The Keening Blade
Chapter 13: Bridezilla vs. The Wardens
Within a few days of the Battle of Denerim, the Grey Warden compound was becoming fairly livable.
One afternoon, after a patrol outside the walls, Loghain had returned to his room to find that it was indeed his room. All the familiar furnishings from his palace quarters had been moved to his new room in the Justinian Tower: his large and comfortable bed, his desk, his favorite chair, his books, his keepsakes, his weapons, his enameled tin bathtub, his clothes. His new room was shaped differently, and was not as large, but Revere, the seneschal, had done a very good job indeed.
Maude had talked Revere into some other improvements. There was no time and really no need yet to clear the big vaulted hall, but Maude had created a new common room out of the looted study adjoining Riordan and Leliana's bedchamber. The remaining books had been consolidated into two bookshelves. The desk had been pushed up against the wall by the window. Cushions created inviting window seats. A table and chairs for chess were arranged near the elaborate stone fireplace. Maude had made use of her sweet voice and huge, wistful eyes, and somehow a large round table had vanished from a storage room elsewhere in the Palace; and, cleaned and polished, with a dozen chairs arranged around it, had appeared in the Warden's new common room. Loghain scowled when he heard about it, but he did not recognize the table, and he was assured that no one had used it in years, It very comfortably accommodated the Wardens, their allies, and their occasional guests. A long Orlesian huntboard, carved with game birds, was arranged with wine and fruit and bread and other snacks for starving Wardens and their peckish companions. Altogether, it was quite a pleasant place to gather and discuss the day's mission.
The girl herself seemed happy to have a new interest in addition to her usual one of killing darkspawn in various inventive ways.
"I haven't had a room of my own in nearly two years, Loghain!" She cozily spooned up behind him one morning, one hand tickling his side. "I have now slept in a bed for six consecutive nights. This is unbelievable luxury."
Loghain personally thought that unbelievable luxury was being in a beautiful girl's bed for six consecutive nights, but he would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him say it, and only grunted. His dreams of darkspawn had abated somewhat too: possibly to his acclimatization to them; possibly due to the death of the Archdemon. The cause hardly mattered: sound sleep did.
Blast! There was noise downstairs in the kitchens. The servants were awake and at work. He slid away from the girl's silken warmth and got up to gather his clothes. She sat up to pout.
"You don't have to run away! They know not to come in our rooms without knocking. Wasn't it funny what that one maid said when she walked in on Riordan and Leliana?"
He shrugged into his shirt, shuddering at the memory. "We need to be up, anyway. Anora said she has time to talk to us before we head out this morning. The sooner we put paid to this Amaranthine idea, the better."
"It would probably be best to have it all resolved before the Orlesians arrive, I suppose," she agreed. "And they'll probably be here any day now, since word that the Blight is over should have reached the border."
The covers were thrown off, and she was on him, kissing him goodbye, sleek and naked and sweetly curved and smelling of sex. The early morning sunlight turned her young skin to gold and sparkled in her tangled braid. Reluctantly, Loghain slipped away, shutting the door noiselessly behind him, and slipping into his own room before the damnably helpful servants could catch him wandering the halls half-dressed.
A shuffle of bootleather on stone. There was his valet, bringing him hot water, Maker curse his diligence. In a well-practiced frenzy, Loghain tore off his clothes, threw on a nightrobe, ripped the covers back from his neatly-made bed, and punched the pillow into a likeness of his head having dented it all night.
The things I do for that girl.
A modest, self-effacing knock.
"Enter."
"Good morning, my lord."
Loghain rolled his eyes. Cashel simply did not acknowledge Loghain's change of status. His long-time valet had a reliable method of dealing with unpleasant facts: he pretended they were not so, and after a time, people no longer tried to correct him.
He granted Cashel his usual grunt of acknowledgement.
"Master Herren has sent the armor, my lord. I shall bring it to you directly. Master Herren left a message, beseeching you to apprise him at once if anything in the least is amiss."
"Hmph."
"Indeed, my lord."
The Grey Wardens of Ferelden had enough in the way of dragon bits to outfit them for decades, at the very least. Master Wade went into an actual paroxysm of ecstasy when shown the carcass- a spectacle that Loghain would prefer never to see ever again in his entire life-and was happily overseeing the seasoning and tanning of the remains. The massive skull had been hauled to the Landsmeet Chamber, where a team of dwarven masons were erecting an elaborate base for its permanent display. Loghain thought their labor could be put to better use repairing one of the Gate Bridges, but that was merely his own opinion. Anora felt celebrating the end of the Blight took priority.
Somehow, Loghain's new armor also ended up as a priority. Both Anora and Maude had agreed that it was important that Loghain appear in his new guise as the heroic Grey Warden slayer of the Archdemon.
After a decent interval to allow him time to wash, shave, and dress, Maude breezed in, in a loose linen shirt with breeches and boots of soft doeskin. She had added a sleeveless doublet of green velvet as a nod to the fact that they would be conferring with the Queen after breakfast. "An informal discussion," Anora had said. Maude certainly looked informal enough.
"Good morning Cashel, Is he in a mood to receive visitors?"
"Good morning, my lady. Very nearly."
"Did I hear you say that the armor had arrived?" She perched herself in a window seat, quite at her ease.
"You did, my lady. A splendid sight it is."
His new Archdemon armor was purple. Loghain glared at his reflection in the long mirror, trying to will it to change, but even after he blinked, it was still purple.
Granted, it was dark purple: purple almost to black, burnished to a menacing gleam. It was brilliant armor, too, and stronger, lighter, and more comfortable than anything he had ever possessed. Master Wade had worked with astonishing speed and something like genius for it to be ready for the reception celebrating the defeat of the Blight. Loghain had made it clear to the armorer that this was not parade armor, and so put paid to Wade's suggestion of gold chasing-or at least, too much of it. He scowled at the double griffins flourished across his breastplate. Subtle, he supposed, but still too grandiose. He felt like a walking monument. His old Orlesian plate had been bad enough.
And he had a purple helmet, too. Apparently, Maude had had a word with Wade, and persuaded him to copy the silverite helmet in the details, but to custom fit it to Loghain. Loghain jammed it onto his head, scowling. Small children and strong men would run screaming at the sight. People of taste, too.
The rest of his fellow Wardens trickled in to admire him as he tried on the armor. Maude smilingly dismissed the valet, and helped Loghain herself . Morrigan strolled in last, brows raised at Loghain in cool appraisal, a sheaf of parchment in her hands.
Maude tenderly stroked a vambrace. Loghain wished she would be more discreet, but surely there was nothing scandalous about her putting her hand on his forearm. She smiled up at him and said, "Nothing says victory like wearing the actual skin and bones of your enemy!"
Riordan made free to sit in Loghain's favorite chair. Leliana sat on the footstool by her lover's knees, purring as he tugged on her braid. She said, "That is perhaps a little morbid, yes? But it is magnificent armor, Loghain! No one has ever seen anything like it."
Loghain grunted ungraciously.
"Wade's working on your scale now, Riordan," Maude told them excitedly. "Then the dragonwing set for Leliana. After that-"
"I should like something made from that dragonwing myself," Morrigan said haughtily. "It would certainly be an improvement over the wretched garments Flemeth cobbled together for me! I have an idea for something that is neither robes nor quite armor, but rather a hybrid of both..."
