourn her earlier impetuousness, to remind her of her mistakes and the doom they wrought.
He took a measured sip, his daughter in black flickered in front of him. It was then replaced by her wearing a simple coronet and she was dressed in the colors of royalty with a swollen belly, quiet and grateful.
Thank you, Father. She'd say to him, Thank you for forgiving me, for the crown, for everything.
He'd nod and smile, assuring her that he understood the weakness and whims that befall women. To blame her for such failures would be to blame water for being wet. No, it was in their nature.
His anger had finally ebbed away. He poured himself one final glass to allow himself a silent toast of what was to follow.
His daughter will be a Queen. His grandson will be a King.
Wine had never tasted any sweeter.
"Higher," Howe watched with growing satisfaction as his family's banner took its rightful place within the throne chamber of the Royal Palace.
The servants quietly obeyed, lofting the canvas until it was properly placed above the Fereldan throne. The brown bear was proud and fierce on a field quartered with gold and white. It loomed over all within the hall, a telling symbol of Fereldan's salvation. It was a show of Fereldan's future.
His banner now was above the simple, but finely carved Fereldan throne with its mabaris etched into the wood.
He let his gaze linger on the throne in front of him. He could've seized it.
Who better to rule Ferelden then him? I fought the Orlesians to free us from their reign. I rooted out the traitors when they tried spies and gifts instead of chevaliers and legions.
Howe resisted the temptation. And it was tempting, even now he could take the few steps needed and put himself on the throne. He had the army and he had the capital.
It would be too fleeting, he didn't have enough power, enough men. It irked him that he couldn't take it for himself, but he needed allies if he was to deal with the rebel Cousland who was too stubborn to die. Reaching out to the Arl of Redcliffe had been the only sensible option left to him once Loghain was killed.
Though, once those enemies are taken care of, who knows what could happen? He smiled, war and battle were so unpredictable.
"Your lordship?
He could smell the ale well before Harkin's voice interrupted his thoughts on his well deserved future. He looked over his shoulder to see the man, dressed in the city guard armor. He stopped and crossed his arm over his chest and bent his head when he was close enough.
"What news do you bring me, Harkin?" Howe had given him a very easy, but important task. In seeing the man before him, disheveled with red eyes betraying a night of drinking, a part of him wondered if he shouldn't have sent Chase or Temmerly to nip this nuisance quickly and quietly.
No, my hands must be clean. So it was discreetly given to Harkin, very few knew of his ties to Howe so he thought it ideal as well as the guard's unsavory contacts within the capital.
"It's done, your lordship," Harkin said with a smugness that Howe thought was undeserving of a man of his station. The cheap perfume of whatever whore he just crawled out of bed with still clung to him like a dirty cloak.
"Good," Howe had his hands behind his back, "And?"
"It looks like a bar fight gone wrong," Harkin's smirk lingered. It was foul as his ale breath.
No, Howe corrected silently, it's gone right. He thought such a death was a mercy to a man who thought to besmirch Howe's name and family. A shopkeep defiling my daughter? He should've been whipped through the streets and then gelded, to make sure this peasant never made that mistake again.
The shopkeep received a light treatment in the manner of his demise. He was afforded a quick death because Howe had pressing matters to tend to and he needed this man removed and done swiftly. He just needed to ensure it reached his daughter the right way as well as the stories that will surround this shopkeep's death like vultures circling a carcass.
"You may leave," Howe dismissed the city guard, and decided to ignore the quick scowl that came to his worn face. Just this once because of his handling of the shopkeep, Howe then stopped him when he was near the door. "You'll be rewarded more than usual with your next payment."
That smirk returned to his lips and he bowed his head and left quickly to retrieve that reward.
On whores and ale, Howe knew he'd need to remove him at some point. The man was a spineless insect.
For now let him enjoy his rewards, he decided, intending to squeeze every drop of value out of the man before finally and properly disposing of him.
Of course he wouldn't.
He wasn't surprised by the dwarf's message when he came to see him that evening.
The dwarf, named Dwyn seemed an odd choice for the Arl of Redcliffe to employ, as were the two goons that followed him except in here. He noticed the dwarf lost some of his confidence when they were forced to remain outside.
Howe looked up from the letter written by Eamon to see Dwyn's eyes flickering to the large, but silent guard that stood between them, with his arms crossed.
