Next day dawned bright and cold. Rilian woke from dreams of flight - dreams that had been of freedom, but had quickly morphed into something darker: something that involved vast, twisted wings, flashing teeth and claws - to find herself surrounded by silken sheets that caressed her skin. She yawned, stretched luxuriously, and grinned. Yesterday's dinner had left a bad taste in her mouth - but she couldn't help but enjoy this.
She rose and padded about the circular chamber, still wearing the thin linen shift that had lasted all the way from her days at home. She went to the narrow slitted window and stared out of the second-floor turret. Scattered stars still burned, disappearing as she watched. Rilian had not intended to wake so early - five years as a dockworker and six months in the field had conditioned her to. The courtyard below was an empty, uncoloured paleness. Faded flags fluttered in the faint breeze. To the right were the servants' quarters, and to the left the kitchens. A puff of smoke came from a stone chimney - then another, curling upward into the pre-dawn sky. As if sparked by the kitchen fires, a luminous band of rose appeared at the horizon, touching the tallest towers first, then creeping downward inch by inch to light the wooden houses that existed in the shadows of the stone. These writhed and shifted against the flow of light like the ebbing of water. Rilian remembered her mother's tales of the Alienage in Val Royeaux, where the walls were so high the sun didn't touch the Vhenadahl until midday. In the end all was light: the russet stone of the well, the red-and-emerald flags - and the stained glass windows of the Chantry in the distance. That soaring space woke something in her heart and made her dream; she could have spent hours just standing here, watching the world. A flicker of movement below drew her eye - at the gate that separated estate from town, a burly guard paced back and forth, his chainmail dark against the dawn-lit stone. Rilian could almost feel the chilled bones and aching feet, the counting the minutes till the morning crew appeared.
He didn't have long to wait. But the time the morning guard relieved him the courtyard had woken to life. Servants drew water from the well - a slight figure appeared, garbed from head to foot in a soft blue robe, walking purposefully toward the gate. A messenger, Rilian guessed, watching with interest as the guard hesitated a moment and then nodded. Rilian turned away, pulled on tunic, trousers and Adaia's boots, and headed downstairs. She meant to draw water for a morning bath - but on the way the delicious smell of new-baked bread and cheese wafted from the kitchens. Moving as if lead by the nose, she pushed open the door to find Alistair hunched over a large platter, indulging the famous Grey Warden appetite. What made the picture even funnier was that he was still wearing his clothes of last night - she remembered him staying up to drink with the Arl and guessed he'd just fallen into bed.
"Nice outfit," she greeted him, suppressed laughter bubbling out in a little snort. Alistair jumped up - cracked his knee on the wooden bench - and put a hand to his chest as if mortally struck.
"That's low, Ril! I knew it was bad as soon as the Arl went into raptures over it - and you have confirmed my worst fears..." He tugged disconsolately at the embroidered velvet tunic that fitted like a sausage skin over his broad chest - the tight stockings and puffed knee-high trousers, stitched with gold thread.
Rilian struck a dramatic pose: one hand behind her back, the other raised as though holding a scroll, and intoned: "...and Maric the Saviour eschewed the trappings of luxury, preferring the garb of the simple soldier, that he might move better amongst the common folk..." She'd reread Mother Boann's copy of "The Rebel Prince" so many times she knew it word-for-word. "I guess the Arl feels you should make up for such lack of elegance - my Prince...ah!"
Alistair had leapt up and was chasing her. Rilian squealed and dodged away. The two danced around each other until Alistair caught her and swept her into his arms, lifting her up and bending forward.
Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance. Their foreheads cracked together with a sound like breaking bone.
"Oh, Rilian, I'm sorry!" he stammered, "Are you alright? I'm so sorry!" One hand clasped his aching head - he reached out to her with the other.
Just for an instant, white sparks swirled around her like Morrigan's lightning storm. These gradually mellowed into orange-and-gold spatters. But she hadn't been hit as hard as all that - yesterday's wine accentuated the blow. She patted Alistair's hand - then rose and did her best to kick one of his shins: "One apology a day. That's all you get. I'm not some Bann you can trifle with!"