"Er, Morrigan?" Maude asked, cocking her head to study the sketches. "You do realize that the concept behind armor is to actually...cover...your body, don't you?" She grinned. "Not that I don't admire the silverite swirls around your breasts and all-that's kind of neat. Maybe Wade can do something like that for me..."
Loghain snatched the sketch away from Maude and scowled at Morrigan. "I was not aware that seducing the darkspawn was an option. Try. Again," he growled. Morrigan took the drawings back, and clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Oh, let me see!" cried Leliana coming to admire the designs. "Ooo! I did not know you had such a flair for fashion."
"Never mind, Morrigan," Maude consoled her. "Master Wade can make you another set of armor, specifically designed for strolling past Chantries and torturing Templars!"
Loghain sighed deeply. Yes, the Wardens would be outfitted for decades. In purple.
"Beg pardon, my lady," Cashel appeared at the door. "Your brother the Teyrn is here to see you."
"Fergus!" cried Maude rushing out to kiss him. "Come and see Loghain in his new armor!"
So they were going to make a salon of it, were they? Loghain grimaced as Fergus strode in grinning, and then paused in admiration.
"Is that-?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Maude burst out. "It's the Archdemon armor! Isn't it glorious?""
"It's purple," Loghain growled.
Fergus came forward, wonder in his eyes. "That is amazing! Is it heavy?"
"Not at all," Loghain assured him. "Lighter than silverite, actually."
"Master Wade made this, I presume." Fergus was studying the armor with the excitement of a mabari sniffing out a rotting cat. "It must surely be his masterpiece."
"I'm going to have a matching set," Maude bubbled. "And Riordan is going to have gorgeous Archdemon scale, and Ranger will get a wonderful studded collar, and Leliana and Morrigan will have Archdemon wing armor. Like this!" she said, snatching the sketch away and showing her brother, who goggled, and then cast a naughty grin Morrigan's way. She huffed, but preened a little, too.
Loghain sneered, throwing the helmet aside, "I'm sure your brother would agree that Morrigan does not need armor like that!"
"I don't know," Fergus shook his head, still grinning at the sketch. "I think every woman in Ferelden needs armor like that. Except my sister," he added, and then saw Loghain's scowl. "-and maybe the Queen."
"Stay and have breakfast here, Fergus," Maude urged him.
"I suppose I have the time. Breakfast! I've already been to Highever House today, lazybones! I brought a chest of Mother's things for you. She'd want to you to have them."
Maude hugged him. "You're the best brother in the world, Fergus! What did you bring me?"
He cuffed her jaw affectionately. "Why don't you go see?"
She ran out of the room and made happy noises next door for some time. Leliana trotted after her. Morrigan stubbornly remained in Loghain's room while the men talked about the armor. She sat at his desk, reworking her sketches. Loghain looked over her shoulder and snorted. She was now creating something even skimpier.
Oghren staggered past the door on the way to breakfast. He peered in, eyes bloodshot, took one look at Loghain, and uttered a raucous, "Haw!"
Fergus grinned, but was perfectly happy to help Loghain remove the plate, still admiring the craftsmanship.
"The rerebraces aren't too tight, are they? No? That's nice work…"
"Breakfast is ready, sers," a maid informed them.
A quick breakfast, and then everyone went his or her way to prepare for another patrol. Today they would head west, following the rumors of a darkspawn warband hiding in the caves of Dragon's Peak. Maude ran back for another look at the loot her brother had brought her, chatting with him about Highever House. Loghain was just finishing his second helping of porridge when the tone of their conversation ratcheted up a notch, and he caught their words.
"What do you mean you don't believe it?" he heard Maude demand, in that low, fierce voice that promised mayhem. Loghain frowned and crossed the hall to see what was going on.
Maude was standing up to Fergus-in his face, really-looking very indignant. She saw Loghain and waved him over. Fergus seemed to be amused and embarrassed and concerned, all at once.
His men had hauled in one of the big chests they had found at the family mansion: one of the handsome standing ones. It would double as a seat for two or three, and was of rare imported rosewood from the tropics to the North, elegantly carved with flowers and leaves. Loghain briefly admired it before being dragged into a quarrel.
"Fergus," Maude began scornfully, "says he doesn't believe I won our duel. Tell him that I did, Loghain!"
Loghain shrugged. "She cheated," he told Fergus.
"Exactly," Maude declared triumphantly. "I won, fair and square, by cheating!"
Fergus caught Loghain's eye, clearly skeptical. "What I heard was that Loghain was convinced that only a Grey Warden could kill the Archdemon, and agreed to join the Wardens for the sake of Ferelden." There was something else there, but it appeared that Fergus did not want to say it to his sister, who was already upset.
"He agreed to join the Wardens because I won the duel. Won. The. Duel. Being convinced that only we could save Ferelden came later. Didn't it?" she prompted Loghain.
He shrugged again, and rolled his eyes at Fergus.
"Really?" asked Fergus, puzzled. He said to Loghain, "I heard you joined in order to be able to slay the Archdemon. Rumor has it that only a Warden can do that. Quite a sacrifice, on your part, but that simply makes it all the more impressive."
"You weren't there," Maude hissed. "You just ask someone who was really there. I won, and Loghain had to do whatever I wanted, and I wanted him to be a Warden!"
Fergus gave her a fond, indulgent pat on the shoulder. "And it worked out splendidly, pup! Well done."
Loghain was uneasy at the look of speechless indignation on the girl's face. "We must not keep the Queen waiting…"
"Quite right," Fergus agreed, instantly serious once more.
'Informal discussion,' indeed. Anora received them in the Little Audience Chamber, rather than her sitting room. They were not alone either. Chantry Boy was there, sitting next to Anora, since the Amaranthine idea was his, and with him was Eamon "the Dick" Guerrin and his brother Teagan, whose presence there was completely superfluous, as far as Loghain was concerned. Teagan was not the utter swine his brother was, but Loghain disliked the languishing looks the goateed ponce kept throwing the girl, and the totally unnecessary little attentions he paid her. If he had behaved in such a way to Anora, Loghain would have had every right to put his sword through him.
They had prepared Riordan for this discussion, talking over the matter for the past few nights. He was able to give them some insight as to how Weisshaupt would view the scheme (and why the First Warden would probably be very much in favor of it), and give an objective consideration of the pros and cons. Fortunately, he had just enough sense to agree that the cons definitely were in the majority. As they did not want to further alienate their future King, Riordan would give the initial Grey Warden opinion on the feasibility of a Fereldan arling becoming a protectorate of the Grey Wardens.
Fergus, too, was prepared with his reply. And his was the opinion Anora sought first.
"Your Majesty," he began, "the custom and law of the matter are clear enough. The arl of Amaranthine is a vassal of the teyrn of Highever, and as thus, Highever has a certain claim to the territory of Amaranthine that cannot be overridden simply by royal fiat. That said, I am perfectly cognizant of all we owe the Grey Wardens, and wish to do my part to reward and assist them in the coming days. The darkspawn are vanquished, but not eradicated. The Thaw has been explained to me, and makes clear the need for a strong Warden presence within our borders. Whether giving them an entire Fereldan arling is for the best, I am not so certain."
He continued, "Were my sister not a Grey Warden, I would undoubtedly wish to give her the arling as a hereditary desmesne to be held by her and the heirs of her body. That is not the same thing as giving the arling to the Grey Wardens as an Order. To do so would be to give a rich province and a fine city to the rule of an unknown commander designated by the First Warden. How much does the First Warden know about Amaranthine or Ferelden, for that matter, and what would he consider of first importance: the welfare of the people of the arling, or the welfare of the order?"
