Thank you to WellspringCD, my beta reader, for comma wrangling, typo catching and much-needed input into this chapter. A big thank you to all who continue to read.
Teagan ushered Fearghal and Alistair into the library. Fearghal looked curiously at the man seated at near the windows, who looked back, then stood to greet them. He vaguely remembered having been introduced to him in Denerim, several years before; he was shocked by how much Eamon had aged since then. Fearghal remembered him with dark hair, barely touched with grey. It was more than that, though; his beard was full and heavy, not the light beard he'd worn in the past; his skin looked dull, it sagged and wrinkled. Fearghal wondered how much of the transformation was due to his long illness.
"Fearghal, welcome. I was sorry to hear about events at Highever. Your parents were fine people; they will be missed."
Fearghal felt as if he'd been punched in the chest. I'm never going to get used to it. He took a deep breath and gathered himself enough to mumble, "Thank you."
Eamon looked past Fearghal and regarded Alistair warily. "Alistair, it's good to see you after so long."
"Arl Eamon, I'm glad to see you up and about again."
Eamon gestured to the table. "Come, sit. We have a lot to discuss."
Eamon seated himself at the head of the table. Teagan sat to his right, Fearghal to his left; Alistair sat alongside Fearghal.
"Teagan has been telling me all that has happened while I've been ill; it is most troubling. There is much to be done, but first I should thank you both."
"I'm not sure you should be thanking me," said Fearghal.
"Fearghal, I know you did what you had to do. I grieve for Isolde, but I believe that had you not acted as you did, it might have been far worse."
Fearghal nodded, but said nothing. He'd hoped that the arl would understand his motives, regardless of his fears, but there was a part of him that had dreaded facing Arl Eamon.
"I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer a reward for your service?
"We need your help against the Blight. That will do." Fearghal understood why Eamon wished to reward him; his father would have done the same. Regardless of his personal loss, Fearghal knew his father would have been grateful for any assistance rendered to those under his care. But, still...
"I understand, but regardless of your motivations, I feel you are worthy of a reward. I would like to honour your efforts, nothing more." Eamon insisted, misunderstanding Fearghal's reluctance.
"As you wish, then," said Fearghal, not wanting to appear churlish.
"Then allow me to declare you and those travelling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls."
"Thank you, my lord."
"So, Loghain instigates civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long have I known him. He is a sensible man, one who never desired power." Eamon appeared reluctant to think the worst of Loghain.
"I was there when he was announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon. He is mad with ambition, I tell you," burst out Teagan. Fearghal was surprised; he'd never seen Teagan so agitated. The urbane Bann was usually relaxed and cheerful.
"Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped," conceded Eamon, looking thoughtful. "What's more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end."
"What are you proposing, then?" asked Fearghal.
"We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn."
"But once everyone learns what he has done..." Fearghal knew that surrender was out of the question, for him and Alistair, at least. Loghain had accused the Grey Wardens of treason; that would mean a death sentence for the pair of them. We'd be lucky to get a show trial.
"I will spread word of Loghain's treachery, both here and against the king. But it will be a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen," said Eamon, almost as if thinking aloud.
"Are you referring to Alistair, Brother? Are you certain?" Teagan's astonishment was obvious.
"I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."
"You intend to put Alistair forward as king?" asked Fearghal, as astonished as Teagan clearly was.
"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood," Eamon explained.
"It's not that simple, my lord. Alistair is a Grey Warden. In addition, he's had no training or preparation for such a role; quite the opposite, in fact." Fearghal glared at Arl Eamon. He desperately wanted to say more, but they needed this man as an ally. "Can you unite the nobility against Loghain or not?"
"That also is no simple matter." Eamon smiled coolly at Fearghal. "I can unite all those that oppose Loghain, certainly. But not all oppose him; he has some very powerful allies." Eamon spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child. Fearghal clenched his fists on his lap; hitting the arl would be a really bad idea.
"Ferelden must be united, and quickly. A civil war not only wastes time, it wastes valuable resources. We can ill afford either. Unless you have any other suggestions, I see no other way to proceed."
"No, my lord," muttered Fearghal.
"And what about me? Does anyone care what I want?" demanded Alistair.
"You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?"
Fearghal winced at Eamon's reply; he understood that Alistair hated Loghain almost as much as he himself hated Howe. He wondered if Eamon knew that.
"I... but, I... no, my lord." Alistair's voice was miserable but resigned.
"Very well, I will call for a Landsmeet. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing." Eamon looked at Fearghal expectantly.
"It seems we have little choice," agreed Fearghal. "If you will excuse us, Alistair and I need to discuss our plans for the journey to Orzammar." Fearghal stood and bowed to Eamon and Teagan. He looked expectantly at Alistair, who seemed dazed by the discussion.