For a moment, he gaped at her as if she had gone mad. Then he let out a shout of laughter. Helpless to stop herself, she started laughing too. Cupping her cheek with his palm, he kissed her bruised forehead tenderly. Stifling the throbbing in her skull, she titled her head back to meet him half-way. In response he became brighter and brighter, as if he were burning. His arms closed around her and his lips came down on hers.
A tapping at the door distracted them. Rilian jumped and turned to see Nigella standing in the door-way. Rilian blushed; instinctively putting one hand up to cover her face. Being caught by Nigella was like being caught by her father, or the Hahren. Elven woman. Human man. It wasn't only the human side who passed judgement. She recalled last night's conversation about the Alienage girls who wore fine dresses and took "favours" from shems - and he's going to be King... please don't think it's like that; I wouldn't... She tried to stop herself, ashamed for caring about the opinions of others when Alistair did not, but she couldn't help it. Nigella did look shocked - but only for a moment. She sized Alistair up with sharp, expert eyes - her face relaxed imperceptibly.
"I'm sorry," she said, a small smile playing about her lips, "But you two had better get ready - the Arl's had a messenger and wants to see you in his study in an hour." She winked at Rilian before she left - the same indulgent look she would have given her had Alistair been an Elven lad; Rilian was more grateful than she could say.
"I've had the lads fetch warm water for your bath," she added. Rilian protested half-heartedly - it wasn't right to let Nigella coddle her like this - but the woman only smiled. Rilian had to admit - with a certain amount of guilt - that she could get used to this life. The thought scared her. After polishing off a helping of bread and cheese that would have done Alistair proud, she headed upstairs. She padded across the carpeted corridor on bare feet, Adaia's boots in her hand. She pushed open the door of the bathing room, and found herself in a square comfortable room with smooth slate tiles across the floor and wooden beams. The room was dominated by the largest, most comfortable washtub she had ever seen. A strange smell wafted from it – she saw to her astonishment that the water was covered all over by a glistening froth of scented foam! Rilian and Shianni had always kept clean - it would have been sheer laziness not to walk to the Alienage outskirts, draw water from the well, and wash down at home. Bathing was out of the question - the small stream that ran past the Alienage was fouled by the sewage duct leading from Arl Urien's estate - but she would sometimes take a dip in the sea after work. The docks were filthy and littered with refuse - the water so cold it was like knives of fire flaying her bare flesh - but she had liked to stare out at the vast, unknowable blackness and dream about where it might take her.
Rilian dived in, unable to help the grin that all but wrapped itself around her face. The foamy water enveloped her, soft and warm as the bed she had just slept in. She stretched herself all out and ducked her head underneath, holding her breath. It was like being buried in warm snow. She wiggled her toes, making little ripples swirl about her. When her lungs began to burn, she came up for air. The foam went up her nose; the scent of jasmine tickled the back of her throat. She sat up, water dripping down her face, her hair covered by a helmet of foam. The pale, scarred forearms that rested on her soapy knees made her think, idly, of furrows of snow. The foam around was sculpted into long, thin points like spears. The thought popped into her head that they looked rather like the stalagmites that had encased the wyrmling lair. She set about sculpting the foam to fit the little bright picture in her mind.
At last, she rose with a great splash, towelled herself down, and thought about what to wear. So far as she knew, the Arl intended them to spend the day as they had spent last night - networking and planning on how to upset Loghain in the Landsmeet. It would be ridiculous to wear her armour for that - yet if they were to go about town at any point it would be silly to wear her griffin tunic; the bounty on Grey Wardens was common knowledge. At last, in an almost aggressive nod to normalcy, she chose a plain, comfortable tunic and trousers. Really, the clothes the Arl insisted Alistair wear were fine enough for both of them.
Alistair met her at the door to Eamon's study; she winked at him and he squeezed her hand. Inside were maps, books and scrolls, piled atop an ornate writing desk. It reminded her of the study in Redcliffe castle where she had found Alistair's amulet, glued painstakingly together by the Arl. At the thought, she softened toward the man just a little.
