A/N: Unlike my other chapters this follows immediately after the last one with no time lost in between. Also, this is the first part of Fanaticism; the second part is nearly done but I decided to separate them as otherwise the chapter is too long.

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Fanaticism pt. 1

"Aedan, it's only several hours after sunrise! We can't start drinking now…the servants will be gossiping about it for weeks. Keep this up and in no time at all you'll have earned the sobriquet 'the Sodden' to accompany Warden, Hero of Ferelden, and whatever else you're now called."

"Quit worrying, Fergus. If tongues start wagging I'll just blame it on your bad influence." Aedan chuckled as he strolled through the castle as fast as Fergus' pace would allow, "An impression I hope will be reinforced by the wonderfully debauched bachelors party you're planning for me."

"Oh yes, that…I've spoken to the palace's Reverend Mother and she was more than happy to let us reserve the entire chapel for your party. I thought we'd begin with the traditional devotions begging forgiveness for our manifold sins and then move on to more event-appropriate prayers that beseech the Maker to bless your upcoming matrimony with love and children." Walking into his brother's back as Aedan froze in place Fergus bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to keep from laughing.

"That's a very…nice…sounding party, Fergus; and Maker knows I'll need help in those two areas with Anora but we really shouldn't impose ourselves in such a way. Surely there are others who would be devastated if they could not use the chapel for an entire night."

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that, Aedan." Fergus mused before a wide smile finally broke across his face as Aedan's horrified face turned towards him, "In that case we'll have to settle for finding the most intact tavern Denerim has to offer and getting uproariously drunk while trying to slap the serving wench's bottom."

"I'll get you back for that one, brother."

"I'm sure you'll try." Fergus responded as the two resumed walking down the hall.

Reaching Aedan's suite Fergus settled himself into a comfortable plush chair that was complete with a matching ottoman for his sore leg while Aedan retrieved an unusually shaped bottle from a nearby cupboard.

"Legacy White Shear…I've been saving this for months now, Fergus." Aedan commented as he poured the clear liquid into a pair of chalices, "Carried it in my own personal pack during the Blight so that drunken dwarf Oghren couldn't get his thieving hands on it."

"Its…glowing."

"Wynne said it was imbued with lyrium."

"And it appears to be changing colors."

"Hmm, that is strange."

"And you want to drink it?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Well, I can think of many reasons…but I've never let you out-drink me before and I don't plan on starting now. Cheers, Aedan."

"Cheers, Fergus."

Looking at their drinks through suddenly watering eyes the two brothers simultaneously began coughing, "Maker's breath!" Aedan eventually gasped.

"I can't feel my toes."

"Good thing you're sitting then, huh?"

"I've never had a lyrium infused drink before." Fergus commented as he unsteadily refilled the two goblets.

Several minutes later, after another White Shear induced coughing fit had passed, Aedan interrupted the silence. "You think it's normal that the walls appear to be…melting?"

"I don't know." Fergus said thoughtfully as he stared out the window, "But the stars sure are beautiful."

"Leliana told me a story about one of those stars once. It was about Alindra, the first female chevalier; I have never thought of the stars the same way since." Brow furrowing in sudden confusion Aedan's reverie ended, "Wait…it's the middle of the day, Fergus, there can't be any stars out."

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that but you're right."

"Perhaps we should go easy with this White Shear."

"Good idea."

Setting their drinks down the two men fell silent as they watched whatever private display the lyrium alcohol played for their mind's eye. Some time later, though the brothers were unable to decide if it had been minutes or hours, the dreamlike visions faded leaving only the friendly, warm intoxication of the alcohol behind.

Inhibitions lowered by the drink and the companionable silence that surrounded the two siblings Fergus began speaking, "Do you remember how after I met Oriana you would mock me for constantly talking about her even when I should have been doing more important things such as getting blind drunk with you?"

"I remember." Aedan answered, "And you always just smiled and accused me of jealousy."

"To which you would list the various wenches you had seduced lately and the sinful acts that you had engaged in with them."

"I may have exaggerated some of those."

"I'd expect nothing less from a fellow soldier, a friend, or a brother. All of which you are." Fergus answered, "But now it seems the situation is reversed and it is you that talks of a woman as we drink. Though I hope you will forgive me if I do not regale you with tales of seduction."

"What do you mean?" Aedan asked, concerned that this pleasant meeting would turn sour at the memory of Oriana.

"Leliana. We were not talking about her but the mention of stars brought her immediately to your mind; just like I remember happening with Oriana. Leliana is not simply another pleasing diversion, is she? You love her."

"Yes, I do."