Alistair came to with a visible start and stood, following Fearghal from the library.
The door had barely closed behind them, when Alistair grabbed Fearghal's arm. "How could you agree...?"
"Shut up! Not here," hissed Fearghal. He shook his arm free and marched upstairs, leading the way to his room. He had barely got the door closed behind them when Alistair erupted again.
"He wants to make me king! How could you agree to that?" Alistair was shouting, his face furious.
"Maker's cock, Alistair, keep your voice down!" growled Fearghal. "We need Eamon; we need him to think that he's getting what he wants. That's not going to happen if they can hear you bellowing like an angry bull all the way down in the servants' hall."
"What exactly are you saying?" Alistair glared at Fearghal suspiciously.
"I'm saying you're a Grey Warden. You can't be king, any more than I can be Teyrn of Highever." Fearghal paused, trying to gauge Alistair's reaction; his fellow warden was still glaring at him. Fearghal sat on the bed, waving Alistair over to the chair. He took a moment, trying to organise his thoughts.
"I remember what you said, at my Joining," he began.
"Your Joining? What does that have to do with anything?" Alistair looked startled and a little confused.
"You said, 'Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn.' I've thought about that a lot over the last few weeks. Once a Grey Warden, always a Grey Warden, right?"
"Well, yes, but... "
"Duncan also said that he would use 'any means necessary' to counter a Blight. He said it several times to me on our way to Ostagar. It was how he justified... " Fearghal's jaw clenched with the effort of repeating Duncan's words. The memory of the man threatened to ignite that searing rage that had been damped down recently.
"I know; I heard him say it several times. He didn't always like it, but he would use whatever means he could against the darkspawn. I remember having a row with him, shortly after my own Joining, about blood mages."
"Well, I think it's necessary that Eamon believes that you will take the throne. Even if you and I know that will never happen."
"I still don't understand," confessed Alistair.
"Think about it, Alistair. In one way, Eamon's right. The only way to defeat the darkspawn is with a united Ferelden. With a civil war going on, all the Archdemon has to do is be patient for a little while, then pick off the survivors. If we tell Eamon that you won't... that you can't be king, what do you think he's going to do?" Fearghal got up off the bed and started pacing.
"I don't know, I mean what could he do?" Alistair frowned, as he watched Fearghal prowling.
"He'll make peace with Loghain. What else could he do? To be honest, I could live with that if I believed that Loghain would make peace with us, too. But I don't believe he will, or even that he can at this point; it would raise too many questions. There's no way a Ferelden united under Loghain is going to back us."
"But what about the treaties?"
"I'm not sure they'll be enough on their own," admitted Fearghal.
"Okay. So we let Eamon think that I'll take the throne. What happens when we get to the Landsmeet?" Alistair looked less wary, but still unconvinced.
Fearghal groaned and sat on the bed again. "I have no idea." He sighed. "I wish Fergus was here. He could probably convince Eamon to back us, anyway. " Fearghal flopped back on the bed, suddenly weary and depressed. "I'm sorry. I was never any good at all this. All I can think of is that if we can convince the Landsmeet that we're not traitors and that this really is a Blight, we can persuade them to squabble over who rules later. Right now, they could crown Bane for all I care."
"And that's your idea of a plan?" demanded Alistair. "Maker's breath, I'm doomed."
Fearghal lifted his head to see Alistair bury his head in his hands. In one swift movement, he pushed himself up off the bed and crouched down on one knee in front of Alistair, pulling Alistair's hands down from his face.
"I swear I will not let him do this, Alistair." Alistair slowly lifted his head and looked at Fearghal. The misery and uncertainty in Alistair's eyes was like a blow. Unaccountably, Fearghal wanted to comfort Alistair. And not like a brother! Fearghal pushed the thought away. He squeezed Alistair's hands in his own. "I swear to you, I will not let him put you on the throne. I don't know how, yet, but I will find a way, I promise you."
Fearghal gazed up at Alistair and saw the uncertainty clear from his face as Alistair gave a little nod. Fearghal forced himself to stand up. "I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible. I suggest we leave for Orzammar tomorrow."
Alistair stood, nodding in agreement. "I'll go and tell the others."
Fearghal watched him leave, then threw himself on the bed with a sigh. He was utterly convinced that they needed to let Eamon think he could put Alistair on the throne, but he hadn't got the first idea how they were going to deal with that, when the time came.
He felt a flare of anger at Eamon. Grasping old bastard! Now he decides that Alistair has a responsibility to Ferelden? If he hadn't been sent to the Chantry, Alistair would still be grooming his horses! Fearghal couldn't explain why he felt so protective of Alistair; it was more than the brotherhood of being Grey Wardens. He groaned softly. When he'd looked up at Alistair, had seen the misery in his face, he'd wanted to hold him. Not just hold him... Fearghal felt a flare of desire and pushed it away. Alistair wasn't a man to 'seize the moment', as Zevran had put it. Moreover, he had made his preferences plain and they didn't include Fearghal, or men like him.
