A/N: This is a sequel/companion piece to my other fic 'Sins of a Father', though it's not necessary to read that one before this. It will continue up to the end of the game and possibly beyond.
A Political Marriage
Chapter 1
When Aedan first laid eyes on the fair Anora, he was captivated by her beauty, and fell in love with her upon the instant. And so he cast aside the scheming witch who had ensorcelled him, and vowed to make the young Queen his wife.
– From 'The Tale of Aedan the Warden', written at an unspecified time after the Fifth Blight
...
As Aedan Cousland struggled up the stone steps to the Market District, it wasn't his bruises and aching muscles that spurred him on, or the thought of guards hot on his trail. It was the fervent desire for a bath, a change of clothes and a very substantial meal.
It had taken him nearly half an hour to shake off the other two newly-promoted guards in his patrol. Eventually, knowing that the discovery of his escape grew more inevitable with every passing minute, he'd persuaded them to duck into a tavern for a celebratory drink. There he'd excused himself to visit the privy, slipped out through a back door, and stripped off his armour as fast as was humanly possible, grabbing some clothes from a washing line before making his escape over a wall. He hoped the owner of those grubby rags wouldn't miss them too much; he certainly wouldn't.
At least he still had his sword. He clasped a hand to the pommel, reassured by the feeling of cool, solid steel against his palm. The Cousland blade, the one he'd shoved through Howe's treacherous gut only a day earlier. He felt a small flicker of satisfaction at the memory.
The marketplace thronged with people, and in the midst of them all was Sergeant Kylon, peering into the crowd with his usual long-suffering expression. Out of sheer habit, Aedan nodded to him as he passed. The man frowned at him in confusion, then did a sudden double-take.
"Warden! Is that you?" He leaned towards Aedan, lowering his voice. "I heard you'd been taken in by the palace guard. Sounds like you caused quite a bloodbath at Howe's estate."
"So I did." Aedan grinned rather viciously, showing a flash of bared teeth, then clapped a hand to the sergeant's shoulder. "Do me a favour, Kylon. If Loghain's thugs come looking for me, tell them your men saw me fleeing the city."
"Right you are, lad. Best be gone, then, before anyone sees us talking."
Aedan went on his way, thanking all the saints that he'd managed to make a friend of Kylon. He knew the man was risking his position, and possibly his life, by aiding a man accused of treason and murder. But he'd certainly done enough to help Kylon the last time he was in Denerim; the guardsman surely owed him a favour or two.
The guards at the gate of Eamon's estate didn't recognise him, and moved quickly to bar his way as he tried to enter. "It's me, you fools," he snarled – a little unfairly, perhaps, but he'd not had a good day.
"My lord! Forgive me, I didn't realise – "
"Never mind, just let me in." It didn't help Aedan's mood to imagine what he must look like right now. That bath was clearly becoming a matter of urgency.
It was Alfric who greeted him inside with a volley of joyous barks, launching himself at his master with an enthusiasm that nearly knocked him to the ground. Aedan laughingly tried to fend him off, wondering if his loyal hound had been waiting for him at the door since the previous day. Alistair was the next to arrive, clearly on the alert for potential intruders; when he saw Aedan, he let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Aedan! Well, thank the Maker for that." He shook his head. "We've been going crazy wondering what was happening to you in there. Are you hurt?"
"Not badly. A few scrapes and bruises." Aedan gingerly fingered the sore lump on the side of his head. "I imagine Loghain planned to interrogate me himself, but I escaped before he had the chance."
"Well, that's a relief. You know, poor Leliana was getting pretty upset. She blames herself for getting you captured at Howe's estate."
Aedan sighed. "It wasn't her fault. She may have been the first to go down, but I knew there wasn't much chance of getting past Cauthrien's men. I just wanted to create a distraction so that the Queen could escape." He paused. "I assume she made it here safely?"
"Anora? Yes, she's fine. She's in her room, doing… whatever it is women do in their rooms. Powdering her nose, or something." Alistair glanced down the hallway, then shrugged and turned back to Aedan. "Honestly, it's a good thing you arrived when you did. Morrigan and Leliana had some insane plan to break into Fort Drakon disguised as Chantry sisters – "
"As Chantry sisters?"
"Well, if you think that's crazy, you should have heard Zevran and Oghren. They were going to be 'The Famous Broma Brothers' and entertain the troops with a comedy act. Wynne said something about knitting scarves…"
Aedan clasped a hand to his forehead. "What did I do to deserve you people? What was your plan, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Me? I was just going to take the mabari and pretend to be delivering him to the kennels. Hey," he added, a little defensively, "at least it's simple, right?"