Alistair scowled, scuffing his boot on the floor impatiently. Anora smiled slightly and nodded to the man next to Fergus. "Senior Warden Riordan? Can you speak to that issue?"
"I can, Majesty," Riordan said gravely. "The Grey Wardens will always put their primary mission first: to do everything necessary to defeat the darkspawn. While I am certain that the Warden-Arl appointed by Weisshaupt would undertake such a responsibility with due diligence, it is certain that issues of justice, trade, provisioning, and duty to the Crown must of necessity be subordinate to the supreme mission of the Grey Wardens."
Chantry Boy was getting quite red in the face, Loghain was happy to see. They had arranged among themselves that Loghain was to say little, but still play a part. Eamon looked as if he might speak, when a sweet voice to his right began considering the matter.
"And yet…" said Maude, She paused, and smiled at Alistair. "And yet, if I may, Your Majesty, let us not be hasty in dismissing this idea. I think His Highness has raised an intriguing possibility, and with further consideration, his proposal could be implemented in such a way as to neither to compromise the mission of the Grey Wardens, nor neglect the needs of the people of Amaranthine."
Loghain remembered not to smirk. Instead, he frowned suspiciously at Maude. Riordan frowned in slight disapproval, and Fergus simply frowned. They were good frowns, too: well practiced.
Alistair perked up, both at Maude's words and Loghain's disapproval. Anora smiled at her betrothed, and laid her hand over his. He seemed to like the attention, and his ears reddened.
Did Anora know they were in collusion? Possibly, but she was interested, all the same. And thus, Maude was invited to present her counter-proposal, which she did, maps and all.
"In our recent travels, we discovered that the ancient Grey Warden fortress of Soldier's Peak was intact," she informed them, her voice mild and beguiling. "It is quite possibly the largest fortress in Ferelden."
"It is the largest, unquestionably," Loghain interjected, with the proper dose of acid.
"Very well, the largest in Ferelden. As you see, it sits on the border between Highever and Amaranthine. It is technically within the arling, but is actually somewhat closer to the city of Highever than to the city of Amaranthine."
"Only as the crow flies," Loghain corrected her. "The lay of the roads makes it a quicker journey to Amaranthine."
"Thank you, Warden Loghain," the girl replied with careful courtesy, a false mask of carefully contained patience amusing Chantry Boy and his allies. "You are correct, once again. It is of the roads I shall speak, in fact. Here the Coast Road from Amaranthine curves south and connects with the North Road. This territory west of the Road and east of the Highever border is not populous: there are only two villages within it: here, on the coast at Breaker's Cover; and a few miles north of the North Road, at Knotwood. It is lordless land at the moment, as no one has ever really claimed the Coast Mountains, and Bann Norval, whose estate extended across the road, was slain by Arl Howe, as were his heirs."
Anora nodded at her to go ahead, her brain already clicking over the possibilities.
Maude's voice was rich with persuasion and redolent with conviction. "What I propose it this: give this smaller desmesne to the Grey Wardens. The fortress of Soldier's Peak is here, which can be refurbished and once again be used to house and train Wardens as it did of old. In addition, this land can support the Wardens, even during this difficult period when the bannorn might find the usual tithes too great a strain. I am correct, am I not, Your Highness, in thinking that the heart of your plan was a wish for the Grey Wardens to be able to feed themselves?"
"Well…yes!" Alistair agreed. "And to be a bit independent of the tithes. Duncan used to go one about how hard it was to persuade people they were necessary. Right now, of course…"
"Of course…" Maude nodded to him in earnest agreement. "Right now they understand our importance. But if this plan is implemented…well, in a hundred years, or two hundred, when Blights are only a memory again, and people no longer wish to pay their proper tithes, the Grey Wardens will still have a share of their tenants' crops and fishing hauls, and a strong fortress that is proof against the darkspawn. The granite," she explained to Alistair and the Guerrins. "The Coast Mountains are granite, and the darkspawn cannot tunnel through it. That is why Commander Asturian chose the site."
Teagan was impressed at the idea, and said so. "A clever compromise! It would be the size of a large bannorn, but you do not want the Warden Commander to have such a title, I believe."
Maude nodded. "I think it best that we avoid titles, other than the honorable one of Warden Commander. As it lies within Fereldan territory, you may think it prudent for the Warden Commander to have a voice at the Landsmeet. However, the Grey Warden desmesne must be, as His Highness has said, independent, and not sworn to anyone other than the Crown of Ferelden, as far as possible, and to the mission of the Grey Wardens. The smaller size and remote location will also free the Wardens from political entanglements…"
Fergus was pretending it was all new to him. He rubbed his chin. "It would take a bite out of Amaranthine, certainly, but not a lethal one. Breaker's Cove has a nice little harbor, though the village is very small."
Riordan gave judicious, pre-prepared approval. "The city of Montsimmard and its environs is similarly a Grey Warden desmesne, and the arrangement has been found to be workable. The peasants look to the Grey Warden Commander as their lord, and their produce feeds and clothes much of the Order in Orlais."
"I hardly think," Loghain said, hoping he was not overplaying the sarcasm, "that we need to copy anything found workable by the Orlesians."
Well, that settled it. Alistair had never heard such a brilliant scheme in his entire life. Maude had outdone herself. The Wardens would have land of their own and stay out of politics, and it was as pretty and complete a plan as it could possibly be,
Anora looked a little amused, and no doubt suspected that what she had seen was a show to placate the King-Elect. Nonetheless, she was pleased by the plan herself, and was even curious about this huge fortress which scarcely anyone in the room had seen. Riordan was thanked and dismissed, and he departed, clearly glad to be gone so he could laugh about it in private with Leliana.
Having her wits about her, Anora then brought up the unanswered question:
"If the Wardens are not to have Amaranthine, then who is?"
It took every trick Maude possessed even to say her candidate's name without her brother exploding, even though she had discussed this with him previously. No one else was pleased at the name, either. Eamon had not deeply considered the matter, since he had mentally surrendered Amaranthine to the Wardens already. His great goal was to win the arling of Denerim for his brother. Denerim would be a greater prize than Amaranthine anyway, for the Arl of Denerim exerted immense influence through his possession of the capital city. Anora had her own dreams for Denerim, but was not quite ready to disclose them.
"Delilah Howe!" Fergus fumed. "Sometimes I really wonder about you."
"She's a lovely person. She's intelligent and compassionate. She knows Amaranthine like no other noble in Ferelden, and she cares about it. She has some good friends among the bannorn there—"
"Not Bann Esmerelle, I daresay!" Fergus sniped.
"Well, of course not, but that's rather to her credit." To the others she explained. "It was an open secret that the Bann of Amaranthine City was one of Rendon Howe's lovers. Their affair lasted for years and years, and sometimes the bann presumed on the relationship somewhat with Delilah-even with the arlessa when she still lived. I recall having to comfort Delilah after a particularly ghastly salon."
"She's still a Howe," Alistair said darkly, narrowing his eyes at Loghain.
"But I am a Cousland," Maude said in her clearest tones, "and I do not visit revenge and violence upon the innocent. Rendon Howe paid with his life for his crimes. Because he was a cruel and vicious man, must we follow his example?" She smiled at her brother. "And either she will not marry, and thus leave no Howes after her: or she will marry, and thus cease to be a Howe."
"Some of the Landsmeet will wonder why we haven't chosen Nathaniel," Fergus pointed out. He clarified for Alistair's sake, "The elder son. He's been off in the Free Marches for years. No one quite knows why."
