A/N: This chapter contains references and mild depictions of torture and violence and other nastiness including mentions of sexual assault and rape.

War of the Laurels

By Spectre4hire

Denerim II

Anora:

She had thought she heard wrong. "Pardon?"

"Warden Amell has come to see you."

"Very well," Anora's mind was wracking for a reason for the Warden's unannounced visit. "Show her to the parlor and make sure to serve her some food and drink and inform her that I'll be there shortly."

"Of course, Your Majesty," The servant turned to leave before Anora stopped her.

"Was she alone?"

"She was, Your Majesty."

With a distracted nod, Anora watched the servant leave to follow her orders. This was unexpected. She wasn't sure why Solona Amell had come to call on her and her alone. She considered the Warden a key ally, but their meetings had always been in busy sessions and groups. It had never been just the two of them. She was aware of her past with Edmund, but Anora would never do anything so foolish or shallow as to be a rude host and contemptuous queen with her simply because she once shared a bed with Anora's now husband.

That was what was expected by so many. Anora was not oblivious to the gossip and the whispers. The weakness of women, men would sneer and judge. Adamant that they knew the hearts of women better then the women themselves. She brushed those aside. They were not worth her time. She then made her way to a meeting that she wasn't prepared for and that was something Anora did not like. To be unprepared was to fail before starting and she wasn't one to take failure well.

Anora found Solona wasn't sitting when she arrived at the parlor. The Warden was standing in front of the fireplace, examining the portrait that hung above it. It was of the Couslands, Anora had brought it over from the family's Denerim estate as a surprise for her husband.

"Your Majesty," Solona turned and curtseyed. The Warden was dressed in blue silk and silverite steel. Pauldrons in the shape of griffons rested on her shoulders while metal plates of armor covered her arms like dragon scales.

"Warden Amell," Anora returned the greeting. "Have you been given refreshments?"

"I have," she looked over her shoulder to a small table between two cushioned chairs where only a scattering of leftovers and crumbs remained. "You have my thanks," She used her sleeve to wipe at the corner of her mouth. "I still haven't adjusted to these appetites," she said lightly, "Been with them for over a year, but every time I see food, I seem to tuck into it like I'm dying of hunger."

"I can have more brought up."

Solona declined with a shake of her head. "No, thank you, your Majesty." She turned back to the portrait. "Were these his parents?"

"They were," Anora confirmed, remembering how moved Edmund had been when he saw his parents' faces again. When Cousland Castle went up in flames, he probably doubted if he'd ever see their faces again outside his memories and dreams. She had been pleased to put that doubt to rest.

"They sounded like good people."

"They were." From the corner of her vision, Anora watched the Warden looking up at the portrait, but her face betrayed nothing. She could only guess what she was thinking while looking at a younger Edmund with his family but that curiosity didn't appeal to her for long. Her husband wasn't here and she doubted Solona had come all this way to discuss him. That sort of nonsense belonged to the songs, the ones where the maidens would die of sadness when the men they loved never came back to them.

The Warden wouldn't come to the Palace to speak to Anora about lovers and dalliances, but something actually important or urgent or both. She tried to decide the tactful way of getting to the crux of the warden's visit, but Solona proved that wasn't needed.

"I wanted to give you something."

"Me?" The surprises kept coming much to her chagrin.

"Yes," Solona retrieved something from one of her pockets, "In case the worse were to happen."

"The worse?" Anora looked to see it was a pendant which had a small glass vial.

"A darkspawn attack."

"I won't be in the fighting."

"Lives don't follow plans," There was a wry smile on the Warden's lips when she spoke. "I never planned to be a Warden. I never planned to be the hero." She pinched the pendant between her thumb and forefinger, "but here I am."

"They do not," Anora agreed. This past year was evidence of that.

"Until the darkspawn threat is over you should wear this at all times, Your Majesty."

"What is it?" Anora took the offered pendant gingerly.

"Poison," she answered bluntly, "It is painless. You'll be dead before you can drop the vial."

Which she nearly just did. "What?" Her hand jerked as if scalded. "Why?" Her eyes snapped towards Solona. She was about to press further until she saw a familiar looking cord tied around the Warden's neck. It was the same as this one, Anora's gaze flickered between the pendant in her hand and the one Solona was wearing.