The others were arriving now, attracted by Alfric's happy barks and the sound of voices in the hallway. Leliana gasped when she saw Aedan, rushing up to fling her arms around his neck. He squeezed her back tightly, relieved to see that she and the others had made it home in safety. He'd insisted they be allowed to leave Howe's estate in return for his surrender, but for all he knew, the guards could have charged off after them once Cauthrien's men had dragged him away.
He was amused to note the contrast with Morrigan, who hung back from the others with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he realised, she had her enchanted ring – she must have known all along that he wasn't seriously hurt.
"Good to see you made it back, Morrigan," he said softly. She gave him a tiny nod, but said nothing.
"Oh, you poor boy. Just look at you!" That was Wynne, hurrying towards him from the direction of the dinner hall. A quick movement of her hands, and Aedan was enveloped in a cloud of soothing blue light. His skin tingled slightly as the magical energy coursed through him, healing bruised flesh and knitting together small cuts and abrasions.
"Thanks, Wynne." He winked at her. "I don't suppose you could magic away all this dirt as well?"
"No, I could not," she said severely. "And even if I could, I wouldn't waste my mana on getting you clean. Ask the servants to draw you a bath."
"You'd better speak to Eamon as well," Alistair added. "He and the Queen were saying the Landsmeet couldn't be settled until you got back. I'll bet they can't wait to start talking politics with you."
"Well, give me a chance to clean up first. I can't present myself before the Queen in this state." Aedan's stomach grumbled loudly. "Oh, and someone please tell the cooks to lay on some food. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I could eat a horse."
There was no horse waiting for him when he emerged from his bath, but some marvellous sprite had left him a plate of cold chicken, ham and thickly-cut slices of buttered bread. He attacked it with gusto, cursing his impossible appetite – it was certainly one of the greatest downsides of being a Grey Warden. When he'd finally taken the edge off his hunger, he paused before the glass to tidy himself up, running a comb through his hair and trimming back a day's worth of beard growth. Good thing he'd taken the time to visit a barber after he arrived in Denerim.
Dressing was more difficult; the clothes he wore on the road were scarcely better than the rags he'd just thrown away. Eamon had offered to lend him some of his own garments, but he was shorter and stodgier than Aedan, and the clothes barely fit – not to mention being about two decades behind the latest court fashions. Leliana, seeing him trying to struggle into one of Eamon's doublets, let out a gasp of horror. "What are you thinking? You can't wear that in front of the Queen!"
"I don't think I have much choice, Leli." He paused in the act of stuffing his arm through an overly-tight sleeve. "It's either this, or one of Lady Isolde's evening gowns."
"Now that would be a sight," Alistair remarked, from across the room. "I wonder how the Queen would react?"
"Perhaps I could dance the Remigold for her as well." Aedan gave the sleeve another tug, and grimaced at the sound of a ripping seam. Leliana rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Wear your armour," she said. "It suits you better, anyway."
It took him some time to don the armour, but he had to admit that she was right. The elven armour he'd worn to Howe's estate was probably lost for good, but he looked well enough in a suit of silverite heavy chainmail of dwarven make. He would have to remember to pay a visit to Wade the armour-smith before the Landsmeet.
He hoped the Queen would approve. He'd seen little of her in Howe's estate, as she'd been in disguise, but he did remember her as very beautiful. And though even he knew better than to flirt with Cailan's wife – widow, now – it would be pleasant to win a few smiles from the notoriously icy Anora Mac Tir.
Aedan had spent little time at court, but some of his acquaintance – generally fuelled by a little too much wine – had attempted to strike up a flirtation with the Queen. From what he'd heard, their reception made the Anderfels look warm and inviting by comparison. Her would-be suitors bandied words like 'frigid' and 'ice-queen', but Aedan suspected that she was simply being cautious. She couldn't risk any hint of impropriety, especially when she'd failed to give Cailan an heir.
He was still musing on this when he entered Eamon's private study, to find both Anora and her maid Erlina in the room with him. She had swapped her ill-fitting guard's uniform for a silken gown, probably one of Isolde's, and looked remarkably cool and composed for someone who'd just escaped a murderer's clutches. Only the way she was twisting her fingers together betrayed a hint of tension.
He bowed low to the Queen, receiving a gracious nod in return, before turning to Eamon. The Arl stood hastily, his eyes lighting up with relief.
"Maker's breath! It's good to see you in one piece, my friend." He looked Aedan over anxiously. "I assume the guards in the fort didn't knock you about too badly?"
"No, not too much. For a supposedly 'impregnable' fortress, I found it remarkably easy to escape." Aedan turned to Anora. "With respect, your Majesty, I expected better from your father's men. They left me alone in a cell with one rather stupid guard, and my equipment in a chest nearby. I almost wanted to give them tips."