"Well, I hardly think the Landsmeet will want Nathaniel. It will be difficult enough to have Delilah confirmed, even though people know that's she's very nice."
"'Very nice' does not necessarily mean the same thing as 'strong arlessa,'" Eamon pointed out carefully. Loghain was thrilled that the man had said it so he didn't have to.
"Well," Maude said sweetly, "how strong do we want Arlessa Howe of a diminished Amaranthine to be? And speaking of diminished, Fergus, would you feel better about it all if you got the southern lands to the Hafter River? You'd have a clearer border that way."
With a little more dickering and a little more horsetrading, everyone was getting quite a bit of what he or she wanted. Especially 'she,' Loghain thought grimly. Anora seemed pleased at not giving the arling to the Wardens. It was yet another loving but firm reminder that she wanted her father out of the political arena for good. Maude was pleased because she was getting her way, as usual.
Anora produced a thick sheaf of parchment. "Now that the issue of Amaranthine has been settled, let us move on to other matters: first, the ceremonial thanks to the Grey Wardens at the end of the week, and then the wedding between Alistair and myself which will take place on the twentieth next month."
The thanksgiving ceremony was not difficult to organize, and Maude's only stipulation was that there should be cake.
The wedding, on the other hand, was to be a tremendous affair: altogether grander and more expensive that Anora's wedding to Cailan. Somehow, Anora had found some gold that Loghain suspected she had carefully concealed from him while he was Regent. Doubtless she had thought that she might need coin for an escape at some point, and now, secure as Queen, she felt able to spend it in public rejoicing.
The wedding and the coronation of the King-Consort would take place at Denerim Cathedral, and then there would be a procession all the way to the Palace for the banquet and ball. The whole thing was a nightmare from a security standpoint, and Loghain was displeased that he would not be in control of it. Anora had arranged every detail herself. Loghain thought she had gone completely mad with this whole wedding business.
"This time," she insisted, "I'm going to have everything just as I like. It's my day, after all."
Loghain was relieved to discover that he was going to be permitted some part in his own daughter's wedding, though that part was mostly to stand in his new armor in front of the nobles and the wealthy in the cathedral, on the bride's side of the ceremonies. And Maude would stand beside him, since Anora wanted the Wardens together on her side.
"We all owe so much to you, Warden," Anora said to Maude. "And I think you will look best there, by Father. I would like you to wear red. That will complement my gown very nicely. Here," she said, giving the astonished Maude a snippet of red velvet, "is the color and fabric I have selected. Madame Deshabille will need to see you as soon as possible to take your measurements. Your jewelry and accessories, of course, will be your own choice, though since your dress will have gold embroidery, you will probably want to wear gold jewelry, rather than silver. And some sort of hair ornament would be appropriate…"
The fact that the girl would be occupying the position generally reserved for the bride's mother did not appear to concern Anora in the slightest. Loghain felt his face grow warm as the two Guerrin brothers exchanged brief, knowing looks.
"Arl Eamon, you will stand up for Alistair of course, and the Arlessa as well. I wish her to wear blue. This is the exact shade," another piece of velvet was produced and handed to the arl. "so there can be no mistake. Perhaps she could see Madame Deshabille later this morning, while Warden Maude is busy?"
Loghain glanced at the girl, who was looking with concern and carefully concealed pity at Alistair. Knowing now how the woman had treated Alistair, he could see that her presence was even more bizarre than Maude Cousland's herself. Maude, at least, had made a bargain with Anora and kept it. His daughter, in fact, owed her throne to her. Alistair, as far as he could see, owed the Arlessa Isolde less than nothing. Bridegrooms, apparently, were not to be consulted on this occasion. Chantry Boy had a hunted look about him, as Anora relentlessly consulted her lists.
"Gentlemen are to wear armor but no weapons. The female Wardens may wear the colors of their choice, but they must wear a gown, and that gown must be made by Madame Deshabille or one of her assistants. As to the decorations…"
They stumbled from the Little Audience Chamber, stunned and stupefied by the detailed planning.
"Of course," Loghain reflected, as they walked to the Wardens' Compound, "her first wedding took place when Maric had been dead only a month, and Cailan was still in mourning. It was a quiet affair."
"Whereas now," the girl agreed, "everyone is in the mood to celebrate. Everyone likes a wedding, I'm told."
"Don't you?"
She frowned. "Not very much. I'm glad that the two of them seem to be getting on better now. I know it's a marriage of convenience, but I really hope they can be happy together."
"As do I," he sighed. "The sooner I am out of the way, the sooner that is likely."
"At least you don't have to have a gown made, in a specific color!" she complained, waving the fabric swatch like a war banner, "Made by a dressmaker approved by her!"
He snorted. "I have to wear purple armor."
The meeting with the Orlesian dressmaker did not go well. Maude slunk back to the Compound that evening, looking like a sulky teenager, which she very nearly was. Leliana tried to put a good face on it, and Morrigan was clearly amused. It was impossible to avoid discussing it, for Leliana insisted on making it a topic of conversation over supper.
"Madame did not know how good Maude's Orlesian is. She was very apologetic afterward for having been so tactless and frank."
"And so she should be, the fool," sneered Morrigan.
Zevran laughed a little. "This dressmaker criticized our fair leader? She is indeed a fool, and blind as well. So," he teased Maude, "you need not be cross at all the world!"
"She said," Maude began, angry at the recollection, "that I'm scarcely fit to wear clothes: I'm too tall; my neck is too long; my shoulders are too big; I have inconvenient scars. And as for my arms…" She fell silent. Not the pleasant, 'I am at perfect peace ' silence of post-lovemaking, but the "I'm getting ready to kill someone' silence that was usually the precursor of an early grave for those who crossed her.
Leliana told them, "Madame Deshabille was very critical of Maude's arms…"
"'The arms of a farm boy,'" Maude said flatly, fiery wrath lashing beneath the surface of the words. "She was very scornful indeed."
"What do you care for the opinion of a dressmaker?" Loghain asked, baffled by her evident distress. He thought Maude's strong, sculpted arms unusually beautiful.
The looks the women shot him were evidence that he simply did not understand. Morrigan seemed rather smug. Apparently the dressmaker had found her fit to wear clothes.
"So, Boss!" Oghren chuckled. "Did you ask this Madame Doesn't-Pee if you should have taken on the Archdemon with needles and pins?"
They worked hard for the next few days, or at least the servants did. The Wardens' Hall was cleared and bedchambers prepared, as they made ready for the influx of Orlesians. Maude and Ranger went down to the cellars and worked on sniffing out any hidden caches. They found one, and were inordinately pleased with themselves. Then too, everyone had to go to the Warden cache in an old warehouse in the Market District, so they knew how to find it in an emergency.
Wynne had departed from their company, and rather soon. She now had a very nice room in the Palace proper. Her relationship with Maude had faded as Maude's relationship with Loghain had bloomed. Leliana's affair with Riordan, too, was something she considered inappropriate. She stayed a few nights in the Warden Compound, and then left to be closer to Alistair. Anora rather liked her, and there was talk of her becoming Court Mage. Wynne was willing enough to join the Wardens on their patrols, but not to live with them and witness things that inevitably aroused her strongest disapproval.