"Did you know I went into the Deep Roads?"

"I did," Anora slid her hand through the cord of the pendant so it was held loosely by her wrist. She then went to the wine bottle to pour herself a glass then a second which she handed to Solona.

The Warden took it with a nod. "It was in those travels where we learned a horrible secret." Her young face marred by the experience. Her blue eyes glazed listlessly into her cup. "A terrible truth," she sighed, "The Order likes to keep their secrets, but all I've seen are what those secrets cost." She shook her head, "I can't let you leave with that on my conscience. I can't have you not know in case your caravan was attacked." The mere possibility made her shudder. "In the Deep Roads, I encountered a Broodmother." The words made her drink where she drained most of her wine in one long desperate sip.

"What's a Broodmother?" Anora noticed the Warden's face was now pale.

"A monster," Solona's voice sounded far away, "A darkspawn ghoul that-" The glass in her hand shattered with a loud POP, shards scattered to the floor while her fingers ran red. She numbly looked down at her bloody hand and the fragment of the glass she was still holding.

"Let me get you something," Anora moved to try to find a napkin, remembering seeing one on the table with the food.

"My apologies," Solona said, "But there's no need for that. I can fix it."

Anora was going to ask if she was sure before realizing she was speaking with a mage. Feeling a bit foolish as having overlooked that she nodded and returned.

Magic rippled the air with a flick of her unbloodied hand. The shards of the glass shot off the floor, spinning and reassembling itself as it floated upwards until it was fully formed just as it reached Solona's outstretched hand. The mage then unceremoniously rubbed her bloody hand against her silk sleeve to wipe it away. The fixed empty glass of wine was put on the table with Solona taking the cushioned chair on the left. "I'm sorry," she seemed to remember decorum only after she sat down, "May I sit?"

"Of course," Anora brushed aside the Warden's concern. "Please," she took the other seat, eyes on her troubled guest, who was pouring more wine. She didn't press on asking about this Broodmother knowing it couldn't be an easy thing to discuss given how rattled Solona looked by its mention. Anora didn't know much about the Warden in front of her, but from what she's seen and heard about her, she was confident in believing that Solona was not one who could be easily ruffled.

She's taken the full weight of the Wardens duties as a fresh recruit upon her back, Anora could only marvel at the woman's strength, which included the responsibility in defending Ferelden.

Solona tucked aside some loose auburn curls that had fallen over her face like a copper curtain. "The poison is to make sure you don't have that fate."

"What fate?" Anora asked, "A Broodmother?" The question seemed to make the Warden shiver, before her expression hardened. She gave a grim nod, closing her eyes when she did.

"Yes, it would be a fate worse than death," Solona's fingers tapped the glass goblet she was holding on her lap, "it's how the darkspawn breed. They turn their captive women into these monsters."

"Maker," Anora breathed the word out with fresh terror.

Solona's knuckles and face were white as she straightened herself up. Something flickered across her face, but Anora could only guess at its meaning. "There's no Maker down there." She said grimly, "Only monsters."

Anora was at a loss of words. If she had any, she wasn't sure she'd trust her voice to say them. Her stomach twisted painfully, the images her mind conjured to her were cruel in eliciting more feelings of disgust and nausea. The pendant wrapped to her palm suddenly felt very heavy.

"I am sorry," Solona said to her, "I did not mean to frighten you."

"I'm glad you did," That earned a wry smile from the Warden. "I'm sorry you had to witness such a thing."

Solona didn't meet her eyes. She had her fingers on the cord of her own pendant. "My companions know what to do if I'm taken and I can't reach my poison."

Anora understood too. She would make sure to give similar instructions to her guards. She gripped the pendant in her hand tightly, feeling the glass imprint against her skin. "Thank you for telling me." She put the necklace on, "And thank you for this."

The Warden gave a firm nod. "Let us pray that we're never in need of it."

A short somber silence fell on the pair, but its reign didn't last for more than a minute or two before Anora broke it. "Is there more?"

"Some," She seemed to know where her thoughts were leading, "I planned on distributing as many as I could."