Arl Eamon looked up from the desk, pleased to see Alistair looked more like Maric's son than ever. Every bit a Prince - really, the resemblance was uncanny. He frowned just a little at the sight of his companion - with a wardrobe full of fine dresses to choose from, that outfit was pure affectation. No matter - there were more important concerns than the young Warden's reverse snobbery. He gestured toward his visitor, and Rilian was startled to recognize the cowled figure in soft blue velvet she had seen out of her window.
"I am a messenger from Queen Anora." The voice, softened by the tunnelled hollow of the hood, was timid, heavily accented - and female. "My name is Erlina. I am Queen Anora's handmaiden" She drew back the hood of the robe - and Rilian noted with a ripple of irritation that Alistair drew an admiring breath. The Elven woman was startlingly beautiful. Dark eyes looked at them in hope and fear, while a tentative smile pulled at full red lips. Ivory skin contrasted dramatically with hair the colour of obsidian. She was tiny - and Rilian was reminded of the girls back home who had teased her about her height and build. She shook her head at her own ridiculousness and said quietly,
"I'm surprised Teyrn Loghain's daughter has an Orlesian maid?"
"His majesty King Cailan hired me," the woman said softly.
"The young King did not share Teyrn Loghain's outmoded prejudices," Arl Eamon said - and there was an undertone in that unctuously smooth voice that Rilian couldn't quite put her finger on, "You must tell the Wardens why you're here - they can be trusted.
"Her majesty the Queen is being kept prisoner in the Arl of Denerim's estate. She went there a week ago because her father would not listen - but Arl Howe will not let her leave! He...I...ah, I cannot tell you!" She turned away from them - a gesture Rilian read as consciously dramatic. When she turned back, tears glistened in her dark eyes. Was she really upset, or was it an act? Rilian and all the Elven women she knew cried noisily, red-faced, shoulders heaving - not one silver tear after another sliding down ivory cheeks.
"Spit it out, then, lass; we don't bite." It was the tone Rilian and her family used on each other - to comfort and calm down. On Erlina it acted like a hot needle; she jumped and glared.
"I overheard Arl Howe saying she would be more use dead than alive! If she could be killed - and the blame put on Arl Eamon..."
Rilian blinked - gazed at the Arl and at Alistair, then back at the woman. She felt she was missing something - some important piece of the puzzle. She strained to reason it out - this was as vital as understanding terrain in war - tried to make the pieces she did have fit together. "Arl Howe couldn't possibly do that without Teyrn Loghain knowing about it," she said softly, "Are you saying Loghain wants his own daughter dead?"
"Why not? King Cailan was like a son to him and yet he left him to die! Does he love Anora more?"
"I can't answer that," Rilian said softly, "I don't know the man. I could buy him choosing to sacrifice his daughter for what he sees as his duty to his country. What I don't buy is him thinking he could get away with it. Exactly how would he frame Arl Eamon - don't you think it would raise questions? Now - with near-open rebellion, and people accusing him of regicide? What would he stand to gain? His only claim to the throne is through Anora."
Alistair was looking at her wide-eyed; interestingly, both Arl Eamon and Erlina were looking chagrined. Rilian met the Arl's watery blue eyes, groping for some sanity in all this. "What do you think, ser? Do you think Arl Howe could get away with this?"
"I'm afraid I believe so."
"I see. And you're not going to tell me why?"
"You will just have to trust me. Erlina has told me she can smuggle you into the Arl's estate, disguised as a guard. Once you reach the grounds..."
Rilian stared incredulously at the prematurely-aged Arl. Memories of that estate crowded her mind like persistent ghosts; she forced them away. "An Elven guard! Are you saying you believe I would get away with keeping my helm on the entire time - not to mention escorting the Queen out with no permission; no papers!"
"I'm not saying you could avoid combat entirely," Eamon said soothingly, "But I know the Warden who defeated the High Dragon would be up to the challenge. You have done so before..."