For the most part, the Wardens and their companions hunted darkspawn: hunted them into the earth. The caves were cleared out: sightings had lessened to a scant handful. Loghain supposed he should be pleased, but he was certain that the enormous horde must have gone somewhere…
The three girls were certainly going somewhere, and all the time, too. They returned to Denerim from patrols, only to run away to the Market District, whispering about perfumers and jewelers, about shoemakers and bootmakers and corsetmakers. Among the three of them, they would have the Fereldan economy on its feet again in no time.
A dozen Orlesian Wardens arrived, and took up residence in the upper floors of the Justinian Tower. They greeted Riordan as a lost brother, and appeared to be completely unable to stop talking when gathered together. Their Senior Warden was a fellow named Kristoff, who eyed Loghain warily and treated Maude with respect. She, for her part, was uncommonly restrained and cautious around them: very proper and well-prepared at their briefings, and a model of good manners. She had clearly made a good impression on them.
They began taking their meals in the Great Hall, and it was all very much less pleasant and familial than before. Loghain found himself constantly assaulted with questions about what it had felt like to kill the Archdemon. For the most part, the story of how Avernus had diverted the Archdemon's essence was accepted, though Kristoff warned that Weisshaupt would ponder the matter very carefully.
At the end of the week they attended the formal audience of thanksgiving for the end of the Blight. The nobles, brave enough when there was a celebration, had slunk back into Denerim, pretending that they had been something other than useless. The people outside the Palace cheered, and everyone inside wore their best clothes and their blandest smiles. Anora and her betrothed stood up on the dais, looking like jeweler's work. Chantry Boy, in armor exactly like Cailan's, was impressively handsome, but said nearly nothing.
To Loghain's surprise, Leliana and Morrigan chose to wear gowns. Well—Leliana was not such a surprise, since she never missed an opportunity to tart herself up. Morrigan, though… Morrigan was becoming quite the fashionable lady, and he had actually heard her speak to Leliana of the amber velvet gown she was to wear to the wedding.
Maude never spoke of any such thing, and certainly did not wear a gown to the Thanksgiving Audience.
Instead, the girl wore Sophia Dryden's gorgeous blue-enameled plate, and looked, as always, entirely gorgeous in it. She was a warrior and a hero, first of all, and Loghain had always thought she looked splendid in armor; though of course she looked her best in nothing at all.
She had allowed Leliana to arrange her hair in a twisted mass of braids, with some curling tendrils in front that would be ridiculously impractical in battle. She had also allowed the Orlesian to apply cosmetics. The combination of polished face and hair seen above polished armor was peculiar, certainly, but also arresting and beautiful.
Anora expressed her gratitude to their faithful allies. The mages were formally thanked. It was not much of a reward, and Maude had told Loghain what she thought of it, but it was something for mages to be publicly recognized at all, and not cursed as monsters. The dwarves were given suitably vague promises of aid against the darkspawn. The Dalish were actually granted land in the south, near the Wilds. It was not very good land, and nobody else really wanted it, but it would be a place of their own. Besides, Anora thought that if the Dalish had a homeland, they would cease traveling elsewhere, which always stirred up trouble. Keeper Lanaya, at least, seemed gratified.
The Wardens and their companions were called forward to be be praised and thanked, and then Anora declared; "And we are most deeply indebted to the one who slew the Archdemon and ended the Blight! My lords, ladies, and gentlemen may I present to you the Dragonslayer Loghain Mac Tir: Hero of River Dane, and now Hero of Ferelden!"
There was nothing to done, but for Loghain to ascend the steps to the dais and receive the accolades, feeling like a thief. The girl was applauding dutifully, her lovely face grave. This would not do. Loghain gave Anora a grim look and raised his hand for silence.
In a moment, it was granted him. He said, making certain every man and woman in the Chamber could hear him, "I will not pretend that the privilege of saving this country was all my own. I would not be here before you today, and neither would many of you be alive, were it not for the courage and leadership of the Grey Warden Maude Cousland. It is she who gathered our allies and kept faith with her oaths. It is she whose skill at arms compelled me to become a Grey Warden. Whatever I have done was equally her doing, and let no one forget that, ever."
He put out his hand to her, and with a rueful smile and a little shrug, she walked up the steps to stand beside him. The crowd cheered and applauded again as the two Wardens raised their joined hands high, and Maude flashed her wonderful smile.
Anora did not seem displeased, and Chantry Boy was no more cranky than usual. The Grey Warden's rights to Soldier's Peak were publicly confirmed, and then Anora declared the Crown's grant of the surrounding lands, "with the concurrence of the Teyrn of Highever…"
The words, "Teyrn of Highever" raised some vocal approval, too. Maude smiled at her brother, who grinned back and gave her a little wave.
Then they were forced to mingle, always the part of these ceremonies that Loghain disliked the most. Didn't these people have homes to go to? They were praising him and thanking him and groveling to him, though with less artless sincerity than honest commoners and decent soldiers. What was said behind his back was more interesting, if sometimes utterly repugnant.
"…The Landsmeet? Entirely a puppet show put on to deceive us, my dear. The Cousland girl may look pretty in armor, but she was no match for Loghain. I was there myself, and I know what I saw. He had already decided to become a Warden, you see…"
"…She was good enough to rid us of Howe, thank the Maker…"
"…though I've learned that was done with Loghain's permission. Once he found out what that maniac was up to…"
"…The Queen is no fool. What better way to make certain her father will never compete for the throne again? She tossed in the Cousland girl to sweeten the arrangement…"
"…What I want to know is what Fergus Cousland has to say about his sister seducing Loghain into the Wardens…"
"…Well, poor girl, she did what she felt she had to do, I suppose. I always liked the Couslands, and she seems a sweet lass…"
"…She is. I only wish she'd come to me after her parents were killed. Perhaps I could have mediated before things had gone too far. Eamon was only interested in putting his foster-son on the throne…"
"…They were lovers as far back as Ostagar, I heard…Lovers' quarrels are always the nastiest. At least they made up in time to keep the rest of the country from going up in flames…"
"…What does Loghain have to say about these new arrivals? Those two Orlesians were more than enough, in my opinion…"
"…and she was living with our fine new Prince for over a year, you know. Kept him warm on cold nights, I daresay…"
"…and not only the Prince! How you seen that nasty little elf she keeps about her? Bryce and Eleanor would have died of shame…"
"…Well, I, for one, will never forget that she saved my brother! Excuse me, I think I need a bit of air…"
Loghain was beginning to feel that he did, too. He gave Lady Habren and Lady Rosalyn his hardest, coldest stares, and walked away. Confronting anyone might do more harm than good. He was relieved to see that Fergus was deep in conversation with Teagan.
To his surprise, tables were being set up, and refreshments laid out. Kegs of wine and ale appeared. He had never heard of food being served in the Landsmeet chamber, but Maude had been persuasive. He saw her smiling triumphantly, and came over to ask about it.
She was very pleased with herself. "I think it's nice. Something for people to do when they can't think of anything intelligent to say. Besides, it's just cake and cookies. Everyone likes that, and it hardly cost anything!"
"You mean it didn't cost you anything," Loghain muttered. "I presume this came from the Royal kitchens."
She nibbled a delicate meringue, and said, "Of course. I explained to the cooks that they could make a contribution to this happy day. They were very pleased at the idea."
They were bringing in the cake now, amidst "Ooos!" and "Aaaahs!" Loghain stared at it. "Surely they didn't—"
"Yes, yes!" She regarded it with great approval. "A dragon. It's meant to be the Archdemon, but people don't like purple frosting. It's not very appetizing. So it's a white dragon, with bits of pink and green. Usually they're mostly pink, though I saw one once that was sort of greenish. That was pretty." She looked for a servant. "I hope someone has the sense to take the first piece to the Queen. Or should it go to you, Dragonslayer? Neat title."
