I won't lie, it had been such a big gap between chapter 48 and chapter 49, I wasn't sure there would still be much interest in Fearghal and Alistair's story. It has been very reassuring that so many people stopped by to read it and I'd like to say thank you to you all, especially those who left reviews. I never get tired of those alerts dropping in my Inbox! Thank you to my beta reader, WellspringCD, for helping me structure this chapter in such a way that it made more sense.
Fearghal sat back in his chair as Thamar and Runa cleared the table. He waited until they were finished and had left the room before leaning forwards and relating what had come of his and Alistair's visit to The Assembly.
"It's completely deadlocked and I can see no way to change that. We were approached by representatives of both Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont. They are both so suspicious that each is demanding proof of our neutrality before they will even meet with us. Grey Wardens are supposed to be politically neutral but it's looking more and more like we will have to pick a side to break the deadlock. Orzammar will only fulfil its obligations under the treaty once it has a king."
"So, Leliana, Zevran, how did you get on today?" asked Alistair.
"Oh, we had a wonderful time, Fearghal. I found the most amazing shoe shop. Of course, they had nothing to fit human feet, but they can make shoes to measure too, so I ordered a pair and picked out the most beautiful leather. It was so soft; it hardly felt like leather at all."
Fearghal stared at her and tried to think of something to say, then Leliana grinned at him and giggled.
"We also found out that Dwarves are very opinionated and love to share their opinions."
Fearghal sighed with relief and relaxed back into his chair, ignoring the muffled snort that came from Alistair's direction. He chuckled softly. "So they were happy to talk about Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen?"
"Oh, indeed. Lord Harrowmont was King Endrin's most trusted advisor, by all accounts. He was the only person present when the old King died and has always maintained that the late King was insistent that his son, Bhelen, not be allowed to take the throne."
"If, and it's a big if, Harrowmont's word is to be trusted, why would King Endrin not wish his son to inherit?"
Leliana paused to sip her wine. "Prince Bhelen is the youngest of three brothers. His oldest brother, Trian, was murdered by the middle son, Duran. Duran was banished to the Deep Roads, essentially a death sentence. In fact he was not just exiled but completely disowned and removed from Orzammar's records; officially, he never existed."
"And unofficially?" Fearghal leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table, intrigued.
"Unofficially, Duran denied killing his older brother, claiming that Bhelen was behind the murder and had framed him. There has been a lot of strong feeling because Duran should have had a trial before The Assembly, and his sentence should have been decided and approved there. No-one knows why, but that never happened. Instead, King Endrin issued the order privately and instructed Lord Harrowmont to see it done."
"Is there any way to know if Bhelen did kill his brothers?" Fearghal grimaced with distaste; he couldn't imagine wanting to kill his own brother.
"None at all." Leliana shrugged and sipped at her wine. "Strangely, no-one seems appalled at the possibility that Bhelen may have killed one brother and engineered the death of another. Apparently Dwarven politics are a cutthroat affair. What worries them more is the fact that there was no public trial and that Harrowmont was a party to that. It has made a lot of people very suspicious of him. That, coupled with the fact that there is only his word that the late king didn't wish his only surviving son to inherit. Of course, feelings may be different amongst the nobility; we only spoke to merchants and some of their customers who became involved in the discussion, and the merchants have their own reasons for wanting Bhelen to take the throne."
"What do you mean?" Fearghal reached for the bottle of wine and poured some into his own goblet.
"Wynne and Morrigan will be able to tell you more about it, but the Dwarves have a rigid caste system. Harrowmont is a traditionalist; he wishes things to continue as they have done now for hundreds of years. Bhelen, however, is much more progressive. The merchants believe that this will open up trading opportunities and, ultimately, make Orzammar richer and stronger. The few we spoke to who would see Harrowmont on the throne are not appalled at Bhelen because he's suspected of killing his rivals for the throne; if anything, that impresses them; it is more that they are resistant to the changes that Bhelen is proposing."
Wynne and Morrigan spent the next hour outlining what they had learned in the Shaperate. Fearghal found himself marvelling that while Morrigan had not had the benefit of a formal Circle education, she was adept at analysing the information that she and Wynne had gathered; unlike Wynne, she was blessedly concise and kept to the point. She outlined how the Dwarven caste system worked, how it was virtually impossible for anyone to work outside of the system, about the complicated inheritance of caste and what the implications were for anyone unfortunate to be born 'casteless'.
Zevran interrupted at this point, to tell of how he and Leliana had ventured a little way into the area known as Dust Town, where the casteless, the Dusters, lived. Fearghal was startled to see how Zevran's face twisted with disgust as he described the squalor and poverty they had observed.
"I have seen many Alienages and would scarcely have believed that there are worse places to live. Dust Town is well named, Warden. Its people live in the dust and even that dust has more value than their lives."
Fearghal found it unnerving that the normally easy-going, urbane elf was displaying his feelings so openly. Everyone sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, digesting what Zevran had told them.
Fearghal frowned as he recalled what Bhelen's man had said. "Wynne, we were told that the Shaper of Memories is related to Lord Harrowmont. The implication was that he would be biased against Bhelen. Do you think there's any truth in that?"
