Chapter 17: The Gears Turn
Denerim: Teyrn of Highever's Estate
Jowan had undergone an immense confidence boost in his time serving Cailan. He was more secure with his powers, prone to speak his mind, and could be counted on for good insight when Cailan and Fergus were arguing. But no one would know that to see him the next morning when Cailan stole through Denerim to see him at the Highever estate and ask him to come back to Eamon's place.
"I tried to kill the man," Jowan snapped. He flopped down on one of the settees in the main sitting room. He'd long ago abandoned the mage's custom of wearing robes, and settled into breeches, boots, and a loose shirt. "And your brother left me in that dungeon to face the Arl's judgment."
"And I employed you instead," Cailan said, standing in front of Jowan with his hands on his hips. "I've spoken with Arl Eamon; he knows that you are in my employ, and that I trust you implicitly. You've served me loyally, even when it compromised your integrity," he said, alluding to the times he'd asked Jowan to perform blood magic. "You can be a key witness against Loghain," he said. "The man hired you to do a horrible task, then left you to rot. You have a chance to say your piece and then leave him to rot."
"King Cailan," Jowan said, and it was the first time he'd referred to him as such. It was a slight surprise to Cailan, and it kind of stung. "I am an apostate and a known maleficar. Yes, I have served you, and yes will continue to do so; but if I show up to that Landsmeet tomorrow I won't be hauled back to Kinloch Hold. I'll be executed on the spot." He couldn't even manage his customary grim smile. "In all the times we've spoken I thought I made it clear that I rather enjoyed living."
Cailan nodded. "You did. And believe me, I thought about how the Chantry supersedes the Crown. But then Alistair reminded me of something, and I remembered that there is one organization that supersedes even the Chantry, and takes anyone and everyone ready to join the cause."
Jowan's dark eyes went wide. "If I did…"
"The Grand Cleric couldn't touch you."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"It's a risk," Cailan admitted. "But you stand as good a chance as anyone else would, and given the choice between death by templar and death by… well, that, at least that would be on your terms and not theirs."
Jowan chewed on his lip. "I would really love to stick it to the templars," he said at last. "Even if I die in the process."
Denerim: Arl of Redcliffe's Estate
As a boy, Cailan had been skilled in ambushing people. If he showed up where they did not expect him, flashing his brilliant smile and with an infectious sparkle in his blue eyes, he was quite good at getting what he wanted. He turned on that charm now, but tempered it with his diplomatic skills. He knocked on the door to the study; Jowan stood behind him, glancing around as if afraid that Eamon would round the corner any moment.
Cailan opened the door and nearly had to drag Jowan in by the front of his shirt. Eamon sat in the study speaking with Riordan in hushed tones, but both men rose and bowed when Cailan entered. "You don't need to be ceremonial when I'm just relaxing here in the estate," he said. Cailan had lost track of how many times he'd had to tell people to stop bowing and genuflecting and gushing. He was just a man, as intent on stopping Loghain and the Blight as the rest of them. "Eamon, Riordan, this is Jowan. This is the mage who got us past Loghain's troops on the way to the Brecilian Forest, and who got me and Fergus off the docks alive when we came into port from Gwaren."
Jowan swayed slightly on his feet. He looked like he might pass out. His gaze kept darting between Eamon and Riordan and finally back to Cailan. His mouth opened slightly, as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind and remained silent.
"Uncle Eamon, if you'd please excuse us, Jowan and I would like to speak with Riordan," Cailan said when Jowan was no help.
Eamon's gray-blue eyes narrowed as he focused on Jowan. Jowan tried to offer a feeble smile, but he just looked ill. "You're lucky my nephew is more compassionate than I," Eamon said as he got up, still staring at Jowan. "Whatever he has planned for you, I hope it puts you through as much misery and pain as you put me and my family through."