"Good," Anora was glad for hers, but she thought of the women who would be fighting and the fate that potentially awaited them sent a chill eddying through her. Worse than death, she considered making a decree, or an announcement to further warn them. It didn't seem fair to let them fight not knowing what could happen to them if the darkspawn got their corrupted claws on them.

Maker, it was almost hard to incite His name with any confidence after hearing the truth about the darkspawn. May we soon be cleansed of this pestilence, she prayed, the pendant which was dangling from her neck had found itself between her two clasped hands. And may the cost not be too great.

"So what do you think?"

"Hmm?"

They were in their chambers. That took some getting used to, but she didn't mind it. She enjoyed it and his company. She and Cailan had never shared a bedchamber when they were married. He'd visit her, but those visits dwindled as the years went by. In the last few months of their marriage she could count his trips to her quarters on one hand and still have free fingers.

It was comforting to her to have Edmund so close especially when her mind kept returning back to her earlier conversation with Solona and the horrible truth she had learned. Which had latched itself onto her heart, draining away her focus and strength.

"Alamar," he was standing over by his desk pouring over maps.

"Ah," it was coming back to her. His aspirations for the two islands, the smaller one which had Alamar and the larger one-Brandel's Reach which was habited by raiders. "What do you think to find there?"

"Opportunities," He answered, "Fishing, mining, trading," He listed the possibilities of the potential those islands could give Ferelden. The previous monarchs had considered them too troublesome to be worth it, but they lived in more interesting times. We have to look differently. The Blight had forced their hand.

Her plans for the university she wanted to start in Denerim lay scattered around her on their bed. The latest piece of vellum having fallen onto her chest, her fingers had let it slip when her mind tightened its focus on replaying Solona's grave warnings and terrible revelations. It was hard to focus when such a miasmic pall had fallen over her.

"Could we not talk about it?" she asked, "Any of the plans," she continued, "Just not tonight." She surprised herself in not just her request, but her tone.

He didn't argue. He left his maps and paper and joined her, sitting on her side of the bed where she quickly wrapped herself around him, burying her face in his chest. He held her quietly, his hands running soothing patterns up and down her back. It was almost enough to fool herself into thinking she was safe. That they were going to be safe, and that all was going to be well for both them and for Ferelden.

"Are you sure about this?"

The next morning sunlight was streaming through their windows. She had pulled the curtains back to bathe their room in the warm morning light. Her fingers twisting and bunching part of the curtain fabric when she asked her question.

"I am." Edmund was already dressed. A rare feat for this early hour, he looked handsome in his finery, but a pall seemed to hover over his face.

She nodded, she didn't approve of his decision, but she would not stop him. This was a seed tucked deep away inside of his heart, one she could not reach, that she could not dig up. It had been planted that fateful night at Highever, had been watered by the blood spilt of all he lost and had been nursed by the burning anger that had pulsed inside of him every day since.

"Very well," she dropped her hand from the curtain. This was not a hill she planned on fighting on nor was he someone she would defend.

"Thank you," The words were said so softly it took her a long heartbeat to realize he had actually said them and that she hadn't imagined them. His smoothe strides cut the space between them.

She embraced him before he got a chance to stop walking. She would not let this plan come between them not after everything they've faced and fought. "You're welcome," she brushed her lips over his cheek. She knew him too well to fear that this could be a first step down a darker path. This was not a pattern, she knew that in her heart. Once, this was not an act that would be repeated.

Today, he'd sever that dark and writhing vengeance that had tangled up inside of him. Purging it from his heart and mind, to come back to her before it could consume him. That was the truth she settled on, that she drew strength from.

"I will see you off." There was much to do and oversee today, but this was still something she could do for him, that she should do.

He smiled and offered her his arm which she happily took. "It will be a slow walk." he cautioned her with a mischievous wink.

She laughed, the warmth that sprung from her put the sun's to shame. "I can make that sacrifice."

Howe:

I won.

Rendon Howe may have been in a cell, but he was the victor.