He scowled, "It's ludicrous. You've killed far more of them than I."
"Well," she sighed. "The big one is the only one that counts."
The qunari left the following day. He had stayed for the victory celebration, was pleased at the cake, and then felt he must return home to report to his superiors. Maude saw him off at the docks, and actually looked a bit red-eyed when she walked back to Loghain's side.
"I sometimes think I'll miss him most of all," she confessed as they returned to the palace. "It was so hard to understand him at first, and I had to work to get on with him. It made his friendship precious to me, because it was so blasted hard to win."
She thought a little more. "All the same, we mustn't forget that he was part of an armed scouting party that was here on an official mission to check us out. The qunari are always looking to expand."
Not too many days later, Zevran announced that he too was leaving: leaving to resolve some unfinished business in Antiva. No, he did not wish to stay for the wedding.
"Alistair—I beg your pardon-His Highness and I have never been anything you might describe as 'close.' I must go and do this—you understand? That does not mean I may not return to your chilly but ruggedly handsome country someday."
"I hope you do," Maude said feelingly. "I really hope you do. You're a brave man and a great companion, Zevran."
"And a richer one!" he smiled, flashing white teeth. "I find being a free man suits me."
"Do come back," Maude urged. "When you get the Crows sorted out, come back. You'll always have a home with the Wardens."
Loghain politely withdrew from the sentimental farewells: hugs, hand-kissing, a hearty back-slap from Oghren. He felt he was doing well simply by not sneering and rolling his eyes. The assassin had fought well and loyally, but he was a deplorable influence on Maude. The vicious gossip at the celebration had left a bad aftertaste, and anything that would lessen it would be more than welcome.
He found himself standing next to Morrigan, who had also absented herself from the tender scene. She murmured, "I once told him that he would be just the sort to interest my mother," She paused, and smiled darkly. "The sort who would never be missed."
Loghain snorted a laugh at that, and felt just the least bit more friendly to the witch.
At last the assassin was gone, and Maude was anxiously asking Oghren if he would be staying.
"For the wedding, aye. I wouldn't miss the little pike-twirler's big day for anything. After that, I'd best go lay claim to Felsi before some other bruiser does!"
"'Little pike-twirler?'" Loghain mused, warmth blooming in his heart. He really owed Oghren. He ought to give him something decent to take to his woman, if only to persuade her to keep him with her. Next to him, Morrigan chuckled.
Leliana was laughing with Riordan about the times Zevran attempted to seduce her, including one exchange when he pointed out that it had been some time since she "knocked boots."
"…Another band of trumpeters. Then, Father, you and Maude on horseback. The rest of the Blight Companions will travel in an open carriage behind you, and the Orlesian Wardens behind them. A full-sized model of the Skull of the Archdemon will be displayed next. Then another band of trumpeters, followed by Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde, followed by an Allegory of Peace and Prosperity. Another band of trumpeters, and then Fergus Cousland on horseback with the Sword of State, then Alistair and myself…"
Another one of Anora's ghastly wedding planning sessions. What Maude was pleased to call Anora's Exalted March would take the bridal party from the Palace to the Gate District, crossing the bridge that the dwarves had rebuilt there. They would travel up Gate Street to the Cathedral. After the wedding and Alistair's coronation, the procession would return to the Palace by way of the Dock Bridge and the King's Road to the Palace, where the banquet and ball would be held.
And after the wedding, the bedding…Loghain swallowed bile at the thought. It's all bearable as long as there are children…
There were consolations. Loghain gave thanks every day that the Alienage Bridge was not yet finished. Maude might point out that it would be appropriate to remember that the elves were also subjects, but riding through the sordid streets of the Alienage would not be anything Anora could consider 'festive.'
Howe was being blamed for the whole slavery debacle, and the elves themselves only seemed to remember that Loghain had stood at their gates with the girl and defended them from the darkspawn. Still, you never knew…
Maude's brow knit in a frown. "Your Majesty, if I may…My gown is not exactly designed for riding."
Anora was prepared for this, as she was for anything concerning this wedding. "Sidesaddle." She smiled encouragingly at Maude. "You will ride sidesaddle, as will Arlessa Isolde. As will I. Our gowns are designed to look particularly well on horseback. That is, after all, the way that most of Denerim will see us." She frowned a little, in her turn. "You do know how to ride sidesaddle, don't you?"
There was nothing to say. Anora was Queen, and this was her wedding.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
All was right with the world once more. Anora smiled, and continued her litany of horrors…
The men were all in armor, but with no weapons. That was protocol, but of course that meant no visible weapons. Loghain ran an eye over the milling crowd outside the Palace, knowing there wasn't a man present who didn't have a knife on his person somewhere. He was hardly an exception himself.
The Orlesians' appearance was presentable enough. They would march by twos, and seemed capable of not looking like asses while doing it. They all wore those Warden tunics that Maude liked so much. Warden helmets, too. Kristoff had promised to send for more from Orlais. Loghain sighed.
Riordan had his Archdemon scale, and it was very fine indeed, though the color had turned out a bit…well…lavender. Loghain's own armor looked much more convincingly black near it, which was all to the good. The carriage was a fine one, from the royal stables, and was decorated with flowers. Oghren was in it, snoring, while Wynne, without her staff, was trying to poke him back into consciousness.
Even Ranger had new finery. Wade had made him two collars, actually: a much heavier spiked one for battle, and the one buckled around his massive neck at the moment, studded in gold. The sight never failed to amuse Loghain.
His steed snuffled restlessly. Loghain had been given a white horse to ride, and that too, made the armor look more black than purple. Maude's smaller white palfrey was saddled and waiting.
The girl should be here by now.
Some young noblewomen were whispering as they arrived, and looked his way. Ranger perked up, and gave a friendly bark.
Oh…
Loghain shut his mouth carefully, not wishing to gape. A pain knifed through his heart at the sight of the brown-haired girl in her splendid red gown. He had once seen Rowan in a gown of that color, but Rowan had never worn a delicate diamond tiara, trembling with pendant teardrop pearls. The girl's hair had been elaborately arranged to hold the tiara securely, and with her gold demon-headed necklace and her ruby ring, her appearance was superb.
"Do I look utterly ridiculous?" she asked him, seeing his expression. "I do—I know—"
"You look beautiful," he told her, without hesitation.
"Oh," she answered, surprised. "That's—good."
It really was quite a gown. Loghain cared little for women's rubbish, but he knew she would make an impression on the city, in her crimson velvet and gold embroidery, and underneath—
"Are those boots?" he asked, rather startled.
"Aren't they magnificent?" the Orlesian gushed. "It was Maude's own idea to have them match the gown. They go past her knees!"
"Red velvet boots?" Loghain mused. "Those have to be the most absurd—impractical—"
"It's just for today, when I have to ride sidesaddle. People won't notice because the boots match."
"Everyone in Denerim will notice those boots," Loghain told her with absolute certainty. "And no man will ever forget them."
"I don't care!" the girl replied. "The boots give me a place for daggers! They're very practical boots."
Loghain, meanwhile, could only imagine the girl in the boots with all else removed. The picture this conjured, daggers and all, was formidably erotic.
Thank the Maker for plate armor, he sighed inwardly.