Even as he saw the Elven face whiten, Eamon realised his mistake. Rilian was actually trembling, her fists clenched - it took Alistair to hold her back.
"Rilian - hey, I'm sure the Arl didn't mean..."
"Of course you would know I murdered Vaughan Urien," Rilian said in a voice she hardly recognized as her own, "How not? Loghain knows; Ser Cauthrien knows. That's why you and Anora want me to go - to do your dirty work! You want me to take out Howe for you..."
"Rilian," Alistair was saying, miserable and impotently angry, though not sure why, or with whom, "Howe's a monster - you said so yourself. The guard told us what he did in the Alienage; you said you wanted to deal with him." He was shocked to see Rilian was crying; it brought out protective urges long-suppressed and he put his arms around her.
"When Vaughan Urien kidnapped me - murdered my husband - raped my cousin - I killed him trying to escape. As Captain Arvall would tell you," she said, her mouth twisting, "I did more than just kill him - a person doesn't get that covered in blood just by fighting. It didn't make me feel any better - but I didn't feel any worse either. Afterwards I vomited until my guts ached - but for those few glorious moments, I savoured my revenge. I've never murdered before. And never since. If I kill Howe, it will be like that - in anger, or because I have to - not sneaking like an assassin into his home and butchering him to please my "betters"! I...I really thought - we could deal with Howe by exposing his crimes at the Landsmeet. I thought that's how you nobles did things..." She shook her head at her own naiveté.
Alistair, who loved her, but saw only the most obvious part of the problem, tried to take her in his arms. "Rilian, I'm so sorry - I had no idea..." He rounded on Arl Eamon, angry for the first time, "How could you even think of telling her to go back there if you knew what happened to her? Don't cry, Rilian - I'll go. Alone."
Rilian had known it would be out of the question for Alistair to go at all. Hearing Arl Eamon state this obvious fact to him, and Alistair's outraged response, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"As the future King you are too important to risk - and cannot allow your reputation to be tarnished by m...I mean, if the attempt to rescue Queen Anora were to result in Arl Howe's death, it would not look well for you to be involved."
Rilian thought again how cruel they had been to put Alistair in this position. He was meant to be a Warden - sharing danger with his friends, not forced to be protected from it. And she thought that right then she didn't give a rat's arse for how Alistair's involvement would look - only that he shouldn't have to do it. She knew what it meant to commit murder - what it added to you, and what it took away. She would do whatever it took to keep Alistair from finding out.
"Warden - please..." To Rilian's surprise, Erlina was crying too. "I...I didn't mean - my mistress really is in danger...just - just not..."
Rilian looked at her, wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve.
"I believe you," she whispered, "Let's go talk in my chambers - woman-to-woman; Elf-to-Elf, and you can tell me the truth."
Half-an-hour later, Rilian and Erlina were talking in Rilian's quarters over a mug of hot tea. A faint breeze rippled the velvet curtain; Rilian stared at it a moment in vague unease before turning to concentrate on what the other woman was saying. Initially she almost rolled her eyes at the discovery that Anora was objecting to the idea of marrying Howe. Alright, he was quite a bit older; but among her own people arranged marriages were the norm. It was the sort of thing Rilian's friends talked about, back home: stories and gossip about matchmaking, men cheating women out of a promised dowry, women's vengeance on them. The men had their own gossip, down at the docks, muttered into their mugs of ale or half-whispered from man-to-man during work, with guffaws and backslappings. It sounded just as petty coming from the Queen as from any Alienage girl; she was surprised the woman hadn't come up with anything better.
But when she actually listened to Erlina she realised the truth: she was not talking about an arranged marriage but a forced one - a possibility that Teyrn Loghain had not sanctioned and was too naive to see coming.