Her lips twitched. "Well, I suppose we should all be thankful they weren't better prepared. We have been praying for your safe return, Warden."
"Thank you, my lady. I'm glad to see you arrived here safely."
"I was... uncertain you would respond as you did, considering the consequences," she said quietly. "I am glad you did. Thank you."
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he might have said more. But she was already turning away to address Eamon, her manner brisk and businesslike.
"Now, however, we must work together. And quickly." She drew breath. "My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me."
"You don't think he could be persuaded to see reason?"
"I thought so," she said softly. "I'd hoped so." She looked a little sad, and Aedan couldn't help wondering how she felt about conniving with her father's enemies. He couldn't imagine betraying his own father that way – but then, his father had never left him at the mercy of a sadistic bastard like Howe. That would surely put a strain on even the strongest bonds of family loyalty.
"Howe's influence was strong," the Queen continued. "His death can only be a good thing. But even that will not be enough. I know my father, and he is committed to his course. He will see this through, no matter what."
"Would it be possible for him to take the throne without you?"
She hesitated. "Perhaps. It will be more difficult for him– but if my father says the Grey Wardens are the enemy, many will believe it. He is a legend."
"It's true," Eamon agreed, looking slightly glum. "Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong, and this does little to help us."
"I see." Aedan pondered for a moment. "Your Majesty, you did promise to aid us in return for rescuing you. We've plenty of charges to lay against your father, but little solid proof. Is there any information you could give us which might help to strengthen our case against him?"
"Indeed there is," she said promptly. "You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some... recent events. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar; many people here are angry or grieving."
"And?"
"Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the army, so they should have little reason to be upset – which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason." Her expression darkened slightly. "I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it."
"A useful lead, Anora," Eamon said mildly, "but you could have sent this information with your maid."
"That is true. I feared for my safety as Howe's prisoner, but to tell the truth I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces." Her eyes flickered briefly from Eamon's face to Aedan's. "You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me."
Ah. Aedan had to hide a smile. So that was her game, was it? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; Anora was known as a far more astute politician than her husband, and it was no secret that she'd effectively ruled the country during his five-year reign. Little wonder that she should be unwilling to give up the throne to his illegitimate half-brother.
"And how are you a better candidate, your Majesty?" he asked, his tone and expression carefully neutral.
"I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood he is no king. You think only I can see it?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Not only that, he is also a Grey Warden – it will look like you are trying to put a Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party… and I am already queen."
Eamon was frowning. "Anora, you are indeed Cailan's widow, but – "
"I am the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general." There was a hint of rebuke in her tone. "Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years – Cailan? I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father."
Aedan had no intention of making Alistair king if he could possibly avoid it, but he was not about to let Anora know that. Not yet, at least. "We'll consider what you've said, your Majesty," he said, before Eamon had the chance to reply. "Might I request that you give us some time alone to discuss your proposal?"
"Of course," she said at once. "For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private."
A brief, regal nod to both men and she was gone, followed by the faithful Erlina. Eamon was looking slightly stunned. "Well, she's quite… spirited," he murmured, as soon as she was out of earshot, and then suddenly smiled – almost fondly, Aedan thought. "I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes."
"I can imagine. I suspect our gracious Queen has a lot of people jumping when she snaps."
The Arl nodded. "I cannot help thinking she may be trouble. But we should keep her close, all the same."
"Do you think so, ser? To be honest, I think she has a point." Aedan drew a long breath. "Up till now, we've been pressing Alistair's claim because we've had no other alternative. But he doesn't want to be king, and he's certainly not trained for it. If Anora can be trusted – and I certainly agree that that's a big 'if' – why should we not support her instead?"
Eamon's expression had darkened considerably. "Anora was a capable administrator for Cailan's lands, but she has not a drop of royal blood. We did not fight the Orlesians all those years just to lose our royal line in a single generation – not when there's a surviving son of the blood."
"I do understand, ser, but we have to be realistic about this. Alistair doesn't know the first thing about being king – "
"No, I don't," said Alistair's voice behind them. Both of them swung around, startled, to see him standing in the doorway. "Which I've told both of you on many occasions. If Anora's turned against Loghain, I say let her keep the crown." His voice dropped to a mumble. "It looks better on her, anyway."
Aedan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if the two of them were to marry?"
"Are you serious?" Alistair exploded. "No. Never mind. I – I don't even want to hear the rest of this. Y-you two just keep talking about me." He stalked over into a corner of the room. "I'm just going to stand over here, with my fingers in my ears."