"He likes the boots. I can tell," Leliana said to Maude, "I told you we were gorgeous."
Morrigan rolled her eyes. "What you said," she disagreed, "What that we looked ravishing, and we ought to go find someone to ravish."
"Consider me ravished," Riordan said, with a gallant bow. Leliana giggled. Morrigan sneered.
How incredible to think that only a few weeks ago they had been sleeping on bare ground, clad in blood-stained armor and filthy linen. The three ladies before him looked like they had stepped out one of Cailan's silly legends of fair damsels. Of course they were all beautiful women to begin with, so the addition of baths and decent meals and magnificent clothing had made them just that much more lovely.
Riordan handed Leliana into the carriage, careful of her pearl-grey velvet and blue satin. She was wearing those ridiculous shoes again. Morrigan was much more self-conscious, and wore a great deal more jewelry than she strictly ought to. Loghain wondered how she could bear to go out without her staff.
As if reading his mind, Maude whispered to Morrigan, "Show him."
A narrow pocket had been sown into the seam of Morrigan's skirt. Morrigan reached down and withdrew something—not more than an inch—but it appeared to be a thin piece of bone…
Maude said proudly, "I asked Morrigan why staffs always had to be so big."
"It was an intriguing question," Morrigan granted. "Size does not matter, when the substance is sufficiently powerful, magically speaking. Twelves inches of Archdemon wish-bone," she clarified. "It works extremely well."
Loghain grunted, hiding his unease, "I'm glad two of you are armed."
Leliana giggled again. "Oh, we are all armed. Anything else would be foolish!" She gave Riordan a naughty smile and leaned over for him to examine her embroidered corset.
"I see," he laughed.
The procession was being marshaled with burning fanaticism by Anora's chosen guards. At a distance, Loghain could see Eamon and Isolde being helped onto their horses. With careful dispatch, a groom gave Maude a leg up. She expertly hooked her right knee around the pommel, and arranged her leg against the leaping horn. The groom lengthened the stirrup to fit her left leg. Then a maidservant bustled forward to arrange the endless yards of red velvet artistically. Loghain mounted his own horse, resigned to hours of ceremonial rubbish.
"Remember!" Leliana shouted at Maude. "Don't touch your hair! It's perfect!"
Once every one else was properly lined up, the Queen and her betrothed made their appearance. Quite an appearance it was. Alistair's armor shone with unholy brightness, and Anora was dressed…in gold. A lot of it appeared to be…real gold. In the sunlight she positively glittered. She was wearing one of the amazing crowns that King Bhelen had sent as a wedding present.
"My eyes," Maude muttered. "They bleed!"
"She looks very beautiful," Loghain said loyally. "Very majestic."
"She looks like a sovereign." Maude grinned at him, knowing he would catch her meaning. "Like a walking, talking, commanding-us-to-do-her-will-because-it's-her-day sov—"
"Enough!" He growled at her. "I understand what such an appearance is calculated to express—"
"So do I! I know what it means, just as I know what my appearance is calculated to express. That doesn't mean I have to like it."
The royal pair were mounting now, Anora on a white horse and Alistair on a black. It was very striking. Loghain had to admit that they made a handsome pair.
"Can our new King even ride?" Loghain sneered.
"Yes, he can ride, having grown up in a stable," Maude told him frostily.
A blare of trumpets up ahead, and they were underway.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Loghain growled quietly, "What do you think your appearance is meant to express?"
"Oh, Loghain!" She nearly grimaced, but remembered to keep smiling. "I don't exactly look like a fearsome warrior like this, do I? Not like someone who could have taken down the Great Loghain, even by brilliant cheating."
It was a fact that Anora never did anything without a reason. Never without two or three reasons, actually. Loghain disliked the idea that Anora was doing this to the girl to make him look even more impressive, but it was obviously true. He was glad he had said what he had at the reception. He would keep saying it, to preserve what he could of his honor.
The ceremony itself had been organized minutely. They arrived at the Cathedral, where grooms held the horses. They proceeded into the Cathedral, which was alight with thousands of candles and filled with the ethereal sound of the Chant of Light, issuing from a hundred voices. The Chantry had worked hard, too.
"See there!" Maude whispered, "That's Sister Justine! Doesn't she look harried, poor thing!"
It was very tiresome to stand unmoving in front of all of Denerim while the Grand Cleric gave a long sermon. At least Anora and the little pike-twirler were allowed to kneel. The one good thing was that while all of Denerim was looking at him, he could look back at them. It was very interesting to study the faces: faces happy and faces crafty and sly; faces bored, and faces admiring. In the middle of the congregation was a nice-looking woman sitting between two well-dressed elven servants. Loghain did not know her at all, and wondered who she might be. She had the look of a terrified, trapped animal, and did not seem to want to be here. And then the choir sang again. And then there were readings. At last the vows were exchanged.
It all could have been worse. Loghain was proud of Anora's beauty and dignity, and relieved that Chantry Boy remembered his responses and didn't attempt to improvise something witty instead. His daughter was once again wed to a son of Maric, and it was time to make a king of the bastard.
The crowns were a tricky point of protocol that gave Loghain a reason to be glad he was no longer in a position to dictate terms. Once the wedding was complete, a priest brought forth Alistair's crown. It was bigger around than Anora's, of course, but not so tall. It glittered quite as much, though, even in the candlelight. Loghain eyed it glumly, remembering that wonderful crown of his that had been crafted for the Landsmeet, which a thief had pilfered from his men. He glanced at Maude out of the corner of his eye. Surely not… She looked the picture of innocence. That little vixen…
After blessing the crown, the Grand Cleric presented it to Anora, and bowed. Anora moved forward, a curious look in her eye. Loghain groaned inwardly, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong...
"Ow!" A muffled protest. The crown fit him, thank the Maker, though perhaps Anora didn't have to set it on his head quite so firmly. Loghain smirked.
The girl bit her lip, trying not to laugh out loud.
More prayers, more choir. The Queen and King-Consort knelt for another blessing. Another, briefer sermon. Then more choir and they could get out of here.
The return procession did not seem to take so long. There was a great deal of cheering, which pleased Loghain, since the city still looked pretty damaged to him.
"Slim!" the girl shouted, waving madly. "I'm so glad to see you alive!"
"You don't have to solicit your admirers in the streets, surely," Loghain growled at her.
The girl refused to be embarrassed, and kept waving.
She seemed to know all sorts of people in Denerim—mostly the very dodgy sorts. He scowled, remembering the days when respectable types would have thought him a very dodgy sort. He had been a common farm boy in his youth until he became a poacher and a rebel and not much better than a bandit…
And this lovely girl had lived much the same life, scraping by as a hired sword for the City Guard and Maker knew whom else. The assassin had let slip that she had even done some work for the Crows, once they had judged her too troublesome to kill.
Surely no assassinations? He glanced at her, in between nodding sullenly to the crowd. No—surely she had. She was a fierce creature, and did not stick at bloodshed, though no doubt she would rationalize it as being for The Greater Good.
The crowd was happy and noisy, and free with their "Maker bless you, Wardens!" "Thank you, my lord!" "Always knew you'd save us, my lord!"
More annoying were the other remarks, as the populace gossiped freely.
"Wouldn't mind being a Grey Warden myself, if I could have women like that about! Handsome piece, ain't she?"
"Ssshhh! That's the Young Warden, that is!"
"Cor! No wonder they all do like she says—"
The girl gave Loghain a cheeky grin. He sneered back at her.
A young woman rushed forward with a bunch of white flowers for the girl.
