Chapter 13
Matthew lead Morrigan down the hallways of Vigil's Keep to their room, his love clutching at him like a drowning sailor would clutch at a piece of flotsam, sobbing occasionally. The Warden-Commander tried to keep her as calm as he could, stroking her hair and whispering assurances in her ear, but nothing seemed to work. At last coming to their personal room, he undid the latch, led Morrigan through the door, then secured it behind them.
And found his face assaulted by Morrigan's lips as soon as he turned around.
"Morrigan, what are you-"
"Shut up!" the mage shrieked. "SHUT UP!" She continued assaulting him with her mouth and tongue as though she were starving and he was a grand feast she had just found. At the same time, she blindly began undoing the leather straps that held his armor together. Realizing what she intended, Matthew tried to stop her, but a large slap from his wife convinced him to let what was about to happen ,happen, so he returned her kisses, and began to undo her armor in return.
When their cuirasses finally fell down around their legs and they stepped out of them, Matthew suddenly grabbed Morrigan by the arms, spun her around, pressed her against the wall, and did his best to press every inch of his body against Morrigan's without crushing slightly rounded abdomen. He vagely thought that it would be rather rude to ignore their large, soft bed, but there simply wasn't time to get to it. Then, positioning himself properly, he thrusted his hips forward and up, driving his erect member into Morrigan's folds.
The effect was immediate; Morrigan immediately broke off their kiss and began moaning like a banshee. Matthew didn't mind that; he simply latched his lips onto her neck and shoulders instead, at the same time continueing to thrust himself into her with increasing speed. For her part, Morrigan spread her left leg out, making the act easier, and wrapping one arm around his lower back to push him into her with increased force.
Matthew could never remember how long he and his wife stood their making love against the wall; it was one long blur of mindless pleasure. Finally, the happy, scared reunited couple were simply too exaughsted to continue. Picking up his wife in the bridal position he layed her down on their bed, curled up next to her, kissed her on the cheek, and closed his eyes. Within moments the happy couple was asleep.
A.N. First smut scene ever. Embarrassed. Going to hide now.
…..
Okay, I'm back now.
A few hours later, Matthew was awake, snuggled against his sleeping wife's back, one arm wrapped around her waist, and the other stroking her soft, jet black hair. Morrigan was always so beautiful when she was asleep. She looked peaceful; it seemed to be the one time when she could escape the scars her mother had inflicted upon her.
After a few more minutes, Morrigan stirred, and began blinking her still sleepy eyes. Matthew leaned his head over to her ear. "Emotional outbursts, risking everything to save someone, crying; who are you and what have you done with my Morrigan?" he teased.
"Be quite, fool," the women hissed, spinning around to embrace him, burying her face in his chest.
"It…it was horrible," Morrigan started ranting. "The thought that I'd lose you…that I'd have to raise our child without you… it was too much..I couldn't.."
"Sh, sh," Matthew whispered. "It's alright, Morrigan. I'm here; I'm safe; nothing is going to happen. Everything is going to be fine."
Finally, Morrigan regained control of herself. Looking at him frankly, she asked, "In any event, how were you captured exactly?" Sighing, Matthew explained.
"A darkspawn emissary ambushed us in the silverite mine, and cast a sleeping hex on us; simple, yet effective."
"An emissary," Morrigan said with mocking astonishment. "As in a darkspawn mage?" She started laughing hysterically. "Oh, this is grand; Matthew Cousland, a man of unparalleled templar abilities, is brought down by a single MAGE!"
"It was a very powerful emissary, Morrigan," Matthew muttered, annoyed in part because of his wife's teasing, and in part because of the fact that he himself wielded his most hated foes own abilities. In the aftermath of Ostagar, when the group was having trouble with mages, both hostile apostates and darkspawn, Matthew had asked Alistair to teach him how to wield Templar anti-magic. Alistair, as it turned out, had been an excellent teacher; calm, but firm and unyielding. It was, in fact, these lessons that convinced him that Alistair would make a good king. When they had come to the Circle tower, and he had seen the true face of the Templar Order, Matthew had been sickened by his decision, but the fight against the darkspawn had forced him to keep using his abilities.