Jowan stepped back as though the words had been a physical attack. Eamon passed him, the full force of his cold eyes on the mage. Jowan shrunk back and stared at the floor. "Your Grace," he mumbled before Eamon left the room. "I put my own life above that of a man more worthy to live than myself. I have punished myself day after day for that, and if you cannot accept my apology, at least know that I'm trying to make one," he said. His voice shook and he sounded breathless, but he remained standing and conscious, and even looked up and at Eamon's face. He could not yet meet the Arl's eyes, but he did the best he could.
Eamon stood in silence, surveying the mage, and Cailan behind him. "I hope you suffer," was all he said to Jowan before he spun on his heel and left the study, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was gone Jowan sighed and collapsed into one of the chairs. "Eamon likes to put on the self-righteous act on a regular basis," Cailan said with a smile. "I mean, yes, you did try to kill him, but he would have said the same thing if you'd just cast a mildly inconveniencing spell on him."
Riordan looked at Jowan with a critical eye. "You tried to kill the Arl of Redcliffe? Why?"
Jowan and Cailan explained the story to Riordan, who shook his head in disbelief. "We Wardens had nothing but respect for General Loghain," he said, his voice almost sad. "But he's been blinded to the true threat by his thirst for power."
Cailan settled into another chair. "I don't know if it was ever about power," he said after a moment of thought. Everything he'd ever known about his father's best friend sifted through his mind. There were times Loghain had been a second father to him, helping to raise him when Maric had to go away, or even just staying at the castle and sharing stories about Ferelden's past. He would tell stories about his youth, about being a farmer, about the choice to rebel and fight for what he believed in. "He only wants to see what's best for Ferelden," Cailan said quietly, feeling a pang of regret for what his father-in-law had become.
"Which is ending the Blight," Riordan said.
"But he can't see that," Cailan said. "He's blinded by fear, not lust for power. You should know why as well as anyone else."
The Orlesian Warden gave a nod of concession. "I see what you mean, Majesty."
Cailan sighed. "Just Cailan. Why doesn't anyone listen?"
"Because you're the king?" Jowan asked, starting to recover from his scare.
"Which is exactly why you should listen to me," Cailan said with a smile. "Anyway, Riordan… we have a favor to ask you." He explained Jowan's importance to their strategy at the Landsmeet, but his difficult position as an apostate.
"And a blood mage," Jowan volunteered. He still looked pale, but he sat up straighter. "Like I told the Arl, I made a lot of mistakes trying to save my own life. But I think I could at least try to atone for them, and save other lives in the process if… you'd let me become a Grey Warden."
Riordan looked Jowan over, his iron gray eyes hard and calculating. Cailan tried to see Jowan as Riordan did: scrawny, skittish, uncertain. Not much different from how Alistair had been when Duncan had recruited him. "The numbers in Ferelden are few, after what Loghain did at Ostagar," Cailan pointed out. "They were few to begin with. You'll need to start rebuilding the order here at some point; start with someone willing." Riordan's response was a disconcerting silence. "It would save you having to jump in and try to finagle anyone over the Right of Conscription," he added.
"You know much about the Wardens' ways, for someone who is not one," Riordan said at last in a measured, even tone.
"My brother is a Warden," Cailan reminded him.
"And you sound as if you're the willing recruit, King Cailan."
He didn't deny that the thought had crossed his mind more times than he cared to count. From the time he'd first met Duncan, as a youth, to seeing how free and relieved Alistair seemed at being a part of them; and from his short time at Ostagar, sneaking through the Grey Warden camp. He knew what they risked: he saw it written all over Fianna's face and heard it in Alistair's voice. "Perhaps I am," he said at last, to the shocked gasp of Jowan and the heavy silence of Riordan.
"The Wardens deny no one who might be of use to them," Riordan finally said. He looked tired and wary, which put Cailan on edge. "Your willingness is admirable, King Cailan, but Ferelden needs its king more than another Warden."