And he proceeded to do exactly that, huffily turning his back on the others, in a way that strongly reminded Aedan of his nephew Oren in a pet. The two older men exchanged glances.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private?" Eamon murmured, gesturing towards the door of his own room. Aedan nodded, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, and followed him through the door.
"You're both wrong," Eamon continued, as soon as they were inside. "With a few months of experience, Alistair will make a fine king. He knows how to lead troops to defend his land; he knows how to stand and fight for justice. He knows how to show compassion to those less fortunate, and how to trust to the Maker's guidance to know right from wrong – "
"I won't deny that, ser. But what he doesn't have any idea of is how to rule a country." Aedan sighed. "With all due respect, Eamon, you've barely seen Alistair since he was ten years old. Whereas I've been fighting alongside him for the past eight months. He's a fine soldier, I grant you that – as long as someone else is giving the orders. But the only thing I'd trust him to lead is a dash to the cheese pantry, and frankly, I'm not even sure about that one."
The Arl winced. "I only wish Maric had taken more time to instruct the lad in the politics of ruling. I did my best, but..."
"Really? Alistair told me you'd made it very clear to him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no chance of him ever becoming king. He was quite adamant about it, in fact."
"Well, we all hoped Cailan and Anora would secure the succession... but that was not the only thing I tried to teach him. It may well be the only part he took to heart, however." Eamon shook his head. "Regardless, I'm sure he will be fine. Remember, he knows who to turn to for aid should that training fail him."
Meaning you, I suppose, Aedan thought, though he didn't say it. Instead he said, "And if we could persuade them to marry?"
Eamon nodded slowly. "That would certainly solve a lot of problems, and put forth the strongest argument before the Landsmeet to remove Loghain from power. But I suspect it might take a lot of persuading to get past her pride and his humility."
"I'll see what I can do." The dinner gong sounded from the hall, and Aedan realised that he was already hungry again. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion once I've spoken to Anora?"
"As you say." Eamon's eyes narrowed. "But Warden, be careful how much trust you place in her. I do not for a moment think Anora means to give up her power easily."
"You don't need to tell me that, ser." He gestured politely for Eamon to go before him, and followed him out of the room.
On emerging from the chamber, he was surprised to find Riordan in Eamon's study. In the 'excitement' of his capture and escape, he'd all but forgotten the man they'd rescued from Howe's dungeon. He paused to exchange a few words with his fellow Warden, glad to see him safe and recovering from his injuries, but his mind was elsewhere.
From the moment the Arl had first suggested the idea, he'd been racking his brains for a way to avoid putting Alistair on the throne. No matter what Eamon might say, he'd yet to be convinced that the lad would make even a halfway decent king. He foresaw himself and Eamon having to prop up Alistair's reign for years on end, guiding him through the perils and pitfalls of life at court, defending him from a restive Bannorn who would take his measure at first glance. Some men might have relished the chance to rule through a puppet king, but Aedan was not one of them. Maker willing, he'd soon have his own teyrnir to attend to, and he did not want to spend the next decade playing nursemaid to a man who had no idea how to rule in his own right.
Up until now, he'd hoped to persuade Eamon to press his own rather feeble claim. Not that he expected great things from Eamon either; he was too cautious and conservative – like Harrowmont, he thought, with a rueful sigh. But he was well-respected, and popular with the Bannorn, and would doubtless have made a competent if uninspiring monarch.
Anora's arrival, however, changed everything. Aedan was wary of supporting her claim to the throne, partly because he wasn't yet sure they could trust her, and partly because he knew how badly Eamon and the royalist faction would react. But if she and Alistair were to marry…
Riordan's soft voice brought him out of his reverie. "Is something wrong, my friend? The others are going to lunch, I believe."
"No, nothing. I was just… thinking about the Landsmeet." It was true, in a sense; there was that hurdle to be got over before they could even think about choosing the next monarch. He'd have to speak to Sighard and Alfstanna as soon as possible, and make sure he could count on their support.
If only he'd come better prepared for this, paid more attention to the political discourse at his father's court and his mother's salons. The previous summer's Landsmeet had been the first he'd attended in years, and he'd frittered his time away on women and pleasure, just as he always did when he visited the capital. But he'd still been a boy then, for all his twenty-five years: a spoiled, pampered lordling, who'd never achieved anything of substance because he'd never needed to. He didn't blame his parents, for they'd tried to give him purpose and direction; he only wished he'd listened to them while he had the chance…
His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that there were more pressing matters at hand. Perhaps everything would seem clearer after a good meal and a few ales. He offered a supporting arm to Riordan, noting that the man still walked with a heavy limp, and together they slowly made their way to the dinner hall where the others were waiting.