They thought broken bones and bruises would punish him. They thought bars and darkness would deprive him. They thought to weaken him, but they couldn't. Their anger was wild, uncontrollable. It made their punishment sloppy. It made them weak. Howe had put a veil over their eyes that they could not pull off. I've blinded and bound them, he relished it.

Their retribution was a pale imitation. The pain he gave them he had branded into their very heart and soul. He pressed the misery into their minds, searing them with an agony that would consume them for all of their days.

Only through pain can you truly understand a person, Howe had told the deposed Arl of Denerim that in the dank dungeon cells all those months ago. Pain lets us see the hearts of people. Their true selves. The pain they gave him wouldn't pull away his mask because he wasn't hiding anything. This is who I am, but in seeing the Couslands, their pain exposed them as weak and soft. I'm steel and they're clay, crumbling to dust.

He hadn't forgotten the Queen's words or her slap, but his silence wasn't because he was cowed, but tired. Annoyed at their little speeches as if this was a story with the hero lecturing the fallen villain to cinch their victory. It was all rather pathetic, he thought, and amusing. They captured him. They punished him. They'll soon kill him, but they can't undo what he did. My death won't bring back their families.

Footsteps made him turn to the entrance of his cell. "It's time."

"Finally," he yawned. He knew that voice, but didn't look up to meet its face. He could picture the Cousland brat's frown. His pathetic attempts at trying to project himself as strong, as unbreakable, but Howe couldn't be fooled. I've already broken him, and what was standing in front of him was a man who hadn't been able to put the pieces of himself back together.

He held out his hands so that the chains could be put to his wrists, but that didn't happen. Howe frowned, a weakness he immediately cursed because it didn't go unnoticed.

The Cousland brat's lips twisted into an insolent smirk. "There's no need for chains."

He tried to recover from his mistake by casting a look of indifference as he shuffled forward. "I thought the same for your parents."

There was no response besides a hard shove but he kept his balance to keep walking.

"You killed them, Howe, but you lost."

"Did I?" He snorted.

"I'm the one wearing the crown."

"Of a doomed country," Howe refused to admit defeat or appear impressed by his supposed victory. "Speaking of, please send my regards to Arl Eamon," he said, "It'll be a shame that I won't be seeing him again. He was a strong supporter and ally of mine." A little lie, but why should that stop him?

"I will," He didn't take the bait.

Howe was inwardly annoyed that his taunts weren't landing. It was like throwing dirt clots at a stone wall. This wouldn't do at all. He didn't like this change. It wasn't at all like it had been these past few days where just the mention of their parents would send them in a tizzy of tantrums and threats.

There was a growing flash of light in front of him that made him instinctively shy away from it. His time in the dark cell had weakened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the spear of brightness to realize it was an open door. "So how am I being punished today?" He had heard what was left of his other supporters including Ser Temmerly had all been executed. They had been sent to the gallows like common criminals.

Edmund Cousland didn't answer.

The courtyard was deserted as they walked a beaten path to where a wagon and horses were waiting for them. He was forced to stop and watch as the King took to his mount.

"Will the Grand Cleric be there?" he asked, "To give me my last rites?"

"I didn't take you for a pious man, Howe."

"I'm not," he shrugged, "But the Grand Cleric and I are old friends." He saw the scowl darkening the king's features. Time to twist the knife. "She didn't tell you?" He feigned bewilderment. "But you've been in the city for weeks, haven't you?" He clicked his tongue, "I shouldn't be surprised. I suppose its wise of her not to remark on our friendship."

Elemena was an old bat, but it was her name he needed not the rest of her uselessness. She was innocent, but that would make her a lone pearl in a pile of mud when the light showed that some within the Chantry accepted Highever gold and Cousland trinkets to endorse his claim.

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you really think I was alone when I reached the capital?" He wagged his broken finger towards him. "I had other allies besides Teyrn Loghain. After all, who has more influence in this country than the Chantry?"

"You lie!"

He shrugged at his anger. "Go to the Denerim Chantry if you don't believe me," He said, "I'm sure they haven't sold or spent all I gave them. Coin from your family's vaults and other heirlooms I didn't care for." He saw the brat's hands tighten around the reins of his horse.

"Tie him up," His refusal to acknowledge Howe's words showed the words were taking root.