"I'm happy for you, Aedan, she seems a wonderful woman." Fergus complimented as he gingerly worked towards his point, "Have you spoken with her about your impending marriage to Anora?"

"I have. Leliana knows I marry not for love but rather out of political necessity and she accepts that."

"It is a steep price you ask of her, Aedan. To give up her happiness for your political games when her reward will be only the scorn that attaches itself to all royal mistresses. You want her to live knowing that her desires are of secondary importance in your mind when compared to the all-consuming quest for power."

"Damn it, Fergus, what do you want me to say?" Aedan snapped, "Yes, I love Leliana but you're right, I do care for power too. I'm doing the best I can. Leliana will be my wife in all but name while whatever noblewoman I am married to, be it Anora or whoever I find after getting rid of that Mac Tir sow, will be a purely political relationship."

"I know that, Aedan, and so does Leliana but for political reasons you can't let anyone else know. Names have power and rather than being granted the name 'wife' Leliana will always be haunted by the words whore, temptress, harlot, concubine…"

"Enough!" Aedan shouted, "She is none of those things despite being a bard and I will kill any man who dares whisper those words."

"No you won't, brother, because that would be a politically idiotic move." Body slumping into his chair Aedan rubbed his face with both hands while Fergus continued, "As your mistress Leliana will have no one but you; everyone else will shun her to avoid upsetting the queen. It is your responsibility to find a way to compensate her for all the things she will lose by staying with you."

"I will, Fergus. I don't know how but I promise I will find a way."

"Now that is something I'll toast to…unless my poor, little brother has reached his limit."

Laboriously standing up Aedan stumbled over to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of reassuringly normal looking wine, "Not a chance…though I think we've both had enough lyrium visions for today."

"I'll not argue there."

"On your feet, mage. Slowly." a voice said, the words echoing behind the steel of its owner's helm.

"But ser," a tall, blonde man whined in response without bothering to turn to address the speaker, "All she has left on are those lacey little bits. Can't we wait just a few more minutes; after all it is rude to interrupt such a fine a performance."

"No."

"Please…it'll give you something to tell the rest of your repressed templar buddies."

"No." the steel encased man growled.

"Oooh, you're right! They'll want to see this for themselves. Why don't you call them in from outside where, based on past experiences, I'm sure they're waiting in case I get away from you?"

"No."

"Damn." as the other patrons tried to edge unobtrusively away from the confrontation the mage flashed a smile at the dancer who stood frozen in mid-routine. "What's your name, miss?"

"A,a-Ailanne, ser mage."

"A pretty name for a pretty woman. I'm Anders and my friend here is Ser So-and-So." slurred the mage as he reached both hands to his ear and removed a large, golden earring which he tossed to the frightened woman, "Consider this a tip from a grateful patron who'd rather a beautiful woman have it than let some sticky-fingered templar 'confiscate' it. Now, if you'll excuse me I really must be leaving."

Swaying as he moved to stand the mage reached a steadying hand out for his staff. Hearing the hiss of steel being drawn from behind him Anders quickly halted that rash action and finally turned away from the dancer to face the menacing templar. Raising his hands in a placating gesture the mage took a step away from the templar putting his chair in between the two men. Lazily hooded eyes flickering side to side with an alacrity that belied their blurred, drowsy look the intoxicated mage casually picked up his half empty mug of ale and brought it to his lips.

Gulping down the cheap ale with a grimace the mage took one more swig before letting the now empty mug clatter to the dingy tabletop. Resignedly offering his hands Anders waited as the templar sheathed his sword and took a length of cord from his belt. Eying the mage warily through the slits in his helmet the templar moved closer and reached out to bind the apostate's hands. Having wrapped the cord around the mage's wrists the templar fumbled in his bulky gauntlets as he attempted to tie a knot.

Tapping a foot impatiently at the templar's continued failure Anders bit back a smile as the other man's movements became increasingly ineffective as the toe-tapping continued. Soon afterwards the templar had reached his limit. Head tilting up from the frustrating rope towards the even more frustrating mage the templar glared at the robed man; his eyes glinting with the malice filled stare that every Circle Mage had learned since childhood to fear. Anders, however, had become quite acclimated to that glare over the course of his mischievous days as a student and his later mischievous days as a six-time escapee.

By now, on his seventh attempt, the armored man's steely glare not only failed to ruffle the blonde mage's feathers but rather gave his hawk-like eyes a target. Spewing the sour ale in his mouth into the templar's eye slits Anders chuckled as the man's gauntlets clattered ineffectually against his helm in a vain attempt to wipe the burning alcohol away from his reddening, teary eyes. Kicking the chair in front of him into the templar's legs Anders nodded with satisfaction as the man collapsed to the ground. Confident that the mage-hunter was sufficiently incapacitated and would be unable to counter a spell Anders grabbed his staff and hurriedly cast a paralysis spell on the prone templar.

