A/N: This will be my last update for the year. I hope you all have a safe and happy holiday. Thanks for all the incredible support.
War of the Laurels
By Spectre4hire
Edmund
They had made camp for the night. They were still a day or so away from Dragon's Peak, Bann Sighard's seat, and another few days from Denerim, but he was close.
For so long it had been just a dot on the map. The ending destination to a journey he had been forced to take since that fateful night at Highever when Howe betrayed and butchered his family. The sound of the mundane pulled him away from his vengeful thoughts. The servants and soldiers were putting up the rest of the tents and cloth pavilions while trenches were being dug and a perimeter defense was being built.
His own tent was simple and plain. It was the same one he's been using since he first marched off with his uncle, Lord Bryland all those months ago. It was dull colored and showed signs of age and strain. It was neither large nor lush, but he didn't mind. Sarim was sprawled out on Edmund's camp bed as if it was the mabari's. It certainly feels like it at times.
He turned his attention to his small desk where he was supposed to be trying to get some work done. At the top of the waiting pile of vellum was a map of northern Ferelden and his eyes went right to the Denerim spot on the map. In his mind's eye the black spot that marked Ferelden's capital slowly morphed into the sneering face of Rendon Howe. The anger was quick and hot, striking in his chest like a lightning bolt. Images flickered across his vision of that night while sounds began to pierce through. The clattering of swords, the frightened cries of the fleeing servants, the roaring fires, and the screams.
There were so many screams.
He ran a hand over his face and then through his hair. Needing a distraction he sifted through the pile until he found what he was looking for-a sketching. Edmund pulled it out and placed it over the map. The sketching was rough and without color, but that didn't bother him because he considered it a draft from an idea that he had had. The sketching was of a new royal standard that would be needed when he and she officially ascended as the new King and Queen of Ferelden.
Just as House Valmot had succeeded House Drakon as the Imperial family of Orlais or how the Van Markam family followed the Pentaghasts as the rulers of Nevarra before the two families eventually united. He and Anora would be starting their own family to follow the Theirins. He would keep the Cousland name with her taking it when they married, but he would not take the family's standard since that belonged to the Teyrns and Teyrnas of Highever. So he had this made, the first of many:
It was of a mabari in combatant with a wyvern within the Cousland laurels. The Theirin reign was over, seeing it in front of him made it feel real in a way that he hadn't experienced before. I'll be replacing them. He had grown up on tales of the famous Theirin kings and queens who ruled throughout the Ages. Through the triumphs of Calenhad the Great, who forged Ferelden into his kingdom, and Maric who freed Ferelden from the Orlesians. As well as the tragedies including Vanedrin who died defending Ferelden, and the Rebel Queen Moira, who fought and struggled to try to free Ferelden only to be betrayed and killed by her own people.
Not wanting to dwell on previous dark days of his country's history, he put away the sketching and took out an earlier missive. It was from Keeper Marethari, who reported that more Dalish clans had been found and were willing to fight. He sensed in the terse wording that the willing to fight had less to do with their trust in him, but more to do with the darkspawn that threatened and trapped the Dalish just as much as Ferelden. It may as well have read as- We'll fight to protect ourselves and if it happens to coincide with you shems fighting the darkspawn then so be it.
He wasn't about to complain, but it did make him wonder how they would move forward as allies. How do you undo centuries of injustices and prejudices? Edmund had always thought it better to look ahead not backwards. Not the Dalish, they built themselves on looking back to the glory days of their people.
"Edmund?" Anora stood poised and still at the entrance of his tent, looking lovely in lambswool. It was a dress that would make Orlesians snicker and sneer. We're marching and camping after all, he noted, not hosting banquets or hunts. He wouldn't forget the outrageous dresses and frilly armor he had seen in his years in Orlais, or their gaudy masks.
"Please," He saw through the outward calm to see her tentativeness. She skillfully concealed it, but he hadn't forgotten her tells. They were still easy for him to see. Just as she's sure to spot mine. He cleared his throat, "How did it go?" She had met with some of the nobles while he attended to other matters.
"It was long and loud," She answered. "They've requested that you're needed to hear them too." There was no sympathy in her voice.
"So I take it they didn't like your answers," He put in dryly, seeing the hint of a smile coming to her lips.
"They did not."
"I had hoped that they'd be kind enough to wait until after we dealt with this little Blight problem, before they started trying to test our resolve and unity."
