Chapter 16: Amends

Denerim: Arl of Redcliffe's Estate

Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe did not look up when Teagan entered the study. He continued to peruse his stack of letters, mostly from irate nobles who were loath to leave their lands to the mercy of the darkspawn. He also wasn't pleased that Teagan had ignored his express wishes to remain in Redcliffe and see to Isolde and Connor. And the way his younger brother kept trying to keep Alistair off the throne! Maker's breath; if he could only see what an opportunity it was… if Alistair would set aside his foolish attachment to Fianna Cousland. She was a Cousland, true, but all Eamon remembered about her was her reputation as a troublemaker; Ferelden would be far better off if Alistair married Anora.

Teagan cleared his throat, and Eamon looked up, irritated. "What now?"

"The Wardens returned from Fort Drakon, where they wound up on their errand to rescue Queen Anora," Teagan said. "Fergus Cousland, it turns out, survived and made his way back here. As the new Teyrn of Highever, his word will hold weight in the Landsmeet."

"Excellent. Is that all?"

Cailan watched his uncle, amused and annoyed by the way he kept reading and didn't deign to look upon Teagan. All the resentment he'd felt in the last months of his life prior to Ostagar bubbled up within him again. And then he remembered Eamon had had his own brush with death, and the cause of that brush was relaxing at Fergus's estate across the city. When Eamon glanced up he was shocked to see how much his uncle's near-death experience had aged him. His hair had gone entirely gray. His eyes and cheeks were slightly sunken, his skin papery thin and pale, and his normally neat, trimmed beard had grown long and bushy.

Teagan had stepped aside, and Cailan supposed he didn't look much better to Eamon, who was openly gawking at him. "Good afternoon, Uncle Eamon," Cailan said at last, pushing past the bitterness. "I'm relieved to find you well."

"Teagan, what is the meaning of this?" Eamon asked in a strangled voice.

"I survived. I'm not sure how or why; I should have died down at Ostagar, but I didn't, and I've come back to lead my country," Cailan said. "It's what my mother would have done, isn't it? Something Rowan would have sought to do?"

The mention of his older sister, falling from Cailan's lips, shook Eamon from his stupor and he trained his calculating gaze on Cailan. "How can I be certain you're not an impostor sent to infiltrate this estate?"

Ah Eamon: cheerful as always. Cailan turned to see Anora waiting just outside the doorway, and beckoned her in. "I vouch for him, Arl Eamon," she announced. "I assure you, on my life and on my position as the queen that this man is truly Cailan Theirin, King of Ferelden."

Eamon stood up and came around the front of his desk. He looked Cailan up and down. Then he touched the frayed collar of Cailan's simple shirt. "You always did need your maid to help you dress yourself properly. Looks like that time you've spent back from the grave hasn't sharpened your sense of style."

"And your time back hasn't sharpened your wit," Cailan said, but he was smiling. He swallowed his bitterness and his pride and held out his hand to Eamon. "It's good to be back, Uncle, and good to see you well. When I first came to Redcliffe and heard of your condition I feared I'd never have the chance to apologize for being a stupid child."

Eamon looked at Cailan's outstretched hand. "Yes, you were childish," he said. "But I suppose you didn't have the opportunities to grow that your parents had; to expect you to behave the way they did at your age was expecting a lot." It wasn't the heartfelt acceptance Cailan had been hoping for, nor did Eamon seem intent on apologizing for his own role in their rift, but he did take Cailan's hand and shake it heartily. "Welcome back, Cailan."

They sat, Anora politely taking her leave while Teagan called for drinks. Cailan watched her go, missing the strength her presence lent him, and missing having her by his side. While he knew he'd probably have a few more days of time to spend with her, learning to love her all over again, he didn't want to miss any moments he had.

"Where have you been?" Eamon asked, and for the second time that day Cailan explained his travels through the south of Ferelden.

"Alistair and Fianna kept a high profile so I could continue to keep a low one," he finished. "Loghain has no reason to believe me alive, and so he hasn't yet looked for me."