"My Queen has had so many doubts. Not that her father retreated at Ostagar - but that he refused Orlesian aid when it would have saved her husband! She spoke in Council about putting the Blight ahead of the civil war - she wanted to allow the Orlesian Wardens to help us - but the Teyrn did not listen. He took the throne from under her - and wants to return it when the crisis is over as though it were a gift! She told me she is sure her father and Arl Howe are behind the unrest in the Alienage - she went to Howe to speak to him about it. And now he won't let her leave - and her father allows it, to stop her making trouble. But the Teyrn does not know the depths of Howe's ambition. He loves his daughter, Anora is sure of that - but once he finds out what Howe has done it will be too late. And Arl Howe will kill Loghain to get his hands on the throne. I have been in that estate for days now," Erlina shuddered convulsively - a movement that reminded Rilian of prison bars - of the cruelty of men like Vaughan - of broken things with sharp edges - "I have seen what he has done to those who opposed him. My Queen has no reason to trust you - you have put forward a rival for her throne, and if you did rescue her she would be in your hands - but that is better than remaining where she is."
Rilian put an arm around the woman, whose skin had gone oddly chill. "You were brave to come here," she said softly, "And even braver to think of going back there." Rilian's own memories of that estate still lived and burned, distorting her - it was one reason she had broken down when Arl Eamon insisted she go back. But I'm not a helpless prisoner, now - I'm a Warden, and I have faced worse than this...As Duncan would say, whatever is necessary...
"I'm going to help you," Rilian said quietly, "Just not the way you want. I won't murder Howe - how would that look in the Landsmeet? Besides, I have no reason to think the Queen won't double-cross me once I'm there - kill two birds with one stone. But I will figure something out."
Erlina looked for an instant as though she were about to protest, then thought better of it.
"What do you need?"
"I...I'm not sure entirely. You can start by sketching the exact layout for me - I only saw the downstairs rooms - the number and shift patterns of the guards - ways in and ways out..."
The velvet curtain rippled again, and shifted. Rilian knew this time there was no breeze. She froze, mind going still, remembering all Zevran's stories about hidden assailants - knives in dark bedrooms - elaborate niceties of intrigue and revenge. Why the hell had she left her sword at the other end of the room! She drew a dagger from her boot instead, warned Erlina with a gesture - and started forward in a lithe glide, moving on the balls of her feet.
"Really, Rilian," came a golden-soft, accented voice - a voice that was like a ripple of sunlight in Rilian's body, a voice that had told naughty stories over those long evenings on watch, "I'm a shameless eavesdropper, I'll admit it - but I wouldn't harm a hair on your lovely head."
"Zevran!" Rilian squealed - and the man who had indeed tried to kill her once stepped out from the shadows.
"It's just as well," he said thoughtfully, "That I'm not working for Loghain any more - Arl Eamon's security is shocking."
"How did you get in here - the front way or the back?" Rilian asked - and realised belatedly the rich vein of smut she had just uncovered.
Zevran did not disappoint. "The back way, of course - I know Arl Eamon doesn't bother to protect his!"
Rilian giggled, her own tense misery beginning to lift. Zevran's lambent eyes brightened at the sight of her - a look she couldn't mistake - and she wondered again why this effortlessly golden, charming person saw anything to cherish in her - a Warden whose life was consumed by duty.
"I only had to convince one guard to look the other way. Five silver pieces - and one was false. I'm a wicked man - I can't even bribe honestly."
"But why? The Arl would have let you in."
"Ah, but I wanted to see you first."
Catching the tone, Rilian turned to Erlina. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "But would you give us ten minutes?"
"Certainly, my lady." Erlina bobbed a curtsey and glided from the room.
Zevran moved closer. As always, she was vaguely aware of the scent of him - light and spicy and exotic, a strange contrast to Alistair's heavy masculinity. Beneath the Antivan spice was something else - a warmth, a vitality of life, like the first morning of spring. Yet she thought of the way Alistair had held her and something squeezed her heart - no attraction could replace that.
"Rilian," Zevran said, and his tone was different now - soft and serious. "I've been to the palace. I couldn't get close enough to the Teyrn, of course - unlike that fool Eamon, he's too careful."