Anora didn't look the least bit surprised by any of this. He suspected she was used to all of this. After all, she had been the Queen these last five years and he knew some within the nobility never could look past her blood when she married Cailan to become his wife and Ferelden's Queen.
He had never hated her for what she did. It had hurt him, but in the end he understood. Edmund had always admired her ambition and her confidence. So how can I begrudge her when she chose the crown of Ferelden instead of a second son? It didn't mean there hadn't been days when he bitterly brooded or how he spent nights drinking to try to soften the numbness. To try to drown out the pain in his chest which felt like it would burn right through him, but time has a way of mending wounds.
Edmund traveled in those years of exile and they were not something he'd want to give back. I'm the man I am now because of those experiences. Her blue eyes flickered before him, looking at him behind one of her family's colorful masks, delicate and ornate, before it dissipated like mist, but her love and those memories together did not. They were still a part of him. I'm not the man I am now if not for her.
"Edmund?" A different set of blue eyes were looking at him now.
"I'll have their names," He recovered, not addressing the unasked question he saw in her gaze.
She presented him with a folded up piece of vellum.
"My thanks," He'd add it to the pile of things he still needed to look through. "Would you like to stay?" He offered, gesturing to the small table that he had been standing in front of.
"I would like that," She moved past him, arm brushing against him. She waited for him to pull out her chair before sitting. She thanked him when he did. Her earlier smile had since slipped away, retreating behind a polite look.
When he went to sit down he took that moment to look at her. Her golden hair looked to glow in the candlelight. A few of its strands lazily falling out of its braids. He nearly reached over to take one between his fingers like he had done so many times before when they were young and in love. Then we had been so awkward in our courtly endeavors. He felt a wistful, but welcome feeling stretching itself in his chest, warm and soothing.
Journeys end in lovers' meeting. Edmund had been so certain his had ended when they were in Highever together, but he was wrong. Now, he saw that in those years to follow they still had their own paths to take, separate journeys to make.
"Do you recall the time you used the feather and flour on Fergus?" He found himself asking suddenly. This particular memory from years ago somehow rose to the surface of his thoughts. It had been a simple, but hilarious trick that left his brother covered in flour by the time they were finished.
Her polite veneer was quick to fade and the surprise that replaced it only flickered before her eyes brightened, and a laugh followed. "That was you."
He had forgotten the comfort her laugh could bring. "Oh yeah," He remembered, "But it was your idea."
Mischief made her eyes sparkle. "It was, but I only helped because Fergus had been mean to you the day before."
Edmund chuckled. It was nice to think of a memory without feeling any of the pain. "Mother was very cross with me."
"You didn't tell her it was my idea?"
"She wouldn't have believed me," remembering how close his mother and Anora had been. It had been made in jest, but his smile dipped at seeing her reaction.
Anora looked to be straining at keeping the smile on her lips. A sudden vulnerable look fell over her face like a pall. They had never discussed that night at Cousland castle.
Edmund didn't speak. There was a small part of him that reared itself inside him like a spider revealing itself to its captured prey. Why should I comfort her? It whispered. They were my parents not hers. Its voice was a cold hiss. I fought for them while she did what exactly? He tried to stop this insidiousness from spreading.
The silent stalemate between them was broken by her. Her voice piercing through his turbulent feelings. "Edmund, I-I,"
He looked to meet her gaze to see her eyes were glistening. There was a pleading hue to them that he had never seen before. It stilled his thoughts.
"I failed them," she confessed, "I failed you," Her face crumpled, "I'm sorry, I didn't do enough, I-"
When he reached across the table to take her hand the unexpected touch instantly quieted her. Her eyes flickered from their holding hands to his face. Even with such vulnerability on display she could still conceal the thoughts that passed behind her stare.
"It's forgiven," He saw doubt and dismay dance across her face, warring with one another. "I know," He squeezed her hand. "Anora, I know." And he did, he had not been told by her, but by others.
They talked about how she hadn't been docile in Denerim. At how she tried to arrest Howe, her rage at her father's obstinacy at picking Howe over Edmund. So she went about changing it, slowly but surely, they said, recruiting allies while trying to undermine Howe.
Her fingers still felt limp in his grip. "I'm not mad at you." Anymore. The last word felt like an unnecessary sting especially now.
There was a small beat of silence before the words appeared to sink in. The first response she gave was squeezing his hand before threading her fingers through his. A smile followed, a slow lift of her lips. She nodded next as if unable to trust her voice or unsure of what she'd say.
Them together in this moment felt like the first sparks into an old hearth with embers which for so long were left to smolder in the dark, but now the flames began to flicker and light followed with it.