"Oh, this is precious," Morrigan wheezed, her husband's feeble protest only serving to strengthen her mirth. "I'm Matthew Cousland," she said, in a mocking imitation of his own voice. "I can march across the breadth and width of Fereldan 10 times in a year, end civil wars, bring mages, templars, dwarves, and elves under my thumb, and kill 5 enormous dragons at the same time, but I can't kill a single foe that I was specifically trained to defeat." With that, Morrigan started rolling around on the bed, laughing so hard Matthew was amazed that her lungs did not burst.
"Morrigan," he shouted, "shut up, or I swear by all that is holy, I will Smite you!"Morrigan stopped laughing immediately, and looked at him with a terrified expression. The Templar ability that all mages feared most was the Holy Smite, an ability that allowed the warrior to strike out mentally at his or her foes in a sizable area, tearing at the very soul of those caught in it and hitting them with a powerful shockwave that knocked down its targets. While anyone could be affected by a Holy Smite, it was doubly potent on mages; it reacted with the mages mana, absorbing it and causing additional harm to the mage based on the amount of mana neutralized. While a mage could resist a Smite, shrugging the affect on its mana off entirely, it was an uncertain thing.
"You wouldn't," Morrigan whispered, horrified. Immediately recognizing his error, and having no wish to have his ass burnt off when Morrigan decided she would rather be angry than shocked, he smiled evilly, and whispered huskily, "What is the matter, Morrigan? I thought you enjoyed being Smited." Morrigan looked at him as if he had lost his mind and, clearly not understanding his meaning, said, "And why in Thedas would I want to- OH!" She yelped in surprise as Matthew's index finger stroked her private areas.
"You cheeky son of a bitch," she exclaimed, half perturbed and half amused.
"How dare you, women," Matthew responded in mock outrage. "My mother was a saint." Giggling, the two again threw themselves at each other, with the intention of-
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Jumping in surprise at the intrusion, Matthew called, "Who's there?" trying, and failing, to be polite.
"Seneschal Varel, Commander," was the reply. "The nobles of Amaranthine have come to pledge their oaths of loyalty to you."
"Can't this wait, Varel?" Matthew asked, not willing for his time with his wife to be cut short.
"I'm afraid not, Commander. Please come down as quickly as possible." With that, the couple heard the Seneschal's retreating steps.
Sighing in defeat, Matthew stood up, and started pulling on the clothing he wore under his armor. "Alright Morrigan, let's go."
"Why me," she complained. "Why do I have to be there? YOU are the Arl."
"And YOU are the Arlessa." Matthew replied. "Therefore, you need to be there. Now come over here, and help me get my armor back on." Sighing, Morrigan complied, helping him strap his new Stormchaser heavy chainmail back onto his body.
"I hate this, you know," she whispered in his ear seductively. "I much prefer you out of your armor."
Chuckling, Matthew said, "I know; that's why I make you put it back on."
"Bastard."
oo-00-oo
Matthew stood in the main hall of the Keep, Seneschal Varel to his left, Morrigan to his right. The various lords and ladies that commanded independent fiefdoms within the Arling stood in a sizable group before him. Their expressions ranged from hopeful, to pitying, to uncertain, to mistrust, to open contempt. It was not difficult to understand the last groups reasons; up until recently, these had been Rendon Howe's vassals. A great many of them had lost influence, land, and prestige when Matthew had skewered the traitorous snake. Truth be told, he had expected his reception to be far worse.
Stepping forward, Varel proclaimed, "Lords and Ladies, I present the Warden-Commander of Fereldan, and Arl of Amaranthine."
"Commander," one of the lords said, kneeling down.
"Arise," Matthew said simply, gesturing for the man to stand.
Then, he turned to the other gathered nobles, and began to speak.
"My lords and ladies. You know who I am; I am Matthew Cousland, the man who killed your previous liege lord, Rendon Howe. You all know why I did so; you know that Howe, in the dead of night, launched an assault on Castle Cousland and slaughtered all within, including my mother, father, sister-in-law, and nephew, though I am sure that none of you would ever had knowingly participated in such an atrocity." The shifting looks of several of the nobles present was all he needed in order for him to know that that was NOT the case.