Turning back to the cowering dancer Anders smiled reassuringly, "Could you kindly tell me where this establishment's door for its more…discrete customers is?"

"Cellars, behind the last wine rack." Wavering hand pointing towards the cellar stairs Ailanne breathed a sigh of relief as the mage nodded his thanks, gathered up his hindering robes, and took off as fast as his feet would carry him.

Leaping down the stairs Anders threw open the door and raced into the cellar. Spurred on by the sounds of heavy, metal clad feet pounding against the floor above him the fugitive raced down the row of wine racks as more templars charged into the brothel; Ander's spell having alerted their senses to his escape. Reaching the rack Anders shifted it aside, slipped into the concealed passageway and quickly replaced it behind him. Racing up the gradually sloping tunnel towards a faint pinhole of daylight Anders smiled at the symbol of freedom.

Coming to a halt the winded mage threw open the grate that blocked his exit onto what appeared to be Denerim's docks and stepped out of the getaway tunnel. And into a fist. Doubling over as the unexpected blow drove the wind from his lungs Anders looked up to see yet another glowering templar staring at him.

"Oh good," Anders gasped, "I was just thinking how much I missed your scintillating glares, my dear Rylock."

"Quiet, mage."

Sipping at the expensive vintage of lyrium free wine Fergus settled himself deeper into his chair, wincing as the movement sent a stab of pain through his leg. "So, what important duties is this little morning of drunkenness taking you away from?"

"Nothing really. Anora is off at some Chantry rite, Eamon is meeting with the masons who will build Alistair's Warden statue, Leliana and Zevran are no doubt lurking somewhere they shouldn't be, and I cancelled the off-duty guards' normal training session."

"No audiences to grant, petitions to read, or decrees to sign?"

"Not until the afternoon; before I canceled it I used the training session as an excuse to delay holding court."

"A wasted morning? I did not think you could afford such luxuries and still make an indelible mark on history."

"Who said I was wasting the morning?" Aedan chuckled, "It's just that I have already recited my lines and I now simply wait to see how the rest of the act unfolds. No, in fact, I expect this to be quite a productive morning."

"Productive, eh?" Fergus said, eyeing his brother, "I recognize that look on your face. It's the same one as when you were a child stealing food from Nan for your mabari. Care to tell me what's going on this time?"

"It is a bit…sensitive to discuss." Aedan demurred, "I would not have mentioned it had it not been for the drink's loosening of my tongue."

"For the Maker's sake, Aedan, I'm your brother! And a key political ally if that relation isn't enough! I know you're caught up with intrigues but if you can't trust me than who is it you can?"

"You're right, of course, and I apologize for my instinctive suspicion. I will tell you, brother, to demonstrate my contrition." Voice unconsciously lowering as he leaned towards Fergus Aedan continued, "I'm laying the ground for being crowned King."

"But Anora only agreed to you being Prince-Consort and Leader of Ferelden's Armies."

"That is exactly why the…details…of my coronation have required so much of my attention. At my upcoming wedding and coronation the chamberlain will announce me as King."

It will take a lot more than the chamberlain calling you King to make it so." Fergus warned.

Nodding Aedan smiled, "Which is why I also need the Grand Cleric, who will do the actual crowning, to agree with me and Anora herself to at least not object to my sudden elevation."

"Make a concession or two to the Chantry and the Cleric will not be a problem…but Anora? Aedan, I think it's the lyrium still talking if you expect her to agree to this."

"Oh, she won't be happy about it but I don't intend to give her a choice in the matter. Humbling nobility is not an easy task but I think I know how to go about it."

"Well, now I'm even more curious."

"You don't want to be surprised like the rest of the Landsmeet when I'm proclaimed King instead of consort?" Aedan teased before continuing, "I simply need to make myself appear strong enough that she will feel lucky that all I'm asking for is the crown."

"A dangerous bluff."

"It isn't a bluff, Fergus. Right now, Denerim is surrounded by troops who are loyal to me personally; not to the Crown and certainly not to Anora. Dwarves, Dalish, mages I saved, mercenaries I've paid…I hold the military power. With martial law in effect I, as Ferelden's military commander, am in control of the courts. Both the Bannorn and Denerim's commoners hail me as a hero while Anora is the daughter of a traitor and regicide." Chuckling Aedan added, "Even her royal guard isn't loyal to her now."

"What do you mean?"