Journeys end in lovers' meeting...
The castle of Dragon's Peak was perched high above the king's road.
It was well situated to watch and guard the way. The castle was built atop the Peak's natural defenses. It had high turrets well placed amidst a stone wall that slithered atop the cliffs like a large grey snake. The lone path that led to the castle was rocky and perilous even for the castle's allies. Built into the Peak, the castle was designed to waste no space nor leave any to be used against so their forces had to camp in some fields less than two leagues away.
"Need a rest, Your Majesty?" The last words drenched in sarcasm.
Edmund looked across at his opponent and wasn't surprised by the smile that graced her lips. Ser Cauthrien didn't just look ready to continue, but happy to do so. She was one of the few in his retinue who wouldn't hold back because of the newly placed crown atop his head and she was certainly the most skilled out of those remaining few.
They were in the sparring yard of Dragon's Peak which was at the bottom of what was practically a pit. It was encased by high walls with a spiraling staircase etched into the stone that went all the way down. The sconces were unlit since the sunlight rained down on them.
The pain from his wounds during the battle at Gwaren all those months ago was nearly gone. All that remained was mild discomfort and the occasional shortness of breath. He suspected the latter was mostly because he hadn't been allowed to go through any sort of training or sparring since his injuries. Wynne will be most displeased, he suspected once she learned about these sparring sessions.
"That was for your benefit," Edmund threw back with an easy smile. Starfang felt remarkable in his hand after such a long absence like a small piece of him had been returned.
Ser Cauthrien approached with her greatsword in a few measured steps before she made her first cut. Starfang hummed, slicing through the air to block the probing poke. He adjusted himself, careful with his balance. He went into the attack in a rush of aggression and quickness. Her greatsword's reach was able to fend off his flurries while she carefully backed up. They traded strikes and ripostes neither wanting to lose this spar.
She sagged a little to her left after one of her far reaching cuts. He had noticed it before, but waiting for it this time he was ready to expose it. Starfang was as quick as a serpent, lashing past her defenses before she realized she was attacked. A fatal blow if this was a duel and not a spar.
Cauthrien frowned at the sound of her defeat. She looked down to see how Starfang would've carved her open. "I nearly had you," she grumbled, sheathing her weapon.
"If you say so," Edmund's smile only grew at her irritated look. "Thank you, Ser Cauthrien," He meant it. "You fought very well."
She gave a tight nod. The truest form of the gratitude she'd begrudgingly give him. "There's something I want to talk to you about."
"Is it about Oren?"
"No, it's another matter," Ser Cauthrien's tone was nearly hushed as if afraid their conversation could be overheard by the training dummies who were a short distance from them. "Mhairi told me a pair of her guards never reported to their posts this afternoon."
This was not what he was expecting. He knew Ser Mhairi to be the captain of Anora's guards. "How long have they gone missing?"
"Two hours or so," She answered, "She told me of their disappearance before we started our sparring session."
"They could've returned to their posts by now," Edmund didn't like lazy or forgetful guards, but they did happen. These two guards were probably drunk or sleeping off their poor decisions from the night before of indulging in too much ale and women somewhere in the camps with the rest of the army.
The two carefully climbed up the stairwell out of the sparring yard pit. The more they climbed the brighter the sky was to greet them.
"No," She said confidently, "I told Mhairi to send a runner if they ever showed up."
"I presume Anora has been informed about all this?" At Cauthrien's nod, he continued, "We should speak to Lord Sighard as well."
They had reached the top of the stone staircase. An overhang was just a few steps away which is where they walked towards. It would turn into a corridor which would lead them back into the holdfast.
"Can he handle this matter?" Cauthrien asked bluntly.
"What do you mean?" They walked past old suits of armor and dusty tapestries bearing either portions of the Chant of Light or simple standards displaying the colors of Dragon's Peak.
"He seems unable," she answered, her face softening as if sensing his silent scrutiny. "I do not blame him for his ailments," she defended herself with the same vigor as if they were sparring with swords instead of words. "I'm just not sure we should add more troubles to an already troubled man."
"We're his guests," He reminded her. "This is his castle. He'll need to know of it if they don't turn up." Edmund thought her point had merit. "However, I'll have you or Ser Mhairi take the lead on this matter."
Cauthrien nodded, mollified. "It should be Ser Mhairi. She's from here so she'll know the land, its castle, and its people better than I."
"Glad to hear it." And he was since it appeared they had the best person to handle it.