He moved expecting his hands and feet to be bound before he was put in the wagon, but to his surprise and annoyance, only his hands were tied before being attached to a long cord of rope that was cinched into the wagon to show he wasn't riding in the wagon just being tied to it.

Well, he thought, it appears the brat's learning.

"No public execution?" He was in a clearing. He didn't know how far they traveled, but they had left with the sun bright, but now it was beginning to set, spreading a red smear across the sky.

He was sweaty, and his breath was labored from the long forced walk. His feet were sore and bloody. His wrists hurt from where the ropes were bound, digging into his skin. He had walked, hobbled, and been dragged, but in the end, he was still standing when they reached their destination. Another failure on their part.

"No, public execution." It was a new voice which made him turn to see a small group was standing in front of them and had been waiting for their arrival. He didn't need to wonder who had answered him, recognizing it at once as Fergus Cousland.

It was a pity when he learned that he hadn't been killed at Ostagar like he had been told. Still, it proved to only be mildly disappointing since his Antivan whore of a wife was still dead. She had been skewered like a wild boar that night. He heard some of his men still pawed at the corpse when they found it. She was warm enough for some of them. He wouldn't forget the response he pulled out of his captive when he let him know his wife's body had been his men's plaything.

He was the prisoner, but Howe was the one who was holding the keys. What I did that night imprisoned them, he knew it to be true, I still hold all the power not them.

He didn't see any ropes to hang him or a block to behead him. There was just a tall wooden post erected in the middle of the clearing. Are they going to shoot me with arrows? He turned to the small gathering to see if there would be any hints, but he saw none. The only faces he recognized were Bryce's spoiled sons, the rest were soldiers. There were a lot of soldiers... He couldn't count them all, but there were at least three dozen. This was just one final act of intimidation.

The guards brought him to the post that was well over eight feet tall. Iron chains were attached to it which were then tied around Howe, like a dog tied to a post. It was a metal tether that allowed him some room to walk, but it bit hard into his skin when he tried to pull or move beyond its reach.

He waited for their speech. The final words, from the brothers, one last sermon before they put him out of his misery. It didn't come. He had closed his eyes out of weariness of being lectured, but when he opened them, he noticed they hadn't gathered around him. They were leaving!

"What's the meaning of this?" He demanded, his chains rattled in protest.

"Your punishment," Edmund Cousland answered plainly.

Howe didn't understand. "This is it?"

"Yes," that was the older brother speaking now, but he was already atop his horse.

"I don't understand." They can't just wash their hands of me and think themselves free. Not after everything he did to them. I broke them!

A dark look flickered over the brothers' faces, but it was the younger one who replied. "You will."

"We should leave." There was an urgentness in this new voice. She was draped in grey robes. Her hood was drawn that kept much of her face in the shadows. Behind her were a handful of men with bloody clothes.

He didn't recognize her voice or appearance, but something did tug at him from the back of his mind. He hadn't met her before, but he knew her by reputation. It was the Warden Amell, who had survived Ostagar. Half the party was on their horses and the others went to their waiting horses at the Warden's suggestion.

"Goodbye, Howe," The younger Cousland brat was the last to get atop his mount. "We won't be seeing eachother again."

"This is it?" The first touch uncertainty fluttered in his chest like a guttering taper.

"No, it's just the beginning." He then turned and nudged his horse forward. His older brother was at his side, they left with his heavy escort of men marching and riding all in armor and all seemed alert. The wagons followed after lumbering away with their own small guard.

Is this some trick to startle me? One by one the riders disappeared from view. They'll come fetch me in the morning believing themselves so clever. There were now only two riders he could still see, but he didn't know they were. The Warden? He squinted trying to see what they were waiting for, but they were just milling about on their mounts.

It was a noise that made him turn. It sounded like branches breaking. He looked in the direction he thought it came from, but there was nothing. He frowned before turning back to where the riders had been, but they were gone. He paced around the post. The iron chains clanged as he moved while he tried to figure out how long they'd keep him waiting before they returned. If they expect to find me frightened then their bigger fools than-

THWACK, he jerked his head to see the branches were shaking, but the cause of their disturbance couldn't be found. Probably left some guards to try to startle me. It was in the back of his mind. A thought that he had tried to keep back. An impossibility that he refused to meet. It tried to drift closer to be noticed, but he wouldn't acknowledge it. It can't be that.