"Which makes you our most powerful weapon in the Landsmeet," Eamon said.

Cailan smiled and sipped his drink; it had been ages since he'd had anything better than the rat piss that passed for ale in small seedy taverns. The quality, strong drink burned the back of his throat and made him feel light and heady even after just a couple sips, and he set the glass down. He didn't want to get too comfortable and wind up saying something he would regret, or agreeing to terms that were less than favorable. Eamon was his uncle, but he was also the most calculating politician he'd ever met. "Certainly Loghain's done more than enough to condemn himself, even if I had died, as he intended," he said. "You're proof enough of that."

Eamon nodded, a grim expression on his face. "True enough." He turned to Teagan. "What did become of that abominable mage?"

Teagan glanced at Cailan, who shifted in his seat. Nothing he'd done so far had been without repercussions, so to think this could go without notice was hoping for too much. "I recruited him," he said. His words hung in the air and Eamon looked at him in disbelief. "I know he tried to kill you. But he was an apostate who would have been killed by the templars, and Loghain's offer of his life in exchange for some dirty work was too tempting."

"I'm your family, Cailan," Eamon said, voice strained. But with hurt or anger, Cailan found it hard to tell.

"You are. But when I left, you were still on the brink of death, Alistair and Fianna were looking for a cure, and I needed something that could put the odds a bit more in my favor. The mage's talents have saved my life many times over, which I believe makes amends for his actions." Cailan sat straighter and met Eamon's eyes. He didn't expect his uncle to understand, not in the least. But if they were to successfully overthrow Loghain, he would have to accept it. And then an idea hit him and he nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement. "Jowan told me that Loghain caught up to him right when the templars did! Loghain interfered with Chantry duty! If we get the Grand Cleric to the Landsmeet, and have Jowan testify, that's more rope for Loghain to hang himself with."

"Except that the Grand Cleric might call in templars and have him executed right there," Teagan pointed out, and Eamon gave a grunt of approval. "By your word Jowan has atoned for his mistakes. And you would take him in, use his testimony, and basically hand him over to his death after."

Cailan settled back, tapping the arm of the chair. Teagan was right. While Eamon didn't seem to mind the idea, and he was sure Alistair probably wouldn't either, Cailan couldn't do that to Jowan. Too many people had died for him unintentionally; he would not intentionally send someone other than Loghain to his death. "I'll figure it out," he said with a wave of his hand, but currently he had no bright ideas.

"Speaking of figuring things out…" Eamon looked Cailan over and for all the kingly confidence he'd felt earlier, he felt small and uncomfortable now. "You've had time to consider the things we spoke of before you went to your supposed death."

Cailan nodded. He clutched the arms of the chair tightly. This had been a huge matter of contention between the two of them; he may have even had enough men to fight at Ostagar had he made his amends to Eamon a lot sooner. "Very few people are granted the gift of a second chance, an opportunity to set things right," he said. He had to dig deep to bring up the reserves of confidence. "My answer to that stands, uncle, now more than ever. Maybe I strayed, maybe I did actually consider what you'd said, but now my decision to remain by Anora's side stands more than ever before."

Eamon sighed and shook his head, as if to say that Cailan's quiet defiance was the absolute last thing he needed today. He gestured around his study as if it were the whole of Ferelden. "You've seen firsthand what happens without a Theirin on the throne. And you'll remain by a barren wife out of some obscure sense of duty rather than give the country what you know it needs?"

"Yes," Cailan said simply. "She and I can still try; if anything we'll try harder now that we know we have another chance. I will also be formally recognizing Alistair," he added. "He's done more to help save this country during this crisis than I have, and he is my father's son. Some legitimacy is in order."

The Arl of Redcliffe sat back in his chair, eyes closed in his pale and shadowed face. "You will not yield on either of these matters, will you," he said finally, and Cailan nodded his agreement. "I cannot say I'm happy about it, but I also am not surprised. Your parents were both more bull-headedly stubborn than any actual bull ever was, and you seem to have inherited that in a double dose."