"I gather that all dwarves hold their clan affiliations very dear, Fearghal; on the other hand, most dwarves seem to be related to each other in some way. Inevitable in such a closed society, I suppose. The Shaperate also hold all their genealogical records. I could return tomorrow and find out if it's true."
"Thank you." Fearghal paused for a moment, thinking. "Tomorrow, the rest of us will show our faces out and about the city. I'd like us to take a closer look at Dust Town, and just explore the city generally. I think that Alistair and I need to see more of Orzammar for ourselves if we are expected to make a decision between the two candidates for the throne."
Fearghal stood and made his way to the door. As he opened it, there was the sound of muffled banging from deeper within the compound. His face brightened.
"Ah, that will be the locksmith."
"You hired a locksmith, Warden?" Zevran didn't try to conceal his surprise.
"For Duncan's office. No-one has a key."
"Tut-tut. You could have asked me."
Fearghal grinned, remembering Zevran's fumbling in Logain's office. "Really, Zev?"
"Or Leliana." Zevran had the grace to look abashed.
"I know, but I don't think either of you could have fitted a new lock, hence the locksmith." He looked across at Alistair, jerking his head. "Come on, let's go and take a look."
~o~O~o~
Fearghal and Alistair sat at each side of the plain desk, steadily working their way through the small pile of papers in the middle of it. Fearghal stifled a yawn. So far there had been nothing of any great interest, mostly accounts and some correspondence. He hadn't realistically expected to find a 'Manual of Grey Warden Secrets', but had hoped that there might be some information on how to perform a Joining, a recipe, maybe. All Alistair knew was that it required darkspawn blood and other ingredients. He looked up as Alistair grunted.
"Look at this." Alistair pushed a piece of parchment at him.
Fearghal picked it up and started to read. It appeared to be a response to a request by Duncan to recruit from among the casteless in Dust Town and was dated about six months previously, if Fearghal's reckoning of the Dwarven calendar was correct. The respondent acknowledged that the Grey Wardens did retain the Right of Conscription at this time, however it hinted strongly that the relationship between the Grey Wardens and Orzammar might need to be 're-evaluated' if the Grey Wardens insisted on recruiting from 'the dregs of Dwarven society'.
It went on to explain that Grey Wardens were held in the highest esteem in Orzammar and to be seen actively recruiting from the 'lowest of the low' could seriously damage their reputation and credibility. It went on to point out that those casteless who wished to fight darkspawn, and they were few, could join The Legion of the Dead. Fearghal looked at the name at the bottom of the letter. Lord Pyral Harrowmont.
"Well, that makes his position pretty clear." Fearghal tossed the letter onto the desk. "I wonder what The Legion of the Dead is; it sounds decidedly unpleasant."
"And he's not above threats to get his own way, either," pointed out Alistair. "He's not exactly a friend to the Grey Wardens unless it suits him, not if that letter's anything to go by."
Fearghal picked up the remaining pile of papers and shuffled through them, scanning them quickly, then throwing them down on the desk.
"There's nothing of any use here, nothing about Bhelen at all. If the man really did kill his brother... brothers... I'm not sure I want to ally myself with someone like that. I didn't like his man, Gavorn, at all."
"Well, after reading that letter from Harrowmont, I don't trust him either," retorted Alistair.
"No." Fearghal sighed, then huffed a soft laugh. "Nan used to have a saying about being as bad burnt as scalded, I can't think of a better way to sum up our situation." Fearghal smiled thinking of the fierce woman who'd been his nurse and gone on to be in charge of the kitchen at Castle Cousland.
Fearghal came to with a start, realising he'd been staring into space, lost in memories. Alistair was looking at him, across the desk, his face a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Let's sleep on it... or something. We don't have to make a decision right now." Fearghal grinned meaningfully at Alistair and was rewarded with a blush before a flustered Alistair started scooping up papers from the desk. Fearghal waited until Alistair had gathered the documents and took them from him, dropping them into a drawer. They left the office and Alistair locked the door behind them.
Fearghal heard the key rattle in the lock, noting the tremor in Alistair's hand, the flush on the back of his neck. He smiled to himself, amused by Alistair's hesitancy. He suspected it would take a while for Alistair to gain in confidence, although Alistair had already shown that passion lurked under his uncertainty. A shiver of anticipation ran through him and as Alistair turned, Fearghal pinned him against the locked door and kissed him. He felt Alistair freeze, then relax into the kiss, returning it with enthusiasm as he recovered from his surprise. Fearghal crowed inwardly as muscular arms came up and held him close, pulling him even closer, holding him firmly. Oh yes, there was definitely a deep well of passion underneath Alistair's shy exterior.
Fearghal tore his mouth away from Alistair's and set about exploring his jaw, his neck, smiling at the breathless whimpers this elicited. He felt Alistair shift so that one of his thighs was between Fearghal's legs. Fearghal heard his own groan join Alistair's as they ground against each other. There was no mistaking the fact that Alistair's desire matched Fearghal's own.