"Using my power under martial law as commander of Ferelden's armies I made a conciliatory gesture towards Loghain's former allies by nominating Ser Cauthrien to be the Commander of the Queen's Guard because of her 'honor, love of Ferelden, and intelligence'. A suggestion Anora certainly could not reject, even if she suspected my motivations, because it would lose her the support of her father's old allies who are now relying on her for protection and continued patronage."

"I have met Ser Cauthrien briefly and all of those words describing her are true. How does appointing such a paragon of virtue to be commander make Anora's guard disloyal?"

"Cauthrien, as with many honorable people, is easy to manipulate. She values her honor…yet she abandoned Loghain to his death before the Landsmeet knowing I was the best chance to defeat the Blight. In talking with the disgraced woman since then I have discovered something. I don't know if it was a conscious decision on her part or not but Cauthrien has transferred all of her previous devotion towards Loghain to me instead."

"What! That makes no sense; she must hate you for killing Loghain."

"Think about it, it does make sense." Aedan chided, "If she hated me then Cauthrien would have to admit that she was wrong in thinking me the sole possible savior of Ferelden; an admission that would destroy her all-important justification for betraying Loghain. But, by revering me as the 'Hero of Ferelden' and serving me as she did her previous master she keeps her honor. I encouraged this loyalty by placing her in command of the guard thereby publicly giving her back her honor with the added bond of it placing her in my debt…a concept the honorable take quite seriously."

"Clever. Very cynical…but clever." Fergus said, "But couldn't she betray you and transfer her loyalty once again to someone else if she decides they are better for Ferelden than you?"

"She could. But she won't. Anora is the only person at the moment in a position to compete with me and once Anora is gone Cauthrien's role will be irrelevant."

"And Ser Cauthrien will not follow Anora? I would not be sure of that; it makes sense for Cauthrien to seek redemption by serving the daughter."

"Except that she hates Anora."

"Why would she hate Anora?"

"Because Anora reminds Cauthrien of herself. Anora also betrayed Loghain but, unlike Cauthrien, did it to remain in power rather than from any sense of an overriding duty to Ferelden. You see, Cauthrien knows how much Anora loves power. Have you heard about how I rescued Anora from Howe's estate and was captured in the process; by Ser Cauthrien, incidentally?"

"Yes."

"What few know is that Anora betrayed me there. Confronted by Ser Cauthrien while we were escaping Anora, instead of telling Cauthrien the truth, accused me of capturing her. So, Cauthrien did her duty and arrested me only to find out soon afterwards at the Landsmeet that Anora was now claiming, accurately according to the rest of the evidence, that Loghain and Howe had imprisoned her. This inconsistency revealed to Cauthrien that Anora has no honor and betrays people as is convenient to protect her own life and position."

"Exactly what Cauthrien feared she herself had done by abandoning Loghain." Fergus finished, "I understand. Cauthrien hates Anora because she sees in Anora a manifestation of what she fears is her own dishonor."

"Right, and as guard commander Cauthrien is in a position to exercise influence over the rest of the guard through both subtle, whispered words and directly by choosing the officers and soldiers who will replace the many casualties suffered during the Blight. And Cauthrien is only selecting those who are already loyal to me or who are likely to be easily swayed to my side.

"The Royal Guard is divided into the traditional three battles, I assume?"

"Yes. Cauthrien commands the centre, a Ser Mylor commands the vanguard, and a Ser Mhairi commands the rearguard. Mylor is a veteran and apparently unshakably loyal to Anora having been impressed by something she did during the Blight. Mhairi, a new officer, was promoted by Cauthrien and should fall in line with me seeing as how she apparently hates Loghain and admires Grey Wardens; one devastatingly handsome Warden in particular."

"Always the modest one, Aedan." Fergus laughed, "So you control the majority of the Queen's Guard, the rest of the army too, the courts, the Bannorn's support, and you have the people's adoration. Why not depose Anora right now?"

"If I'm seen as the aggressor I will lose most of the goodwill I accumulated over the Blight and therefore much of the support necessary to overthrow Anora. No, before my coup I must bind my allies to me with more than bonds of respect and appreciation."

"What tighter bonds can you want than those?"

"Fergus, only one as honorable as you or Ser Cauthrien can ask that question without laughing. Bonds of greed, dependence, fear…all those are stronger and it will take time for me to forge those bonds."

"Is that a new suit of armor, Rylock? It is simply ravishing on you; the cold steel a perfect complement to your sultry eyes." Anders remarked, unable to resist his favorite game of templar-baiting. Disappointed at the lack of response but determined to not let being captured ruin what had started as a good day he kept at it, "And the cut of that tabard! Very daring to show that much leg…er, greave. Whichever, it sure is shapely!"