One of the doors on their left and in front of them suddenly opened with someone walking out of it. Their back was turned to them. They closed the door, but not before looking over their shoulder which revealed their face to Edmund and Cauthrien. It was Bann Sighard himself. He looked startled by their unannounced presence. He was quick to flash them a smile before turning his back to the now closed door.
"King Edmund," He dipped his head, "and Ser Cauthrien," he added as an afterthought. "This is a surprise," His hands were clasped in front of him. "Was there something you needed?"
"We weren't seeking you out," Edmund replied, "We were just returning from the sparring yard."
"Oh good," Sighard sounded relieved, "I was just overseeing some of my servants. They're not used to such a-a," he paused, "such a large gathering."
"We appreciate your hospitality," Edmund didn't envy the castle's staff.
"I'm happy to give it, Your Majesty."
"However, now that you are here, I wanted to bring something to your attention."
Cauthrien then informed him of what Ser Mhairi had told her about the two missing guards from the Queen's retinue who hadn't reported to their posts.
"Missing you say?" His tone went a bit higher, clearly surprised by the occurrence. "Oh that's dreadful," he hastily added. "I'll certainly look into this."
"Thank you. Would you please inform Ser Mhairi if you find anything," At the bann's confusion, He clarified, "She'll be leading this investigation."
Sighard's eyebrows rose slightly before nodding, "I'll be happy to pass along anything I find to her. She's a good knight." He bowed his head, and then cleared his throat, "If you'll excuse me then, I'll speak of this to my ah servants and castle guards."
Edmund walked out of the castle to a dark and drizzly night.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, Your Majesty," Sighard sounded apologetic, "I pray this will not take long."
He had been enjoying a nice conversation with Anora after having put Oren to bed when Bann Sighard paid them a visit. Apparently some disagreements and tensions continued to fester amongst their allies so Edmund was needed to take care of it. Anora had offered to go with him, but Sighard assured her that wasn't necessary.
Lucky her. The interruption was unfortunate timing since he and Anora had finally found their rhythm with one another. When they finally cleared the air between them everything seemed to shift and fall into place. It was a freeing feeling, the awkward lapses and stilted conversations were gone. It wasn't wistful longings but future hopes that made him smile now.
The splattering downpour brought him back to the present where he was currently grateful to still find himself under the protection of the keep's overhang. Sarim's bulky frame moved past Edmund and into the rain. The mabari didn't share any of Edmund's hesitation. Sarim was trying to catch rain drops. He hadn't been entirely enthused with Sarim coming with him since Edmund wasn't keen on his room smelling like wet dog, but watching his hound now made him glad for the company.
Two of his guards moved forward not sharing Sarim's enthusiasm for the wet weather while the remaining ones stayed behind Edmund and Sighard. The rain was cold and his cloak and hood did little. "I thought Wynne had already spoken with the templars."
"She has," Sighard said, "She'll be there," his voice straining to be heard over the pattering of the rain.
In the distance Edmund saw the faint dim glows of firelight from where their forces had made camp. Hundreds of orange dots against the black backdrop of the night. A particularly large raindrop fell off the brim of his hood and right onto his nose. Edmund wiped it away, but that proved to be a blunder since since his hand was just as wet. He had turned a wet dot into a watery smear across his face. "Good."
Sarim remained ahead of them. Surefooted in the rain, the mabari continued his excited jumping and snapping his jaws or licking his snout for more raindrops. The path before them was lit, but some of the braziers had guttering flames while others were left only smoldering with smoke drifting upwards.
"I'm sorry about this, Your Majesty," Sighard seemed to have been watching Edmund's losing battle with the rain.
He waved it away. "One of the prices of being king." He was feeling the beginnings of a chill from where the rain was seeping through his clothes and the feeling only spread throughout his body as he got wetter. He was hoping Wynne or one of the other mages knew a good warming spell and drying spell.
Sighard's answer couldn't be heard over Sarim's sudden and loud barking.
Edmund's mood was already beginning to sour standing out in the rain, soaking and shivering. Sarim's constant barking only spiked his irritability, but he was still able to control his tone when calling out to his mabari. He tried to follow his hound's line of sight but he couldn't distinguish anything in the darkness.
They had finished the downward descent of their path. Ahead of them the road led to where their forces were camped, but Sarim's attention was in the direction of the untamed undergrowth.
He moved towards his mabari despite his protests from the guards in front. Unable to see what Sarim obviously saw, he turned to his hound where he saw Sarim's hackles were raised. Edmund opened his mouth while his hand went for his sword, but his words were cut off by shouting.