Scowling, Fearghal got up and started stuffing his belongings into his pack.
~o~O~o~
Alistair propped his pack against the wall. He felt tense and restless; he had no idea what to do with himself. Packing his belongings had kept him busy for too short a time; now his panic was rising again. He couldn't believe that Eamon wanted to put him on the throne. He'd been told for years that he was nothing, nobody; now all that was to be swept aside. I don't want to be a king; I'm a Grey Warden. He moved over to the window and stared out. Below him, some of Redcliffe's knights were sparring in the practice yard. Alistair watched them, his thoughts in turmoil.
He wanted to believe Fearghal, he really did. There was no doubting the sincerity of the words he'd spoken. 'I swear to you, I will not let him put you on the throne. I don't know how, yet, but I will find a way, I promise you.' They had been said with an intensity that had convinced Alistair that Fearghal meant what he said. But, while he didn't doubt Fearghal's sincerity, he wasn't so sure that Fearghal could keep his promise. After all, they'd both learned, the hard way, that sometimes events overtook intentions.
Alistair flung himself away from the window, bristling with tension. On an impulse, he threw the door open and went down the passage. He stopped in front of Fearghal's door and knocked.
"Alistair." Fearghal looked surprised to see him. "Is everything all right?"
"I just... all this... do you want to spar?"
"Sure? Is splint mail all right, or are you planning to kill me?" Fearghal cocked his head on one side, grinning.
"Mail will be fine; I'm saving you to feed to the Archdemon."
"Before or after you become king?" Fearghal smirked.
Alistair felt his anger flare at the jibe. "I'll see you down in the yard in ten minutes," he growled.
Alistair could hear Fearghal chuckling as he strode back to his room. I'll show him! Alistair grabbed his pack and pulled his splint mail out. Alistair was sick and tired of being pushed around, subject to other people's whims. He was angry at Eamon and he was almost as angry at Fearghal. It was all just words. All his life Alistair had listened to other people planning his life out for him; live here, live there; be that, now be this. I've had enough!
Alistair finished buckling his armour, grabbed his shield and made his way down to the practice yard. Fearghal was already there, at the sword rack. Alistair marched over to the rack and picked out a sword, swinging it, testing the balance in his hand; it would do. He saw Fearghal decide on a sword, then he turned to Alistair, his eyes alight.
"Let's make this interesting. Loser gets to be king." Fearghal grinned at Alistair, almost laughing.
Alistair struggled to hold on to his temper. He didn't reply. Instead, he slipped his shield onto his arm and went to the centre of the practice yard.
Fearghal followed him, grinning. "Ready when you are."
Alistair didn't bother to reply; he charged. He heard Fearghal's grunt of surprise as the charge sent him staggering back. Alistair didn't give him time to recover; Fearghal got his shield up just in time to block the blows that rained down. Alistair pushed forward with his shield and felt the resistance as Fearghal found his footing and steadied himself, digging his heels in. He looked up and saw Fearghal's eyes narrow, the grin replaced by the feral snarl that Alistair had seen so many times on his face.
Attack, block, attack, parry. Alistair's vision narrowed as he focused his anger on the man in front of him. The yard rang with the clang of clashing metal, under laid with the dull thuds as blows were blocked with shields. Neither man noticed the other knights cease their own sparring and move out of the way as they made their progress up and down the yard. First Alistair had the advantage, pressing Fearghal back, then Fearghal steadied and pushed back, forcing Alistair to back up, then the tide turned again.
Alistair saw Fearghal stumble slightly as he backed off and punched forward with his shield as hard as he could. Fearghal tried to keep his feet, but Alistair punched forward again, swinging his sword at the same time. Fearghal tried to bring his own sword up to parry the blow, but the movement overbalanced him completely and he fell backwards. Alistair stood over him and lowered his sword so that the tip rested against Fearghal's throat.
"Do you yield... your majesty?"
Fearghal stared up at him for a moment, then laughed. "I yield." He held his hand out and Alistair grasped it and tugged him to his feet.
"So, do you feel better after that?" asked Fearghal.
Alistair felt the heat flood his face. "I'm sorry, I just felt so... "
"I know. Believe me, you don't have to explain it to me. I meant what I said, though. I'll find a way out of this, or die trying."
Alistair stared after Fearghal as the other man went over to the weapon rack and replaced his sword. Fearghal grinned at him as he turned and started to cross the courtyard towards the steps.
"You've really buggered up Fenwick's sweepstake, you know!"
Alistair knew he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut. He dragged his eyes away from the retreating warden as the Redcliffe knights crowded around him, offering their congratulations.