"Come, Eamon," Teagan said. "Rowan was a woman of principles. You should be pleased that her son is carrying her legacy so strongly."

Eamon nodded slowly. "Yes, yes she was. I suppose I've spent so many years trying to be the responsible one, doing things the right way, that I can't help but feel a bit put out when things go differently."

"You had a vision; an idea of how things should have gone, and they didn't," Cailan said. "I can relate. Ostagar was supposed to be my moment of greatness. I was supposed to ride in with the fabled Grey Wardens and defeat the Blight before it got its claws into Ferelden. And look how well that turned out." He smiled at the grim irony of the situation. "I've learned to adjust my thinking. Would you join me in that, Uncle Eamon?" he asked.

Eamon sighed. "I have no other choice, it would seem," he said.

It was long since the fall of evening, and well past supper when Alistair, Fianna, Wynne, and Zevran came back to the estate from the Alienage. The bruise on Fianna's forehead stood out more brightly against her pale skin, and her eyes were shadowed with fatigue. Blood spattered her leather armor. Behind her, Alistair's gold plate armor was also caked with blood and mud, and Cailan winced to see the fine suit of plate so filthy. But… it was armor. It was meant to do a job, and while the dwarves of Orzammar had crafted the gold suit to high standards of beauty, it was also meant to hold to high standards in battle as well.

Cailan wanted to know what had happened in the Alienage, but neither Alistair nor Fianna would tell him anything until they'd changed out of armor and made a beeline for the kitchens. Cailan followed them and stood in the doorway while the astonished cooks strove to keep up with the two Wardens' bottomless appetites. Even he was a bit amazed to see someone Fianna's size put back such sheer quantities of food.

"It's a Grey Warden thing," Wynne explained, standing behind him. "The taint in their blood has the side effect of an uncannily large appetite. Rather unfortunate when you are marching around Ferelden, fighting darkspawn and assassins, and there's little food to be had." But she was smiling as she watched Alistair gnaw on a cold turkey leg, and Fianna finish off a loaf of bread.

At last Fianna dabbed her mouth with a napkin and took her leave, and Alistair remained behind picking at another bread crust and some cheese. Wynne left to look after her, leaving Alistair and Cailan alone together. "Cheese?" Alistair asked, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Cailan sat down and joined his brother in picking at the cheese and bread. The fire burned on the hearth and the room smelled of baked bread and cooked meats. It was a cozy smell, and Cailan found himself relaxing and enjoying his surroundings. It was much more intimate than the large dining rooms or formal sitting rooms. And here, bonding over cheese, he and Alistair were just brothers.

"We rooted out the slavery operation in the Alienage," Alistair said after swallowing a bite of cheese and bread. "Anora's information proved correct, though I don't know if she had a full picture of just how deep the operation ran." He removed a sheaf of papers from his back pocket and handed it over to Cailan. "Zevran killed the head of the slavers. It seemed appropriate," he said with a smile.

Cailan unfolded the papers and began looking down the list, his heart sinking more and more. "So many," he whispered.

"War's expensive?" Alistair asked with a shrug. "The plague was a story concocted by the Tevinters to lure in elves. But did you see the real prize?" He took the papers back and shuffled through them, holding one out to Cailan. "The original contract with Caladrius of Tevinter, signed by the Teyrn of Gwaren himself."

Cailan nodded his approval, especially with the way Alistair was beaming. "You did well," he said, but he knew he must look troubled by the strange look Alistair was giving him. He sighed. "Do we have any hope of getting the elves back?"

Alistair shrugged. "Possibly, though the operation has been on for some time; months at least. No telling what's happened to the ones shipped off earliest, with what we know of Tevinters."

Cailan scanned the lists and then came across the familiar names of Aubrey's father and brother. "You said you freed some elves. Were they among them?"

"We didn't ask names," Alistair said. "Some offered. There were quite a few, so I don't know if these two were there. Why?"

"The family of a friend who passed away getting us here safely," Cailan said. "I'd like to see them safe, give them work in the palace if I can once it's over. I owe that much to her memory."