Something foul drifted in the air. His stomach roiled, protesting this new awful smell. It smelt like something that was left to rot out in the sun. Over the noise of the shaking branches was low breathing, a steady sound that streamed towards him. The breathing grew louder, wheezing and hissing, nearing closer, but still within the shadows of the trees. When the first one stepped into the setting sunlight, Howe shouted more at the sight then out of surprise.

There standing in front of him was a darkspawn. It was a grotesque imitation of a human. It stood taller than Howee. There was black pooling out of its disfigured nose. Its eyes were dark and baleful.

Fresh blood, he couldn't help but notice. The wet red on the darkspawn's face around its mouth...

More began to clear the treeline, surrounding him. Some were short and stout, but no less ugly or mean looking. Some had fresh red smears along their faces, others had the blood splattered on their armor and some had red drops dripping from their sharp clawed fingers.

They hissed while their jaws clacked together. They seemed to be speaking to one another. It was a terrible noise that bit and clung to his skin gnawing at his nerves like talons.

"GO!" He shouted towards them, stomping his feet as he did, kicking up dirt while trying to drive them off. He waved his arms as best he could, "GO!" He yelled, "GO NOW!"

They didn't stir. The one in front of him tilted its head to the side with malignant curiosity.

I won! They can't do this to me! His back was to the post. He felt something break in him, like a rock thrown against a glass window. His calm shattering into hundreds of pieces to the fear that was rising in him.

It was the one that approached him. It pointed to two of the shorter ones, and barked some sort of order that had them stumbling towards him. The leader then grabbed at the chains, giving it a short tug that sent him stumbling forwards, closer towards it. He nearly lost his balance while the darkspawn watched with dark amusement. The darkspawn wrapped its hand around the chains and with unimagined strength, pulled the iron apart like it was made of parchment.

Free from the post, Howe ran, but he hadn't gotten more than a few steps when he felt something hard hit him in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. He grunted and groaned, trying to push himself up when he felt a clawed hand grab him. He tried to fight it, but its grip was so tight he hissed in pain. He looked into his captor's eyes to see it was one of the shorter ones. It had a hold of Howe's arm and its black eyes were still staring into Howe's when it lowered its head and sunk its teeth into him.

He screamed. The pain was white hot, lancing up his arm, burning through his blood. The darkspawn ripped a chunk of Howe's arm with its sharp teeth, slicing through flesh and muscles. It chewed on the strip of Howe's skin, slurping it through its yellow fangs.

They'll kill me now, bleak resignation helped to numb the fear.

The leader darkspawn made a sound that sent the darkspawn scurrying away. The darkspawn then tugged at Howe's chain, pulling him forward. It dragged him through the trees. The branches were raking across his face. He tried to anchor his feet, claw at the ground, but none of it appeared to slow it down let alone get its attention.

The fear that spiked through him was a nail that shattered him like it was a pane of glass, breaking him into so many shards each one trembling and aching.

They're taking me to the Deep Roads! Icy despair had him in its hold, but he felt a warmth trickling down his legs.

Up ahead he saw it where there was a thin tear in the ground. What am I to be? A ghoul? A slave? A meal? The terror had his body spasming trying fruitlessly to break free, but he couldn't. The iron from the shackles dug hard into his skin and the darkspawn kept tugging him closer and closer to the opening. The smell wafting from it was of corruption and death. The darkspawn dipped below, but the chain kept pulling.

Rendon Howe was dragged screaming into the vast blackness that swallowed him whole.

Teagan:

"Thank you for coming, Bann Teagan," King Edmund was the first to greet him when he stepped inside their counsel chambers.

"Of course, Your Majesties," he made sure to address both of them before ending his display with a dipped head in their direction. They were seated together on a dais. Their thrones were identical, with long backs and cushioned seats.

"We apologize for the early hour of your summons."

"I was already awake, Your Majesty," He turned to Anora who had spoken, he remembered how early she used to like to work and meet when she and Cailan were together. His nephew had preferred lie-ins after his long nights.