Though he had expected the denial, it still stung. "Alistair was going to be put forward as king if I hadn't returned," Cailan countered. "And he told me he'd have taken Fianna as his queen. You'd have had two Grey Wardens on the throne of Ferelden, and I'm only suggesting one." He strove to keep his tone from getting screechy and making himself sound too petulant, but it was a struggle.
"That is complicated," Riordan conceded. "In that case it would have been two Wardens who happened to be royalty, rather than your case, where you would be royalty that happened to be a Grey Warden. Besides," he added, "the Joining ritual often proves deadly; you've said yourself that you see this as your second chance to lead Ferelden. You can't do that if you die trying to become a Grey Warden." His point was solid, but his smile was soft. "I admire your courage and willingness. But think of the even bigger picture."
Cailan nodded, feeling far more crushed than he expected he would. It felt like being told he wasn't good enough, that he didn't have what it took. And it felt even worse when Riordan turned to Jowan. "An apostate maleficar. The Wardens have had those in their ranks before. However, there are those who would say that we are a haven for the worst of criminals."
Jowan sat up straighter. "I don't deny what I've done, and have felt that my life was forfeit even before I fled from the Circle. But I've served the king of Ferelden loyally, and as a Warden I could continue to serve Ferelden and help its people, rather than hurt them. Besides." His serious expression changed as his lips curved up in a devious smile. "I can help Ferelden more this way than I ever could by being locked up in a Tower my whole life."
Riordan tapped his calloused fingers on his knee. "In that case we will sneak out of the city after dark. You will kill a darkspawn and take its blood, and for better or worse, you will undergo the Joining."
Jowan looked like he'd just been told that blood magic was approved by the Chantry, and all maleficarum would be pardoned. But Riordan's words were as good as a pardon to him. He chattered excitedly with Riordan, explaining spells and reassuring the older Warden that he'd only ever used his own blood, even rolling back a sleeve to show the thin white lines of scarring. Cailan suddenly felt like an outsider. He slipped out of his chair, stood a few paces back for a bit, then slid out of the room.
He was surprised when Jowan caught up with him, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "Cailan!" he said, dark eyes shining. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
"For what? You could die," Cailan said. It came out more harshly than he intended.
Jowan shrugged. "No matter what, I would have wound up dead at some point tomorrow. But like you said, at least in this I had a choice. And I wouldn't have known that if you hadn't told me. So thank you."
His gratitude was so sincere that Cailan softened toward him. "You're welcome. I know you won't waste this."
Most nights they ate whenever they could, rather than sitting down to a formal meal. The kitchen staff wasn't happy about setting out spreads of bread and cheese and some meats that were picked at over the course of a few hours, by whoever happened to be around at the time. But tonight being the eve of the Landsmeet, Eamon insisted on a formal dinner.
"They changed the dining room on me," Alistair noted as he stood in the arched doorway, scrutinizing the carpets and table linens.
"If you were king you could change it back," Cailan said with a shrug.
"I like it this way," Alistair said, and they both laughed.
Eamon sat at the head of the table, with Teagan at the other end. Fergus and Cailan each sat to Eamon's right; Anora joined Cailan, surprising him with a quick peck on the cheek when she sat down, and he took her hand under the table and squeezed it. Viviane stood in the doorway, and may have done so all night if Fergus hadn't gotten up and dragged her to a seat, where she sat looking distinctly uncomfortable. Fianna and Alistair sat to Eamon's left. Their companions filtered in, some taking in the formal room with pleasure, others with disdain. It was the first time Cailan had seen his brother's retinue in full, and though motley, he couldn't deny it was impressive.
In addition to Zevran the Antivan assassin, and the mage Wynne, there was a dwarf with a thick, fiery beard; a young woman with hair a lighter red than Fianna's, and pouty lips and shimmering eyes that he suspected saw far more than her expression let on; a strange young woman with dark hair, golden eyes, and no facial expression to speak of; and finally the tallest man Cailan had ever seen, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and intense violet eyes that Cailan didn't think he'd be able to meet for long.