A wink of glinting steel was all he saw in the dark, but it was enough for him to duck. His reflexes saved his life as a spear cut through the raindrops sailing over him and impaling one of Edmund's guards. He remained down as several more flew out from the dark underbrush before shadows emerged, uttering cries and utulatling in a language he hadn't heard spoken in years-Qunlat.
Starfang's presence was a calming influence despite the terror he found himself suddenly thrown into. Starfang turned back the first would be assassin's dagger exposing him to Sarim who leapt onto the qunari sending them both onto the ground, savage growls followed the sound of flesh being shredded by teeth and claws.
We need to get help, Edmund suspected the assassins' original plan was botched by Sarim. He'll get the biggest beef bone I can find after all this, and I'll never complain about the smell of wet dog again. A laugh escaped his throat at such a ridiculous matter trying to intrude on him while he fought for his life.
The surviving guards had formed themselves the best they could with their dwindling numbers. Edmund noticed Sighard was still at his side, sword in hand.
"I can't leave the king's side," He answered the unasked question between them while wiping raindrops off his cheeks.
"I can order it," Edmund saw the resolution in Sighard's eyes and knew his order would go unheard. He gave the man a tight nod before turning to his hound, having to give him a nudge to get Sarim to look up at him. He then made a gesture which the mabari understood. No words were needed, but Edmund had to amplify the gesture a second time knowing his hound's stubborn loyalty. He didn't need to be told a third time. Sarim slipped through the guards in a blur running off into the night.
Edmund's confidence at knowing that help was on the way was soon snuffed by a single sound. A piercing howl that cut through the din of battle and to his very bones. "SARIM!" The following growls and yelps pummeled away at him with such force his arms began to shake, but the ensuing silence proved to be the worst sound of all.
Without further thought or care, he bellowed out as loud a warcry he could and charged the nearest qunari. They were cut down in two moves. Starfang proved as savage as any cornered beast. Edmund was already moving towards his next enemy. It was a trance. He moved. He fought. He killed. The haze of battle guiding his feet. In his stupor he saw qunari and his guards alike littering the ground, blood and rainwater causing crimson pools and rivulets to form beneath his boots.
He heard voices calling ahead in the darkness after killing yet another qunari. He was certain it was for them, that they were calling his name.
"Your Majesty."
Edmund looked over his shoulder to see Bann Sighard had survived too. "Howe's men?" He asked when he nudged the nearest qunari with his boot. Who else would want me dead? He didn't see Sighard stiffen at the question because he was looking ahead at their approaching allies. It was the sound of approaching footfalls that got him to turn to see that Sighard was now in front of him. His face was wet with rain, but looking closer Edmund saw that Sighard's eyes were red rimmed.
"Sig-" His half formed question turned into a grunt when he felt something large and heavy hit him, propelling him forward. He stumbled before falling down into the mud.
Commands and thoughts were tangled up in his head as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Sarim! The mabari had tackled Sighard to the ground. Disoriented, Edmund was fumbling around when he saw it. A metallic glint that caught his eye. It was the bloody sheen of a dagger and it was just out of the reach of Sighard's grasping hand.
That was when he felt the pain in his side. His hand was already slick with rain, but when his fingers probed the wound he felt the warmth trickle of blood. It's not fatal, the realization was the only thing that cut through the haze that he found himself drowning in. Sarim's approach helped to shake some of the grogginess. Still on his knees, Edmund hugged his mabari. "I thought I lost you, boy," he croaked.
It was Sarim's whine that made him pull away and see the wounds from where the qunari had got him.
"Sarim," His voice wavered.
The mabari responded with a weak whimper before his legs crumpled beneath him, but Edmund caught Sarim. Holding him close, he could hear how labored Sarim's breathing had gotten.
That was how they found him, alive, but bleeding with Sarim's head in his lap.
A/N:
It probably doesn't read like it, but I must've written and rewritten this chapter at least a dozen times and it still feels poorly done. I'm terrible at castle designs and writing fighting and this chapter contains both. The last scene probably all reeks of drama over sense. So I'm sorry that I couldn't better deliver on this chapter.
The quote "Journeys end in lovers' meeting" is from William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. However, I first became familiar with the quote from when I read "The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson. So I think its fair to cite both in the Author's Notes.
Thanks for all the incredible support you've given me and this story. It really means a lot especially during these struggling times. I hope you all have a safe and happy holidays, and I'll see you all next year.
-Spectre4hire