"However," he continued, "none of that is relevant now. There is but one thing that we must focus our attention on; the darkspawn remnants. For though the Blight has been ended, the remains of the horde that besieged Denerim have not retreated, and remain to terrorize this fair Arling. They must be wiped out, immediately, and by all means necessary."
Looking into the crowd, he saw that the mention of darkspawn attacks scared many of those assembled; during the Blight, Amaranthine had escaped relatively unscathed, not facing serious troubles with the monsters until afterward.
"Perhaps there are some who say that, weakened as the Arling is, that we cannot accomplish this task," Matthew continued. "That we should simply cut our losses and flee. To those who say, or hear such poison, remember this; NOTHING is difficult; EVERYTHING is a challenge. Through adversity, to the stars. From the last blade, to the last bolt, to the last minute, to the last man, we fight. We FIGHT!"
The ending of his speech was met with more enthusiasm than he had expected. While all clapped politely, several were applauding with far more vigor. In addition, several of the nobles who had looked hostile to him before now looked less angry, and looked at him with new interest. It seemed that he had convinced a few of them to give him a chance.
Good, he thought. I'm going to need all the support I can get.
Stepping forward, Varel spoke up. "Bann Esmerelle, as is old custom, you have the honor of beginning."
A women with a scrunched up face stepped forward. She looked as if someone had shoved an invisible dung pile under her nose. Bowing slightly, she said, "I promise that I, Bann Esmerelle, will be faithful to the arl in matters of life, limb, and earthly honor. Never will I bear arms against him or his heirs. So I say in the sight of the Maker." No sooner had the last word left her lips, she turned and marched back to the group of nobles.
Matthew's eyes narrowed. The woman was going to be trouble, he was certain of it. She had displayed no real commitment to the oath she had just sworn; the words had dropped from her mouth like lead bricks. In addition, he could practically feel resentment radiating off of her. Apparently, she didn't realize the threat the darkspawn posed, or simply didn't care. She must have been Rendon's strongest supporter for her to ignore such a large threat for petty hatred.
The next then stepped forward. "I promise that I, Lord Eddelbreck…"
oo-00-oo
After all the nobles had sworn allegiance to him, they remained to partake of some refreshments, and socialize. Matthew bristled against it; it was all a game of politics and influence, and REAL work needed to be done. It was sickening.
I wouldn't last two minutes in Orlais, he thought. According to Leliana, the Orliesian Empire's nobility was far worse than Fereldan's ever was, entirely focused around "the great game", a meaningless competition of intrigue, fought over land and influence with Empress Celene. They did not do so openly, as it would be seen as rude and undermine their efforts, so instead they unleashed subtle and underhanded plots to discredit their foes, or enhance themselves.
One day, that will change, Matthew thought grimly. All those inhibitions will fall away, and the so-called nobility of Orlais will shatter into who knows how many warring fiefdoms, just like Fereldan used to be.
Coming back to his present situation, Matthew leaned over to Seneschal Varel, and whispered, "Who do I need to know here?"
Responding, Varel said, "Lord Eddelbreck controls most of the Arling's farmland. He is powerful, popular with the people, and appears to be very supportive of you. Bann Esmerelle runs the city of Amaranthine, and is rather…prickly. She may not be liked, but she cannot be ignored." Nodding, Matthew took a sip of wine from his glass, and walked into the proverbial swamp.
When he came up to Lord Eddelbrek, the man immediately bowed his head to him, and said, "Warden-Commander, it is an honor to have you as our Arl."
"Thank you," Matthew replied. "Lord Eddelbrek, have we met before; you seem familiar."
"I was a close friend of your father, so you may have seen me during one of my visits to Highever. I am glad you have done well for yourself, Matthew Cousland. Your father would be proud of you, I am sure." He paused, and then his face darkened. "Commander, I wish to inform you that I had no part in, or was even aware of, Rendon Howe's plot against your family. I would never willingly participate in such a horrendous atrocity against a friend, and I would have opposed him had I known of it."
"Thank you, Lord Eddelbrek," Matthew responded. "Any friend of my father's is a friend of mine. However, Rendon Howe is dead and burned; the darkspawn must be the focus of our attention now."
"Indeed, Commander," Eddelbrek sighed. "You have come to us during desperate times."