Riordan joined them, bringing Jowan along, but when he saw Wynne, he stopped and got that sickly expression he'd had when he'd seen Eamon earlier that day. "Senior Enchanter," he said in a hoarse voice.
In the time he'd been at the estate, Cailan had seen Wynne be polite and sweet and almost grandmotherly. She'd healed their wounds and told stories of the Circle that made that dark tower out in the middle of Lake Calenhad seem almost bearable. But now he saw her brow furrow and a shadow pass over her features. Her hand clenched into a fist and shook, as if it took great effort to avoid getting up and punching Jowan. "Jowan," she said, her voice bitter as bad ale. "That you have the nerve to be here, and to address me after what you've done, speaks to First Enchanter Irving's wisdom. His original decision for your fate was the correct one."
Everyone's eyes were on him, and Cailan expected Jowan to melt under Wynne's harsh censure, but he stood straight and marched over to a chair. "It was his decision that drove me to finally do the things of which I was accused," he said. "That is the past. I'm moving forward." And he looked away from her and instead focused on the pretty red-head, who introduced herself as Leliana.
Cailan glanced over at Eamon, who practically had smoke coming out his ears, and his face was deep red at Jowan's egregious behavior. But Cailan smiled to see the mage talking with Leliana, enjoying his meal, and doing his best to ignore Eamon and Wynne.
Throughout the meal the dark-haired beauty, who reminded Cailan of a darker, shadowed version of Viviane, kept glancing at Fianna and Alistair with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. But whenever she looked away she seemed sad. Had this woman wanted to be with Alistair, only for Fianna to swoop in with her noble breeding and roguish charms? At one point her shrewd golden eyes met his and widened, but then she went back to her narrow, silent stare and poked at her dinner plate as if the food offended her.
The easy conversation between Fianna and the rest of their party spoke of a camaraderie build by trials, and a trust shared that could not be broken. Talk was loud, laughter was louder, and Cailan found himself enjoying the evening. Riordan nodded to Alistair and Fianna, then to Jowan, signaling that he wanted to talk with just the three of them after. Alistair nodded as he took a forkful of meat and in spite of the raucous banter and laugher, Cailan just felt… left out.
At last Eamon stood and did his best to command attention, waving and clearing his throat, but no one paid him any heed. Anora nudged Cailan and flashed a pitying look on Eamon. "Save him," she murmured. "You're going to have to start being the king again sooner or later."
Cailan squeezed her hand; she was right, so instead he stood and stared around the table until the voices dropped off one by one. "And that's what you do to a greased nug," the dwarf said, the last voice to go silent before Cailan's presence. "What?" he asked. And Cailan found it really difficult not to burst out laughing. Act like the king: dignity. Poise. All those things he'd hated being told as a child, but all the things he needed to display now.
"Tomorrow we fight one of the most difficult battles of this war," he began. He caught a glimpse of Eamon, looking a bit put out that he wasn't the one to break that news. "The Landsmeet will require as much strategy as any fight on any battlefield. And my Uncle Eamon, the Arl of Redcliffe, will now share that with you." He nodded in deference to Eamon and took his seat.
Eamon droned on about their case against Loghain. There was proof enough to convict him, but the real problem would be forcing him to step down, even with Cailan present. "It may go to a duel, depending on what the nobles vote," he said. "In that case we should choose now who engages in that fight." Eamon looked around, and Cailan did too; Fianna had some fierce warriors on her side. Cailan wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of the Qunari warrior at all. "Loghain is a celebrated tactician, but he's also a strong one-on-one fighter," Eamon added, as if that would make someone jump to help.
"I'll do it," Alistair said finally. "He left Duncan and my brethren… and brother to die on the field. It's more personal with me."