"I can't say the same," as if to prove his point, Edmund stifled a yawn. His teasing words got a smile from his wife and queen.

The smiling, it caught him off-guard. Teagan wasn't sure he'd ever seen Anora smiling in a session. She was always so solemn and distant, letting Cailan be the jovial one while she remained stoic. He had thought it in part because of her father, who had never been one to crack japes or smiles in such discussions. Or was it because there was nothing to smile about? Cailan's infidelity was enough of a strain in court let alone their marriage.

"We didn't come to discuss my husband's poor sleeping schedule," Anora said lightly.

There it is again, he saw the warmth shared between them. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen a look such as that pass between Cailan and Anora. Teagan remained quiet, waiting to be addressed. Allowing him to observe the clear differences between this new king and queen ahead of him and reflecting on what he was so used to in the past five years.

"Yes, that lecture is for later," Edmund replied without missing a beat, "This is a more serious matter."

Have they changed their mind? That was the first question that came to him.

"Do not worry we haven't revoked our decision in helping Redcliffe," The Queen may have smiled more, but her sharp perceptions hadn't been dulled only concealed behind her new mood.

"Of course," Edmund sounded insulted at the mere idea. `We're not your brother, went without saying.

"It is something we wish to have your support in," Anora said, "but it will not affect Redcliffe and the aid we plan on sending."

Teagan nodded, he believed them about not withdrawing their help, but that didn't mean he wanted to test them at their word or upset them. He could only pray that their request would be something uncomplicated.

"We wish for the royal family to retake control of the Arling of Denerim," The King said as if this was a harmless request.

"Pardon?" Was Teagan's eloquent and intellectual response. He was just grateful he didn't gape.

"It is not without precedence," Anora said smoothly, "Denerim used to be ruled by the Crown."

"That is true, Your Majesty," he admitted respectfully, "but that was Ages ago."

"The Kendells family is dead," Edmund said bluntly, "As is Howe," that made him share a certain look with his wife before turning back to Teagan who had watched the silent exchange with mute interest. "There have been injustices that have come to our attention in this city that we cannot tolerate and we believe the best way to oversee our capital is to rule it ourselves."

"The slavery?" Teagan had heard the gossip, but he hadn't been privy to any of the official reports. It had angered and disgusted him to learn that such barbaric practices were being had right in their capital. It seemed like a mockery of his country's beliefs.

"Yes," The Queen's hands were gripping tightly at the arms of her throne. "It is an outrage and an embarrassment. The previous Arls have failed our city," she paused, "I've failed this city," she admitted, the king touched her arm in consolation, "We know it is no easy ask, but would you please consider it, Bann Teagan."

No easy task was right, He tried not to shift in his stance while he weighed their request. The Bannorn was proud and fickle. They were not ones to allow others, especially royalty, to accumulate too much power. It wasn't the Maker who ordained the kings and queens of Ferelden but the will of the Bannorn. "Why me?"

"The Bannorn respects you, Bann Teagan," Edmund answered, "We don't always see eye to eye, but I appreciate your voice even when its against mine."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Teagan bowed his head, touched by his sincerity. "I respect yours as well," He included the Queen with a gesture, "That's why I will give this consideration. I trust you." He should've stopped there, excused himself and left, but it pulled at his mind and he couldn't let it go. "But what of Gwaren?"

A wan smile passed over the King's lips. "Gwaren will be given to our second child."

Anora nodded her assent. "It was my father's lands before Edmund saved the city which led the nobility to request his rule. We've broached the Teyrnir's future with some discreetly, and they approve of it as long as the ruler spends time in Gwaren to learn the land and how to govern the people."

"I see," Teagan did and it was not a pretty picture or one he honestly liked. The King and Queen of Ferelden wanted to rule not just the Teyrnir of Gwaren but the Arling of Denerim too. He had to commend them. They were using their hard earned goodwill to seize and solidify their power which included carving up more territory for them to directly rule over.

"Speak freely, Bann Teagan," Anora encouraged, unfooled by his polite restraints.