They sat in silence for a time, Alistair still nibbling on what food was left on the table, and Cailan having no appetite. "That will be one of my first missions when I have the throne again," he said. "To get back those who were sold." He poured some wine raised it in salute. Alistair obliged and they clinked mugs and then downed the wine.

The door creaked and Fergus slipped in, face ruddy. "City guard all over the bloody place," he said. "I'll probably have to stay here for the night." He sat down and poured wine for himself, though his slightly unsteady gait suggested he'd had quite a bit already. "Most of the nobles in the tavern are with us," he said. "It looks like the Landsmeet will start the day after tomorrow."

"Does Eamon know?" Alistair asked.

"He will," Fergus said grimly. "Maker's hairy balls, I never thought I'd have to go through with this."

"You'll be fine," Cailan assured him. "How do you think I feel?" he added with a grin.

"I for one feel wonderful," Alistair said. "And I think I shall sleep like a baby tonight." Both Fergus and Cailan trained incredulous stares on him. "I started this whole thing thinking I would have to be king," he explained. "Fianna was teaching me all about being nobility… what?" he asked, because Fergus had acquired a fit of giggles. "She's really quite good if you give her a chance," he said, sounding defensive.

Cailan smiled. "He's a big brother; it's his job to give her grief, same as it is my job to do the same to you." He watched Alistair for a moment. "You know, most everyone in Ferelden thinks I'm dead. And I've rather enjoyed the quiet life these last few months. You'd be a great king."

Alistair nearly choked on his wine and some dribbled down his chin, making all three of them laugh. "But you realize that would have made Fianna queen," he retorted. Fergus's mouth hung open, as if he'd been about to say something and forgotten. Alistair was blushing, embarrassed by his outburst, and seemed afraid he'd said something wrong.

"I think it would have been good for Ferelden," Cailan said, breaking the awkward silence. "Ferelden can't ask for better royals than those willing to sacrifice everything for their land." But Alistair was still blushing. "You really like her, don't you," he began tentatively. He glanced at Fergus, whose ruddy blush had little to do with the amount he'd had to drink, and more with listening to the Theirin brothers discussing his younger sister.

"I love her," Alistair said simply. "She's gone to the ends of the world for this country, and for me. She's saved my life in many ways, and helped me find my voice. And my spine," he added. He stared into his mug, still blushing, but his face was stretched in a smile. "She's the only woman I've ever been with, and the only woman I ever want to be with."

At that Fergus nearly spit out his wine, shook his head, and took his leave without another word. Alistair looked troubled, but Cailan waved it off and laughed. "You're talking about his baby sister. Of course he's going to get funny," he said. "I, however… I envy you," he confessed.

Alistair looked surprised. "You're the king. And you envy me?"

"You love one woman with all your heart, and she loves you back," Cailan said. "And you have more freedom than I ever could."

Alistair's smile was bright, but a strange contrast to the troubled sadness in his eyes. "Perhaps. But I'm still a Warden; it comes with its own chains. Having Fianna there makes it a bearable sentence. As does knowing I'm serving Ferelden, of course," he added hastily. "But the thing is, she and I… our time may be limited because of the Blight. So we make every day count."

His conviction, and the sadness mingled so thoroughly with joy made Cailan ache. "Funny how the Blight brings people together, isn't it," he observed, and Alistair nodded thoughtfully.

"That's what I always say," he said. "If you don't mind, I'm going to retire. And check in on Fianna. She's had worse nightmares than me lately. I don't want her to wake and be alone. That's the worst for a Grey Warden," Alistair said, but Cailan could tell that it was merely a surface excuse.

"Alistair," he called before his brother made it out the door. "All teasing aside… I think you would have made a fine king. And Fianna a lovely queen."

Alistair blushed. "Thank you. And I think… I think I should like having an older brother." He paused and turned once more. "Thank you for getting Duncan to conscript me, Cailan. I credit him with saving my life, but I can't not acknowledge your hand in it." He turned and left Cailan alone, with the desperate beginning of a plan forming in his mind.