"F-Fearghal... we should... not here... someone might... " Alistair's gasping protestations were interrupted by the sound of feminine voices.
Fearghal felt Alistair tense and struggle to push him away. Feeling a perverse flicker of irritation at Alistair's obvious embarrassment, Fearghal resisted. For a moment he thought Alistair might actually start scuffling with him.
"Oh!"
Fearghal turned his head to see Leliana and Wynne standing at the end of the corridor. Leliana grinned at them, apparently unperturbed, whilst Wynne pursed her lips disapprovingly.
"We were just on our way to bed," explained Leliana cheerfully.
"So were we." Fearghal couldn't help grinning back at her, especially when he heard the strangled groan from Alistair.
Leliana nodded. "Good night, Fearghal. Good night, Alistair."
Wynne merely folded her arms across her chest and nodded.
"Goodnight, ladies," said Fearghal. Alistair's farewell was unintelligible.
As the women disappeared, Fearghal relaxed against Alistair only to be shoved away. Fearghal sighed as Alistair stalked towards their room. Fearghal followed, suddenly anxious that he'd pushed Alistair too far. Alistair threw the door to their room open and marched inside, turning to face Fearghal as he closed the door quietly behind them.
"Was that really necessary?" Alistair's voice was low, but there was no mistaking the anger in it.
"I think it was." Fearghal's voice was a low as Alistair's but he was struggling to hold on to his temper.
"Really? Putting on an exhibition for Leliana and Wynne was necessary? All you had to do was step back!" Alistair's voice was rising.
"So... what? They wouldn't know that we were kissing?" Fearghal knew he was shouting now, but was past caring. "You are not a Templar and I am not your dirty little secret! You wanted this, and I won't lie, I want it too. I won't be ashamed of it; I refuse to hide it and pretend to everyone else that it's not happening. If you're ashamed of it then maybe you need to reconsider what you do want."
One look at Alistair's stricken face filled Fearghal with remorse.
"It's not... I-I just... I do want this!" Alistair's voice was filled with panic as he struggled to find the words to express himself.
It took Fearghal only a moment to close the distance and pull Alistair close. "I'm sorry. I know why you... I do understand." He felt relieved when Alistair returned his embrace. He struggled to bring some order to his thoughts. "You just seem so embarrassed by it and... it struck a nerve."
Fearghal was horrified to find himself on the verge of tears, his thoughts full of Rory. The wrenching sense of loss was as strong as it had ever been. He shouldn't be thinking of one man whilst in the arms of another. As Fearghal struggled to master his feelings, he felt Alistair pull away slightly.
"Fearghal?"
Fearghal blinked furiously, keeping his head down.
"This is something about Rory, isn't it?" While Alistair sounded hesitant, there was no accusation in his voice. Fearghal could only nod and was astonished when Alistair hugged him close again.
Fearghal battled with his grief for several long moments before surrendering to the comforting embrace and allowing his sorrow to surface. As he cried against Alistair's broad shoulder, a part of him acknowledged the absurdity of grieving so openly for the loss of one lover in the arms of another. As on previous occasions, Alistair merely held him close, rubbing his back, making comforting noises.
Eventually, the storm of crying subsided. As it did, Fearghal started trying to apologise.
"I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from." Fearghal tried to pull away, but Alistair refused to let him go.
"Don't. I know you loved Rory. I.. I don't expect you to stop loving him any more than I'd expect you to stop loving your family."
"I know, but... " Fearghal pulled away and, this time, Alistair let him go.
Fearghal sat on the bed, wiping his face on his sleeve. Alistair shuffled awkwardly, then came and sat next to him.
"So... what struck a nerve?" asked Alistair.
"When I told my parents about my feelings for Rory... they were prepared not to push me into an arranged marriage, but they asked me to be 'discreet' about our relationship." Fearghal sighed, leaning forwards, resting his forearms on his knees. "It didn't seem like an unreasonable request, but it quickly became... unbearable. It seemed stupid, everyone knew."
Fearghal paused, thinking back to how it had been. "I used to watch Fergus and Oriana and sometimes I resented them." His voice softened. "They loved each other so much and didn't have to hide it, but Rory and I did. He couldn't eat with us, I couldn't be seen to show anything that might be construed as favouritism, he was excluded from any kind of family gathering or social occasion. I used to have to wait until everyone was asleep to sneak him into my room at night and then he'd have to leave before the servants were up. I hated it."
Alistair leaned against Fearghal, one of his hands seeking out Fearghal's, clasping it tightly. "I'm sorry. I-I'll try not to be such a... 'Chantry virgin'.
Fearghal gave him a sidelong glance and was relieved to see a sheepish smile tugging at Alistair's lips. He couldn't resist. "Well, you're not a virgin any more. And I promise I won't ask you to fuck me on the table at breakfast or anything so extreme."
He was rewarded by a deep red blush that reached from the roots of Alistair's hair and disappeared down beneath his shirt. As Alistair turned dark, startled eyes towards him, Fearghal wasn't sure if embarrassment or lust was responsible for the flush on Alistair's skin.