Smirking as he heard the surrounding templars mutter darkly Ander's disappointment soon returned as Rylock spoke in an unusually calm voice, "You will not get a rise out of me today, mage."

"And why is that, O Beauty of the Broadsword?"

"Because I no longer find you as irritating as I did in the past."

"My charms are finally piercing your armor, my Petite Princess of Plate." Anders crowed as the group began climbing a hill that led from the docks into Denerim's center.

"Possibly. Or perhaps it's the knowledge that I'll finally be rid of you for good soon that makes this bearable."

"Whatever do you mean, rid of me forever? You know I'll escape from the Tower again and, as always, you will hunt me down in our dance of forbidden desire."

"Not this time, mage. This time there will be no escape."

Shrugging his arms Anders made the myriad chains that bound him clink, "Are these going to stop me? You know the second I get back to the Tower Irving will have them taken off."

"You're right, and that is exactly why I am not taking you back there this time. Finally a Reverend Mother who actually understands the threat you apostates pose has given me orders regarding what to do."

"What do you mean?" Anders demanded, the self-satisfied menace in Rylock's voice killing his jovial mood, "Is that why we're heading towards the cathedral? What's going on here? What Reverend Mother?"

"You'll soon find out."

"Oh, shit," Ser Mylor moaned as Anora's procession swung onto the broad plaza that fronted the cathedral; the whole column halting at the sight spread out before them. "Things just never go smoothly; do they, commander?"

Looking at the mass of people thronging the cathedral's piazza Ser Cauthrien was forced to agree with her subordinate's pessimistic assessment. Denerim's cathedral had always been a site of pilgrimage and therefore its courtyard was frequently filled with a malodorous crowd of road-weary devotees but this new congregation was drastically different. And much more unsettling to behold.

Rather than carrying the traditional votive candles representing Andraste's fiery sacrifice these pilgrims ringed a fiercely burning fire that had been built in the square's center. As Cauthrien and Mylor looked on in disbelief a man stepped forward from the crowd and pulled a red hot brand from the flames and, accompanied by the chanting of his compatriots, held the burning metal in his hands as the sour odor of burning flesh spread over the assembly and the chanters volume increased to drown out the penitent's screaming.

Across the square from the fire a second ritual of mortification played out before the shocked eyes of Anora and her guard. A Reverend Mother, her stately robes filthy and fraying, perched atop a makeshift pulpit of crates and upturned carts. Surrounded by an eerily silent congregation her voice shrieked loudly over the competing din of the crowd by the fire.

"Let the blade pass through the flesh"

In a sinister parody of the normal call and response format of the Chant this congregation 'responded' to the Mother's chanted verses by scourging their neighbors.

"Let my blood touch the ground"

Wielding various implements ranging from knotted ropes, to chains, to threshing flails the crowd struck fiercely at each other satisfied every time their blows drew blood from a willing target.

"Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice."

Finally breaking their silence the assemblage of tormentors and tormented gave voice to their pain. Tearing from the throats of several hundred bloodied flagellants a cry rang out commingling with the Reverend Mother's continued chanting and reaching up from the cathedral's square towards the sky; desperately trying to reach the Maker's deaf ears.

Turning at the sound of armor approaching them Cauthrien and Mylor nodded politely to the newcomer, "Ser Mhairi."

"Commander Cauthrien, Ser Mylor," Mhairi responded, giving the senior officers a salute, "What are we supposed to do about this lot?"

Regarding the continuing bloodletting in the plaza Mylor shook his head, "It's not up to us, Ser Mhairi. We do what our Queen orders, though I'd gladly just turn around and head back to the palace and away from…this…rather than force our way through."

Tearing her eyes away from the flagellants, one of whom had just slumped to the ground under the weight of his companions blows with a beatific smile on his face as the blood poured from his body and the light fled from his eyes, Cauthrien glanced at where Anora and Erlina huddled in conference together, "I expect we'll receive orders soon."

"And I don't think they're likely to be 'Let's go back to the palace where you can get off your shift early and grab some food'. Mhairi added as she pointed past the other two officers, "Look, there's even more trouble brewing."

Following Mhairi's gesture Cauthrien watched as a troop of templars entered the square from the street that led towards Denerim's docks. Dragging with them a loudly protesting mage who staggered under the weight of an excessive amount of chains that secured him the templars entered the square heedless of the unruly crowd. As the gaggle of armored men drew near the shouting Reverend Mother and her flock a worrying silence fell over the flagellants as they turned almost as one towards the templars and their prisoner.

"A mage." Mylor groaned, "Fanatical Andrastians and a mage; that will be a spark to this mob's tinder."