"He'd have to be," Rilian said wryly, "Surrounded by Ferelden's nobility. Besides, I don't want him dead - at least, not that way."
"You may change your mind when you read this," Zevran said - and gave a scroll into her hands. "I told you I couldn't get near him - but I've kept a close watch over his correspondence: mostly between him and Arl Howe, nothing really incriminating - until now."
Rilian stared as a list of familiar names leapt out at her. Her mind was slow - she didn't connect the names with Teyrn Loghain at first, didn't understand. There was Elder Mathis, who made a point of demanding his rights from their overlords - a sort of unofficial spokesman. There was Widow Shanis, whose son Tir had been a labourer at Ostagar - Rilian mourned him too... And Tomas, who drank a lot to forget an ugly incident with a shem supervisor at the docks...and Pic...and Girnis...
There were twelve names in all - and Teyrn Loghain's signature at the bottom of the document. He had also written a short note to Howe:
Give this to Caladrius at the docks warehouse. The first ship can leave tonight. If possible, I want these troublemakers to fill the quota. They are costing men we need for the war effort. The Alienage is not defensible. We must get them out one way or another.
The ground under her began to tilt oddly - Rilian sat down hard on the bed without having meant to. She put the rest together. The nobles had said the coffers were empty - that the Regent didn't have the manpower to defend the city; at least, not with the civil war going on - and it was always...always...the most vulnerable who paid the price. She wanted her hands around Loghain's neck - and if she had had Arl Eamon in front of her now, she would have begged for the chance to eliminate Howe.
"But just killing Howe won't even do any good," she said hoarsely, "The first ship will leave tonight. Denerim's soldiers are Loghain's - Arl Eamon hasn't got the men to put a stop to this. Though I'm sure he'd be very glad of the dirt to dish at the Landsmeet," she practically spat. "I will go - but I'll need a plan."
"It won't be hard for us to get into the Alienage - we can scale the walls after dark - bribe the guards or take them out - once inside no-one will question the presence of a couple of Elves." Rilian smiled at Zevran's automatic self-inclusion - she hadn't even thanked him.
"Yes - after five years I know the docks like the back of my hand! We should be able to deal with any resistance. But what do we do then?" Rilian tilted her head up and a little leftward, as she did when she sang - her eyes went slightly out-of-focus as she studied a sight that only existed in her mind. Rilian was seeing the words: not defensible, and her home laid out before her, as on a map. As rapidly as coins clinking into a greedy noble's purse, she tried to prove Loghain wrong, tried positioning her men here...here...or here...
She failed. "Zevran," she said softly, "It's not enough just to rescue my people - even to kill the slavers. We've got to do it all - and do it right. We've got to stop Loghain - either by killing him, or making terms. We've got to stop any other nobles who might try the same thing. And, most of all, we've got to protect my people from the darkspawn."
Zevran blinked, not understanding.
"Even with our forces, we couldn't hold the Alienage. It wasn't built to be defensible. Once the darkspawn reach the capital, it's a deathtrap. If I could - if Elder Valendrian agreed to it - I'd take them on that ship myself: north and then west, to join our own army!"
"Do you really think they'd want that?"
"Slavery or death are the alternatives." Rilian shivered. "But it's a foolish plan - even if we could commandeer that ship, we couldn't use it."
Zevran smiled - reached out - stroked her back. "Did I ever tell you," he said, "Of my adventures with a ship's captain named Isabella..."
As soon as Zevran had explained his plan, Rilian left the room to speak to Arl Eamon. She had no time to lose. Zevran slipped out of the estate the way he'd arrived. He had no desire to see the Arl - didn't usually talk to the nobility unless they were employers or victims - and she couldn't blame him. She knocked once, sharply.
"Come in," the Arl called.
Alistair and Arl Eamon were sitting side-by-side in the study. They seemed to have patched up their differences. Rilian was glad in one way - she supposed the Arl really was the only family Alistair had now - and sorry in another.
"Alistair, would you mind giving us a moment?" the Arl said, after one look at her face.