It was a qunari. He was tall with long curled horns, with patches of dark hair atop his head. Grey skin and golden eyes, he was muscled and well armed. He was the captain of the Word of Kaden-Fe, who were mercenaries that Howe employed who had come from the Free Marches. They were proud to call themselves Tal-Vashoth.
As if I know or care, it didn't matter to him what they called themselves since they proved an effective force and were well paid for their talents that were not just martial but intimidation. His name was Meraad something. Howe couldn't remember the rest, not like it mattered. They weren't nobility so why should he care a wit what it was.
"Arl Eamon doesn't want to get his hands bloody," Howe put the letter down, drawing the dwarf's eyes to the only thing that mattered in this room-me.
"He wants to protect his reputation," Dwyn's defense of his employer was light. The smile on his lips was almost mocking.
"I imagine he didn't mourn the Couslands," Howe took a sip of his ale, "I still remember how insulted he was that Bryce Cousland was even considered to be the next king of Ferelden over Eamon's precious nephew," He was certain the Arl of Redcliffe had never forgotten that insult.
Why else would he do what he's been doing?
The Landsmeet choices then were a fool and a traitor, Howe looked back at the assembled nobles who chose the fool to be their next king. Now, he's a corpse, he got what he deserved, ignoring the counsel of better men who knew war while all he knew was conjured stories and wooden swords.
Howe saw Dwyn's eyes on the pitcher and he waved a hand to signal he could help himself. The dwarf did not need to be told twice quickly getting out of his seat since his short stature made it difficult for him to reach the pitcher while sitting.
"He does complain often of this Edmund Cousland," Dwyn revealed. He drank from his glass, his mouth twisting for a second, before his face relaxed once more. "Its not dwarven ale but its drinkable," He filled his glass to the brim.
Swill, that's what Howe would call whatever the dwarves brewed in their dirty, dank caves under the ground. "I'm sure he does," He was not surprised. Edmund Cousland stands in the way of his bastard Warden taking the Fereldan crown. That was why Eamon did not dismiss his overtures when Howe reached out. Regardless, He was quick to assure him that the poisoning and the mage were Loghain's plans not his.
He doubted Eamon believed it, he wasn't a total fool. Eamon needs me so he feigns friendship, Howe saw it for what it was, Once the Couslands and that commoner queen were dead, Howe knew he'd be targeted next. Eamon probably wants some Orlesian bride for his bastard warden. The mere thought of it rankled him. I've purged Highever from traitors and I will not hesitate to purge Redcliffe of them.
"Soon, we won't have to worry about Cousland."
"You sound confident," Dwyn raised an eyebrow at it.
"I am."
"So, how will it be done?" The dwarf leaned back in his seat and looked expectantly at him as if he was some performer called upon to entertain him. "I know it cannot be in battle," He remarked blithely, "Since he's beaten you at every turn."
"Have a care, dwarf," Howe pointed a finger at him. He would not be insulted in his own home especially by the likes of some dwarven sellsword.
"My apologies," he bowed his head, "I was simply curious," his finger twirling one of the braided strands of his beard. "Since my employer doesn't have the wits or the stomach to do it."
That got a small smile from Howe, and he detected something in the dwarf's tone that he's heard countless times of men of all stations. The underlying lilt of ambition.
"Tell me how loyal are you to the Arl of Redcliffe?"
"Not nearly enough to be insulted by that question and to leave the room," Dwyn sipped his tankard, letting out a contented sigh of appreciation when he finished.
"That is good to know," Howe could use an ally close to Eamon within striking distance. "Good help is difficult to find," he poured himself a second glass, "that is why I'm always generous in my compensation when I do find it." He did not miss the flash of greed in his eyes or the way his lips twitched beneath his beard.
"I'm certain you are, your lordship."
"Let it just be known I have more allies than you'd suspect on first glance," Howe would say no more. He may use this dwarf in the future but he did not trust him nor that sly look in his eye.
He'll take my gold and serve me well for a time, Howe observed, Until a richer offer is made.
Dwyn was able to gather that his presence was no longer needed. He finished his drink and stood up. "Always a pleasure, Your Lordship," He dipped his head.