"Not more about your precious farms, Eddelbrek," a nearby noble complained.
"SOME of us do not have the protection of city walls," Eddelbrek shot back. "Out on the plains, the situation is dire. The darkspawn are destroying crops and slaughtering livestock. The peasants are all starving, or worse."
"The city's defenses are more important, Eddelbrek," the noble replied snobbishly. Eddelbrek was about to respond, but Matthew beat him to it.
"Ser," the Warden-Commander hissed, "I suggest that you remember that it is because of those farmers that you are able to eat. There may be grain stored now, but it WILL run out. Then what will you do, eat the stone walls?"
"So you would leave the greatest jewel of the Arling defenseless?"
Matthew turned his head to see Bann Esmerelle approaching. "I fail to see why the commoner's dwellings deserve such protection, Arl. Their pathetic lodgings can be rebuilt with straw and mud, but Amarathine was built over generations. You would leave it helpless over some meaningless peons?"
It was very hard for Matthew not to crush the glass he was holding in rage. "We NEED those farmers, Esmerelle. Armies march on their stomachs, as you are no doubt aware. We can't wage war on the darkspawn if our men can't eat. And you are wrong; Amaranthine is not helpless. It has its walls, not to mention its guardsmen, which I am sure you are sparing no expense expanding and upgrading, especially due to those smugglers I heard about when last I visited."
Esmerelle's mouth immediately became a thin line. "I do not need instruction on how to properly run my own city, Commander." She had the air of someone who was hiding something.
Realization dawned on Matthew. She's in on the smuggling operation, He thought. They're probably paying her off and providing all the luxurious things that have dried up in this fight so that she'll let them operate free of interference, silvering and biting everyone else just for things they need to survive. I ought to kill her where she stands!
Just then, Morrigan walked over, asking, "Having a good time, love," voice filled with sarcasm. In one hand she held a small plate with an eight inch high pile of cream puffs on it. Wonderful, Matthew groused. I have a selfish, corrupt noble bitch to deal with, and now Morrigan's cravings have started. I foresee no way this day can improve.
Esmerelle turned to Morrigan, sneered at her, and said, "You shouldn't eat so many of those, Arlessa; they are not good for your health."
Morrigan responded with an even more impressive sneer, and then shot back with, "Bann Esmerelle, my great-grandmother ate twice as many cream puffs every day of her life. She lived to be one hundred and two years old, and when she had been DEAD for three days, she looked better than YOU do NOW."
Esmerelle turned pale with rage, and then stormed from the hall as Matthew wandered off, smirking into his wine glass.
How about that; I was wrong.
Just then he felt a hand on his elbow. Turning, he saw a rather short, blonde women holding onto him. "My lord I must speak to you; it is very urgent."
"Ser Tamra, correct?" Matthew replied.
The knight nodded. "Yes my lord. Please, we must speak in private."
"Very well."
Leading him to a slightly more isolated area of the hall, Ser Tamra turned to him and said, "Commander Cousland, I have intercepted messages between several of the other nobles. Individually, they are not possible to decipher, but together, they spell out something sinister." She paused, checked to make sure no one was listening in, then continued; "Commander, I believe they intend to assassinate you."
Matthew snorted. "How cute," was his only reply.
Tamra blanched. "My lord do you not understand? They intend to-"
"Yes, I know they want me dead, Tamra," Matthew interrupted. "I am simply not frightened of a bunch of fat slobs shelling out gold for someone more competent to do their dirty work for them. Deliver the messages to me, and I will deal with this inconvenience."
Tamra stared, and then said, "Yes, my lord," before rejoining the festive. Matthew drained the rest of his wine in one gulp, extremely annoyed. Not only did he have to referee the nobles, he had to take time out of his busy schedule in order to deal with wanna-be assassins, and he the darkspawn incursions to defeat, AND deal with his wife's now chaotic and unstable emotional state. How could this get any worse?
Scanning his Warden recruits, he found his answer.
WHERE IN ANDRASTE'S NAME IS ANDERS!
A.N. The last part of Matthew's motivational speech was lifted directly from the movie Red Tails. If you have not seen it, do so immediately; it is a good movie, and contains a message that everyone must hear.