Duty's Choice: The Bastard of Ferelden - Chapter 10

Going to the Chantry

Denerim – two days later

"Any idea why he wanted to meet at the Great Chantry?' Elinora pushed back a stray strand of hair as she watched two elves shoot at a target against the side of a burned out building. They were both good, though Maker knew how they became so. A great many Alienage residents had turned out to show their interest and skills. Nothing like life-shorting military service to get you out of your humble beginnings.

Bittan shrugged. "He said something about arriving cleaned up in and your best armor. Have you been wanting to see the Grand Cleric for something?"

"Nothing in particular. Give these two tokens and the usual speech." She turned and headed back to the palace, mentally preparing herself for a dull dinner party.

The looming threat of boredom was completely obliterated when she set foot in the Great Chantry's courtyard. Zevran and Oghren stood there, having the same argument they'd had during the Blight: wine or ale.

Zevran threw his arms up in a huff. "But if I wanted bread, why would I not just have bread?"

Oghren's mustaches bristled. "Because you're thirsty, you pike-twirling light-foot!"

The same argument. And it would probably end the same way: both of them too drunk to choose.

"Ahem," she half-coughed, a broad smile on her lips. The elf and dwarf turned.

Zevran had her in a hug before she could say anything else. He pulled away and gave her a long look from head to toe. "Much better than the last time I saw you, but still no bosom." He rapped his knuckles on her breastplate. She scowled at him.

"Sodding practical, if you ask me." Oghren stepped up and shook her hand, then held on to it to give her gauntlet a closer examination. "Good craftsmanship too. Solid, but light." He bounced her hand in his own.

Elinora took back her hand and placed it on her hip. "If you two are quite done dissecting my armor, would you please tell me what in the Maker's name you are doing here?"

Oghren and Zevran exchanged looks, then spoke at the same time.

"Passing through."

"Queen's business."

Elinora raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Right."

Oghren cleared his throat. "Queen Sereda is wondering when you'll be coming back to set up your Grey Warden outpost."

"A few months yet. Orzammar is on the tour, but we're going south first. You should have some Wardens coming through before me, though."

"I'll let her know," Oghren said as the great door of the Chantry creaked open.

"Fergus?" The bottom dropped out of Elinora's stomach, terrified for some sort of bad news, but her brother smiled. Butterflies emerged from the opened pit of her stomach as a new thought crossed her mind. "He didn't? He's not…"

"Sneak attack, dear sister." Fergus kissed her cheek. "Or should I say surprise wedding? Either way." He offered his arm and led her into the Chantry, followed by Zevran and Oghren. She could hear singing; a familiar, sweet female voice. The world blurred a little around the edges, but Fergus held her steady as he led her down the aisle.

By the mid-point of the massive Chantry hall, she could make out familiar faces among the handful of people assembled. Her Warden contingent was there, including Burion who she had left in charge of Amaranthine. Alcina and Maphisa were grinning like adolescent girls and Aldo looked proud. Across from them were Eamon and Teagan, both smiling. Cailin stood next to his great-uncles, bouncing a little. Even Finn was here, grinning a doggy grin, sitting at Leliana's feet as she finished the song.

And of course, before the altar stood Alistair, looking as handsome and proud as she'd ever seen him. He reached out a golden gauntleted hand for hers as she and Fergus approached the altar. She took it. Fergus stepped aside as Alistair pulled her close and bent his forehead to hers, resting it there a moment.

The world fell away. They'd won. They would be together now and no arguments about timing could stop them. Nothing could come between them now.

A priest stepped before them and raised her hand high. "Andraste reached her hand to the Maker, and said…"

"STOP!"

Alistair and Elinora were startled out of their rapture. The crowd swiveled to find the source that had called a halt to the ceremony. Barreling out of the vestry was the Grand Cleric herself, followed by two Templars. Elinora only recognized her by her robes; it was not the same Grand Cleric that presided of Alistair's coronation or the Landsmeet that had put him on the throne. The woman was much younger, with a very pinched look about her, though her eyes flamed.

"Cease and desist this ceremony at once! Remove yourselves from this Chantry!" she ordered shrilly.

Alistair's eyes were wide with shock. "Your eminence, what is the meaning of this?"

The Cleric drew herself up and gave Alistair a very dark look. "The Divine has sent orders from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. Wardens are not to marry, especially each other. The Chantry will not recognize such a union, nor the offspring of such a union."

Alistair's jaw worked, but no sound emerged, too stupefied with horror. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"You can't do that!" yelled Aldo.

The Grand Cleric turned her glare to him. "Silence, mage. Or my Templars will silence you permanently!"

There were gasps and Elinora heard her Wardens shift, reaching for weapons, as one of their own was threatened. She raised a hand, signaling them to hold. Bloodshed would be no help.

"How could you?" Elinora's voice was low, controlled and icy. "After all we've been through." Her rage choked on a pragmatic thought. "What about his children?"

"We made an exception, for the good of Ferelden," the Cleric said coldly. "There is no further need to do so again. Now leave."

"Why?" Alistair's voice hitched. Remembering he was king, he cleared his throat and straightened. "I order you…"

"I answer to a higher authority than you, boy." The Cleric's eyes narrowed. "My orders come from the Maker."

Eamon's voice, heavy with suspicion, called out over the rumbling filling the hall. "Your orders come from the Divine in Orlais."

The Cleric set her jaw. "They are the same, and unless you want the might of the Maker against you, I suggest you leave. Now."

Alistair looked between the Grand Cleric and Elinora, deeply torn about what to do. She tugged his body close to hers. "You do not need trouble with the Chantry." She rested her hand on his cheek, forcing his eyes to focus on hers. "And I don't need their approval." With a final contemptuous glare for the Grand Cleric, Elinora took Alistair's hand and lead him away.

The guests filed out behind them, most giving the Grand Cleric a sharp look as they departed. Her Wardens were furious, doubly insulted by the treatment of their commander and her Warden lover, and the threat to one of their own. Burion and Aldo were the last to leave the Chantry. The look they gave the Grand Cleric should have melted her.

Eamon caught up to the unhappy couple, Leliana close on his heels. "We'll fix this, I promise you," he growled.