"You are asking a lot, Your Majesties," he said, "I applaud your determination to insure a safer Denerim, but this amount of direct power in the crown's hands?" He bit the scoff that nearly slipped out, "The Bannorn will not let this go unimpeded."

"The Bannorn can be subdued," the king's tone didn't hint at future direct confrontation between the sides but his expression was solemn.

"You wish to defang the Bannorn," It came out as an accusation instead of a question.

"I wish to strengthen Ferelden," the king corrected, "Do not forget that Ferelden fell to Orlais because of a few powerful banns. It was these turncloak banns who betrayed and murdered our Queen." Edmund leaned forward in his throne.

"We understand the reluctance," Anora put in, trying to pull their conversation away from such a dicey discussion.

All this talk of power and using it to protect Ferelden was making him think of Loghain. They weren't him, he may not like their plans, but he wasn't spiteful enough to try to paint them or their actions with such a broad brush. They were helping Ferelden. They were fighting the darkspawn. They may have ambitions, but he felt their aspirations were to truly serve and strengthen Ferelden. It just was in a way he found neither ideal nor agreeable.

"We are willing to discuss a potential betrothal to help seal this alliance."

"A betrothal?" Teagan's thoughts seemed to crash all at once at those two words.

"Yes, a betrothal between you and my cousin, Lady Habren Bryland," Edmund answered, "Your children would rule South Reach after her, but as Brylands not Guerrins."

"Oh," Teagan forced himself to smile at that suggestion. "The Lady Habren is," several words came to his mind to finish that sentence before settling on, "lovely."

"It is a lot to mull over," Anora pressed on not giving him time to either speak let alone decide on the spot. "Especially in these trying times. That's why we wished to broach it to you now."

"We've taken enough of your time," The king's hand was resting atop the Queen's, "Think over what we've said and let us pray that we will be fortunate to speak of such a future for our country once we defeat this Blight."

"Did you see the tiara I got in the Marketplace?"

"I did," he answered politely, many times.

Habren Bryland didn't hear him. "Oh, its so beautiful."

She was admiring said tiara. It was well made with a simple golden band adorned with a single emerald, which she said represented South Reach. Teagan didn't ask what she meant, but it turned out he didn't need to since she went on to explain it. When she finished the story, it wasn't any clearer, but he didn't point that out.

They were walking the gardens of the Royal Palace Estate. His meeting with Edmund and Anora was still fresh and he knew it was no accident that he bumped into Lady Habren before he could leave. He then found himself giving her a tour of the gardens.

"Father is getting me a fennec," She gushed happily. "They're so cute, and they'll definitely be better than those puppies," she clapped her hands with excitement, "It has to be a girl because I want to call her Lady Puff Puff, " she babbled on about her plans for her new pet seemingly oblivious to the darkspawn menace. She'd likely only recognize the threat if it delayed her from acquiring this precious fennec she coveted so much...

"TEAGAN!"

"Huh," He blinked, seeing only darkness, "W-what?" groggily, his surroundings were still blurring, but he knew he wasn't in the gardens at the Royal Palace in Denerim. I'm in the guest chambers at Redcliffe. It was coming back to him. Their hurried journey to his brother's castle to relieve them of the darkspawn horde and the archdemon. Only they weren't here. He rubbed at his eyes. Well, not a horde just stragglers which were dealt with swiftly enough. That had been the day before and they had remained in his brother's castle trying to learn what had happened, what had changed, and more importantly where was the darkspawn army?

"We've just received a rider," Alistair's solemn voice had a way of pushing away the vestiges of sleep and his memories to fade away.

"What?" He was scrambling out from under his blankets. "What is it?"

"We know where the Archdemon is leading the darkspawn," Alistair's face was grim in the moonlight. "They're marching on the capital."

A/N:

Even in a Blight, Edmund and Anora are making their moves to strengthen their hold on their country in hopes of improving it. Will it help them? Hurt them? Who knows, That's part of the fun of this narration, not knowing if things will work out or not and how biases will bleed into decisions and judgment.

I aged up Habren a little in this story to make the potential betrothal a bit more palatable.

The actual battle will start in the next chapter. We're getting so close to the end.

Thanks for the support,

-Spectre4hire