"No," Fianna said. "I'm going to do it. Don't look at me like that, Fergus," she snapped. "King Cailan has returned, but things could still go wrong," she said, and Cailan was amazed at her view of the larger picture. The quirky, irresponsible girl from Highever was quite a tactician herself. "One of the big problems that started all this was that there was no heir. Yet," she added quickly. "We don't want to risk Alistair's life, since he's currently the closest thing to an heir that you have."
"She's right," Anora said quietly, surprising Cailan and everyone else.
"Then one of us should fight him," the dwarf grumbled. "There are too few Wardens around as it is; we don't want to lose one of the few we got in some damn fool duel with that nug humper."
Cailan had to bite on his lip to keep from laughing. He glanced over at Anora, who looked slightly surprised, but maintained her composure, as always. Fianna was laughing, however, her face red from drink and laughter. "Good spirit, Oghren. But no, this is about the Grey Wardens. And I'm also a Fereldan noble, so I'm avenging the Wardens and fighting for my king's honor." She raised her goblet to Cailan and took a hearty swig before he could even acknowledge her.
"He'll kill you," Fergus said flatly staring across the table at his younger sister.
She shrugged. "Die fighting Loghain to avenge everyone who fell at Ostagar, or die with a darkspawn blade in my gut; either way this Blight is probably the end of me." Her blatant nonchalance was chilling, and the boisterous conversation died down do a dull murmur. Alistair reached over and patted her leg.
"Our entire family was murdered," Fergus said, his voice loud in the sudden silence. "Murdered. My wife and son are dead. And you think I can sit back idly and watch you offer to get yourself killed? You're the only family I have left now, Fi."
Fianna bit on her lip and closed her eyes. "I know. But I have a job, Fergus. Yes, our family was murdered. But if I have to go down, wouldn't you rather I go down fighting?"
"Maybe you can discuss this later," Anora said. Her voice, imperious and as well-projected as her father's, rang through Fianna and Fergus's argument. "We must solidify our strategies so we can get rest and leave the Wardens to their business."
Talk turned to politics, between Eamon, Anora, and Teagan. Cailan half-listened, focused more on Fianna's stormy expression and Fergus's pensive frown. Alistair tried to listen, but Fianna's ill mood looked like it was troubling him. Slowly some of the others took their leave, once they'd been given instructions on their respective roles in the Landsmeet. When the dark-haired woman got up to leave, she was watching Alistair and Fianna with an expression as calculating as it was troubled. Viviane noticed her leave, and jumped up, nearly knocking into Fergus. "Morrigan!" she called, but the woman had already left the dining room, forcing Viviane to chase after her.
Riordan and Jowan rose, and Alistair and Fianna followed them out. Cailan noted the way Alistair stood close to Fianna, as if he could protect her. From what Cailan had seen of her, Fianna didn't need protecting. Alistair surely knew that, after their long months of travel together, but the fact that he still treated her this way was sweet. There was a tender romantic side to their relationship, one that Cailan had long since lost with Anora, and now wanted it back.
"We have a long day ahead; we should retire," he announced, one hand resting lightly on Anora's shoulder. She nodded and they headed down the hall. "It must have been hard to sit and listen to them talking about your father like that," he said when they were assured of being alone.
Anora nodded. "Yes, but I'll be the first to admit that my father isn't the man he once was. There is no denying that he's done some awful things; the elf slavery was the last straw for me." Her eyes were troubled. "I love him because he's my father, but I understand why you and the others want to see him taken out of power."
She turned from him and made to go to her own room, but Cailan grabbed her hand and pulled her close against his chest. "You would deny me the pleasure of your company?" he asked her, brushing a few strands of golden hair away from her forehead. He would not spend the eve of this Landsmeet, possibly one of the most important days of his life, without being in Anora's arms.
"Like you said, we have a long day," she told him, looking at the floor and blushing.
"And I'll get through it that much better if I've spent the night with you," he told her, bending down and tenderly kissing her in the flickering torch light.