"Maker bless you, my lady!" she called out. "And I hope you'll both be very happy!"
The two of them rode on in stunned silence.
Finally, the girl said, "Did we get married back there at the Cathedral? Because I don't remember it if we did…"
The rest of the wedding day was a blur. The feast was impressively organized and the food was actually good. Anora did not seem to eat a great deal, but the new King certainly could put it away.
The Wardens were an expensive crowd to feed. Loghain thought about what would be required to sustain even a small force. It was something that would need to be built into the victualing accounts. It was another reason to be glad that they would have farms paying in kind directly to Soldier's Peak.
Dancing was announced. Flutes shrilled and lutes twanged and drums pounded like a dull headache. The King and Queen performed a very slow and stately—and simple- pavane together, which satisfied the ceremonial requirements. Wynne beamed like a proud grandmother. The bridal couple withdrew to do whatever they could to produce the next heir of Calenhad. Loghain kissed his daughter, and she kissed him back, and nobody could possibly, at that moment, object to him glaring at Chantry Boy. Things got rather more spirited after that.
He probably drank quite a lot of wine. He remembered watching the girl dance down the inbred weaklings of the Fereldan nobility, and then he had a long, long conversation with Oghren about Women. Ranger trounced some other dogs, and then dozed off under the High Table.
Some fools were actually dancing the Remigold. The girl was clapping her hands and laughing at them. Loghain decided he would like to be close to her, and was heading that way, when there was a crash, girly screams, and a bull-like bellow.
"Say that again, and you're a dead man!"
Fergus Cousland was put out about something, or he wouldn't have broken the man's jaw. Oh, that was one of Bann Jerold's younger sons they were carrying out. Loghain didn't like him anyway. He looked around for the girl again. If there was a fight, and her brother was in it, then she surely couldn't be far away.
There she was, pale and rather sad. Loghain disliked seeing her like that, and decided it was time they went home. He said as much to Riordan, who was carrying on scandalously in the corner with Leliana.
"Maude looks tired. I'll take her back to the compound, and tomorrow—"
Fergus Cousland manifested in front of him, just exactly like magic. His face was nearly the color of Maude's gown, and Loghain was about to tell him so, when Fergus growled at him.
"When are you going to marry my sister?"
Loghain blinked at him, unprepared for that particular question. His brain was buzzing oddly.
"I'm not sure Grey Wardens can marry—"
"Oh, they can. There is no problem at all," the helpful Riordan assured them, gesturing like the bloody Orlesian he was. "It is not as if we have taken vows."
Leliana burst out laughing.
Fergus hissed at him, "Do you know what they're saying about her? Did you think you could keep any secrets in a palace full of tattling servants? They know. They always know, and they talk."
It was time to sober up. Right now. Loghain tried to pull himself together, and said quietly. "Neither of us is fit to discuss the matter tonight."
"Fine," Fergus agreed, narrow-eyed and truculent. "Highever House. Tomorrow. You and me."
"Agreed."
Maude slid through the crowd to them, a ripple of blood-bright scarlet. "Are you going to fight Loghain, too, Fergus?"
"If need be," he declared, swaying a little.
"Well, don't! I'm going back to the compound, and you need to sober up!"
Fergus nodded sagely, "And then Loghain and I will talk. Tomorrow."
The girl snarled at them all. "Maker's Breath! I'm going to bed!"
She was not so vexed with him that she would not answer his soft, his very soft knock. The elaborate gown was gone, and there she was in her smalls and her red velvet boots. She really was lovely, even though she had stolen his crown…
"I need you to help me," she told him, near tears. "I can't get this tiara out of my hair. Leliana must have tied it to my head somehow. I am really tired, and I want to go to bed, and I will cut this bloody thing off if I have to!"
"Sit," he ordered, his brain buzzing more quietly now.
It took time and patience, but Loghain untangled the long brown hair from the pearls and the delicate gold. Strand after strand was worked free, and, with only a little pulling, she at last could shake out her hair and toss the offending tiara in a chest.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "I sorry Fergus was being a silly old bear. Oriana never let him have more than three cups of wine. After that, he starts punching people."
"He asked me—"
"Not now," she murmured, stroking his jaw. "I don't want to talk about it now. Let's get to bed—or somewhere—and forget about today."
With all her recent practice, it did not take her long to have him standing naked in the middle of her bedchamber. He slipped off her smallclothes, letting his fingers wander until she moaned, and then he grunted, "Leave the boots on."
She pulled his face down to hers, hungrily kissing him, tasting of wine and honey cakes. He slid his hands down, squeezing her taut behind luxuriously, cupping her underneath and lifting her up as she wrapped her legs around him. Shifting her weight slightly, she wriggled down, easing herself onto him. It was awkward and exquisite all at once. To ease his way, he carried her to the wall and pressed her back against it, while velvet-clad ankles drummed at him. He clutched her tighter, nipping at the soft place where her neck and shoulder met, licking at a silvery old scar. Pleasure condensed, and he lost himself, pumping his life into her, until she bucked wildly, crying out, and they were done and sliding to the floor, entangled.
"Is it all right if I take the boots off now?" she murmured into his chest.
"Take good care of them," he rumbled, his senses blissfully afloat. "They're very practical boots."
He staggered up, and gave her a hand. Together, they stumbled to the bed. Maude unlaced the boots and put them away, while Loghain watched her drowsily, nearly in the Fade.
She crawled into bed and kissed him again.
"Somehow I think we're having a much nicer time than the King and Queen."
Loghain knew he would rather dream of darkspawn than think about that. So he did.
Note: I've always found it odd, and a bit implausible, that in the scenario in which Loghain kills the Archdemon, the PC is hailed as the "Hero of Ferelden." It seems to me that it would be Loghain (or Alistair, in that scenario) who would be hailed as the hero. Everyone loves those posthumous celebrations. No matter what Loghain has done or not done in the canon period, he has been Ferelden's great hero for thirty years. The PC has been on the scene for less than two, and most people (probably nearly everyone who had not personal dealings with the PC) would have heard really bad things about him/her from the Powers That Be. This is a traditional society, not a modern society with fast means of communication. People being people, I can't help but think there would be a great deal of gossip and ambivalence about the PC. People would question why Denerim was sacked by the darkspawn, why the PC killed or dueled Loghain, if it was true that the PC was an Orlesian agent, why the PC hadn't stopped the Blight earlier. If the PC is a woman, I'm absolutely certain there would be even more lurid gossip.
Maude's achievements are being quite overshadowed by those of the Great Loghain, and that is an issue I will explore further. It will be ironic (and a test of character) for her to accept that for most people (at least in Ferelden) she is just the girl in Loghain's story. The Dalish, the mages, and the dwarves have their own and very different opinion, but their opinions do not count with the average Fereldan citizen unless the darkspawn are actually breaking down the door.
Leliana, I thought, needed a better mission than helping establish the Sacred Ashes tourist trap to enrich the Chantry. I see no reason for Morrigan to wander off to the Frostbacks or scrape acquaintance at the court of the Empress, when she already has a powerful and influential friend who has shown herself able to protect her from Flemeth, and who is providing her with a luxurious (for her) lifestyle. Avernus' formula will mitigate the worst aspects of being a Grey Warden.
The Amaranthine plan is unsound, and I cannot believe Loghain would ever agree to it. The Awakenings scenario itself shows the Wardens forced to deal with issues of trade and administration and petty crime when they need to be killing darkspawn!