"The pleasures will only get better, I assure you." Howe smiled, knowing the seed had been planted in that dwarf's greedy little mind and it will flourish in good time he had no doubt and at the right moment.
"How is he?"
"He is," Sheth looked uncomfortable as if Howe asked him some difficult question.
This Sheth was a mage apprentice who Howe found and employed through the Wonders of Thedas shop. They charged an insulting sum for the lending of one of their mages, and he was reluctant to part with that much coin, but their services were needed. He could not falter now when he was so close to seeing all his plans realized. So he paid, but he made sure the coin came from other coffers and not his.
They were discussing one of Howe's more important guests who had just been moved from the dungeons to one of the guest chambers.
"He is mending," Sheth licked his lips, his dark eyes not meeting Howe's. He was a young man, shaved head, with dark stubble covering his chin.
"Can your magic not hasten his recovery?" Howe wanted to snap at this timid mage. Someone with such potent power at his fingertips and he walks around like a frightened kitten.
"I have, Your Lordship, but his injuries were severe," He looked down at his dark blue robes. "Some of the pain inflicted upon him cannot be so easily touched by magic."
"He was an enemy," Howe thought it a simple explanation of the man's prior treatment.
Oswyn, the son of Bann Sighard had been captured during a recent skirmish. Howe was not informed of such a prized hostage until he had already spent some time in the dungeons.
It was an unfortunate oversight, he had been busy assuming control of the city and reinforcing his strength.
When he learned of Oswyn, he had him removed, realizing his value at once. He is the key to Cousland's demise. Howe smiled at the blessing of this boon that's fallen onto his lap.
It had come at the perfect time since they had recently lost Alfstanna's addle brained brother. The fool escaped somehow, and his men proved their incompetence by killing him instead of simply recapturing him.
What good was a corpse? He had punished the men for their stupidity. She can rot in Amaranthine for a little while longer, he thought. Once Cousland is dead, she'll realize the cause is lost and surrender. If not the city will make the right choice for her.
"He'll remain in pain for some time."
Howe brushed that off, that's to be expected for traitors.
"How important is he, Your Lordship?"
"Very," Howe did not like the mage's tone. It reeked with uncertainty.
After all, it was a father's love for his son that was turning Sighard against Cousland, against his king.
Cousland, a king? Howe sneered at the audacity of these rebels. By what right do traitors have to give away the crown of Fereldan? It was deplorable and to give it to him only showed the danger they posed to Ferelden.
Sighard had gone off to Redcliffe under the guise he was serving Cousland, but in truth he was serving Howe. Cousland and his allies thought he was speaking of an alliance between them and Eamon, but his true role was to seal the alliance between Howe and Eamon.
Then the Bann of Dragon's Peak will promise the alliance has been forged. The desperate Cousland will go to Redcliffe believing he was about to secure an alliance while in fact he was only securing his doom.
Sighard will lead him right to the contingent of Howe's Kadan-Fe mercenaries. Those qunari savages will insure the success of the ambush and of Howe's schemes.
Soon Cousland will be dead and the bastard's last remaining obstacle from taking the throne will be removed. Delilah will marry the Warden and the future king of Ferelden will be his grandson, a Howe.
"I need him alive," Howe turned to make sure the mage knew how deadly serious he was. That this was not a request, but an order, and a threat if he should fail him.
I will deliver Sighard his son, Howe thought, but more importantly, Sighard will deliver me Cousland.
The end was near and his victory was within reach.
A/N: On this story's interpretation of Arl Eamon.
This does not follow the game mechanic in which Eamon will be your ally no matter what you do and that includes killing his son or sacrificing his wife. He'll always support you because the game needs him to.
This Eamon is being portrayed as a hardcore Theirin royalist. His father died for them, his sister fought for them, and his family was exiled for supporting them. He can't accept/see the Theirins dying out especially so recently after everything his family sacrificed.
That being said do not forget this follows the unreliable narrator trope.
Eamon needs Howe to remove Cousland because Edmund is the main obstacle towards putting Alistair and therefore the Theirins on the throne. Once Edmund is taken care of then Eamon can decide whether he should honor 'his agreement' with Howe or ally with Anora/Oren. So is Howe an ally or a means to an end? We'll have to wait and see.
I hope that clarifies any problems you may have had with this chapter,
-Spectre4hire