Alistair was looking at her with so much concern that Rilian wanted to weep. She smiled at him instead - bent forward to kiss him lightly on the lips - then gave him a playful push toward the door. "Don't worry - we won't come to blows," she joked. Reassured, Alistair left the room.
Rilian turned to face her opponent, all traces of humour vanished from her face. Arl Eamon, standing too, tried to use his height but found it ineffectual.
"I am not going to murder Arl Howe," she told him. Her eyes were cool, and made no pretence at naiveté. "What I will do, is remove Teyrn Loghain's last source of income. You'll see from these documents that he's putting money in the coffers by selling Elves. If I can put a stop to it, he'll have no choice but to seek terms. He'll probably come to Howe's estate once word of the trouble gets out. We'll see if that alliance holds when the chips are down."
Eamon's grizzled brows met over his broad nose. An alliance with Loghain... He had felt this coming, but decided not to believe in it.
"I would have thought you'd want to kill him, if what you say about the Elves is true," he said absently - wanting to get a look at the papers Rilian held and wondering if he could use them at the Landsmeet. Wondering, too, where she could have acquired them.
Rilian shrugged. "Killing is easy. I could kill Loghain - and the darkspawn likely will. What then? I want to defeat him. I want to lead this alliance against the Blight and make sure neither Blight nor nobility can harm my people." Her tone was an unabashed mixture of hard arrogance and the vulnerability of someone who knew her own inexperience.
Arl Eamon opened his mouth, breathed deep, and paused. Rilian cut in ahead, with inflexible courtesy, "Of course, I shall leave you the papers. If I'm killed tonight, you will need them. I can only hope," here her voice was dry, "That the Landsmeet will actually stop the slave trade and not just feign outrage over it." Rilian was sure she could have used the Elves in a Blood Magic ritual and that all Eamon would say was: "well done for finding the documents," but decided not to say so.
Eamon studied the documents carefully, in a satisfaction that he tried to present as frowning concern. How foolish of Loghain to have put his name to it...would this, on its own, be enough? If the Warden were killed, could he and Alistair win the Landsmeet? He had to admit he wasn't sure. The Warden had a strange charisma, and had caught the imagination of the public. He was honest enough with himself to know that charisma was a quality both he and Alistair lacked. Here, if ever there was one, was a young woman needing only a clumsy push at a critical moment to discover in herself a very dangerous person. She must be kept on side - or else destroyed.
"Warden," he tried, "Why tonight? What difference would it make to wait until..."
Rilian, who had been watching him like a duellist, made a small gesture to say she had not done speaking. After a crucial instant, Arl Eamon's voice trailed off.
"It makes a difference to the twelve people who are going to be taken tonight. I'm going, ser. Settle your mind to it, because we're short of time."
"Alistair..."
For just an instant, Rilian hesitated. Eamon saw emotions too swift too interpret, like watching raindrops strike still water: each impression unique, each too brief to distinguish. "Of course I won't take him with me. Even if he weren't who he is, a human would stand out too much."
"And what will you tell him?"
There was a very pregnant pause. "That you have sent me on an errand - into town, buying supplies, that sort of thing." The brightly unpredictable face was sheepish - no longer an antagonist but a young woman contemplating a little white lie. A trace of a smirk brushed her lips: "You can assure him it's nothing so foolish as busting into Arl Howe's estate."
"I see," Eamon muttered, "So - I'm the one who has to face Alistair with the truth if you don't come back."
Rilian smiled at him - a smile that gave Arl Eamon an inkling of why his experienced soldiers were willing to follow her to hell and back. "Well - yes. After all, you're the Arl. In charge of things. All that. Someone has to know where I went."
"You've learned last night's lessons well. You're as devious as a weasel."
"The better to defeat Teyrn Loghain. I'll see myself out, ser."
"Alistair..."
"...is who he is. I am who I am." Rilian's interruption was without anger, but it snuffed out further argument. Silent, resolute, she left the room.
(Thank you to Arsinoe for suggesting a Rilian-Loghain alliance - your idea about the Howe/Anora forced marriage was inspired!)