Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Takes place ten years or more after the events of Dragon Age: Origins, from the background of a female Human Noble pc who has recruited Loghain and persuaded an "altered" Alistair to marry Anora and rule as King despite his survival, and persuaded Loghain to perform the dark ritual with Morrigan. May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
Chapter Eighteen: A Future Unsettled and Undefined
Good King Alistair didn't want to hear Loghain's opinions on the matter of the likelihood of another Orlesian attack, but to his credit he did not close his mind and refuse to see and hear, as his brother almost surely would have done, at least the Cailan who was so eager to open Ferelden's borders to the Chevaliers in the first place. The worn, haggard look in his face seemed to say that he'd known all along it was too much to hope they were free and clear.
"What do you think they'll do?" he asked, dully.
"For now I believe they'll think. We took them by surprise, and they'll be wondering just how strong we are in our allies, how much support we can mount against them from dwarves and werewolves and mages. We need to use this time, My King, to strengthen our borders the best we can. Our biggest weakness is our coastline - we're shit for sailors and our 'navy' is a joke. We have a large population of unemployed, put every man jack of them with a strong back to work strengthening harbor fortifications. These are the main priorities here, here, and here," he said, pointing out Denerim, Amaranthine, and Highever ports. "If you still have resources you should do what you can here at West Hills and Gwaren. Is Old Ironsides afloat?"
The King looked momentarily puzzled, then sheepish. "She's in dry dock."
"Well get her out of dry dock and get her seaworthy. She's the only real for-the-purpose warship we've got, and while it's nowhere near enough it is at least a start. Hire mercenary vessels to patrol our waters if you can find any that seem reasonably trustworthy. Send other vessels again to Kirkwall and all the other seaports that took in Ferelden refugees and do whatever you can to bring more of them back -reinstatement of rank, full salary, whatever you can to get more soldiers on the field. Offer jobs and citizenship, too, and see if you can't lure a few of the poorer Marchers over with opportunities. There's going to be plenty of work for everyone, and we need all hands. Start courting allies, too, in the Free Marches, yes, but I suggest sending emissaries to Nevarra, far as it is. They hate the Orlesians as much as we do and have better resources to fight them. Perhaps they can't be persuaded to send us direct assistance but if they could be convinced that this would be an opportune time to strike at Orlais' western border that could only be a help to us. And Alistair…?"
"Yes?"
"It's time to stop accepting the excuses of the Banns who've shown reluctance thus far to honor their obligations to the Crown. If any of them still wish to hem and haw about sending their forces to aid their country, you need to show them what they risk by disobeying their rightful King and Queen."
Anora sipped her tea and spoke of inconsequential things, and that worried Elilia. If the Queen didn't want to get right to the point then the Queen had something up her capacious sleeve. Eventually she set her delicate cup aside and spoke more directly, though Elilia was sure she was still not getting the full story.
"I spoke to Ser Cauthrien recently. She's been in charge of my father's former Teyrnir for some time now, you are aware, protecting my daughter's interests for the day when she may take her rightful place as Teyrna. It is rather difficult to get word to and from the village with the Imperial Highway running through the Blight Lands and the Brecilian Passage often beset by werewolves, so I was eager to hear her account of how things are going there. She is rather frazzled, poor soul, by the demands of rule, though she's done admirably well. Are you aware of the changes that have come over my little home village since the Blight?"
"I've never been there, Your Majesty, but I understand that many inhabitants of the worst-hit areas fled there hoping to make passage to the Free Marches."
"And many found they could not afford it. And later many found there were no ships to be had, for once the captains left Ferelden behind they did not choose to return. The Darkspawn, for whatever reason, never turned their aggression much toward the village, and so many chose to remain there, feeling it was safer than trying to leave. They live there still. Gwaren has become rather a large town - almost a city."
"So I've heard."
"After hearing Cauthrien's report on the situation there, I have concluded, and the King agrees, that Gwaren may now require the services of a Bann to oversee the town, and take pressure off the one in charge of overseeing the wider scope of the teyrnir. It was never large enough to require more than its mayor in the past, but we must accept that times have changed."
"Bann of Gwaren," Elilia stated, tasting the words. It would be better to be Bann of a town far isolated from the rest of the nation than to be the wife of some pompous blowhard here in the center of it all.
"Cauthrien is quite keen on the idea. She is very hopeful that it comes to pass."
Elilia felt a small twinge of prickled pride at being the underling of a woman of no noble birth or official station, but swallowed it. She hadn't been a Cousland again for long enough to get uppity about such things. "Provided I'm given the time to complete the mission your father and I are planning, I suppose I would not be adverse to the idea, if Your Majesty wishes it. Am I then to be Bann of Gwaren?"
Anora's perfectly-trimmed blonde eyebrows rose into her hairline. "Maker, no. Cauthrien is to be Bann, Lady Cousland, not you. It is a far better reward for her service than the position she has now. The conferment of noble status, her own vote in the Landsmeet. Right now she has the power only to advise my vote on behalf of Gwaren. She will also not be spread so thin trying to juggle the demands of city and teyrnir. Even my father had his difficulties, and he had not the burden of a large town at his doorstep to bother over."
Elilia was confused, and told the Queen as much. "Who then is to be King's Protector of Gwaren?"
Anora waved a hand over her teacup as though she waved off steam. "The position will be dissolved. My intention is to install a proper Teyrna, provided I have that Teyrna's assurance that my daughter will be her lawful heir."
The Grand Cleric at last came before the King and Queen with word from the Divine. The old priest looked ill-pleased by the news she had to convey.
"Her Grace the Divine implores me to reason with Your Majesties," the woman said. "Sedition, she says, cannot be tolerated, but she is willing to give Ferelden a chance to throw itself upon the mercy of its Right Masters."
"Sedition? The bitch calls us rebels when we only defend our own rightful sovereignty?" Anora cried out, incensed beyond protocol.
Instead of taking affront, the Grand Cleric looked only as though she would like to add a few choice words of her own. "I fear for too long has the hierarchy of our Chantry been tied to the fortunes of the Empire. They have forgotten their just place above the petty tyrants who seek to grab power and wealth for themselves at the cost of those who are weaker than they. I cannot in good faith counsel appeasement with Orlais, no matter that my duty calls me to stand behind the word of the Divine. All of Thedas should take alarm at this precedent of the Chantry deciding the fate of free nations. The Empress and her knights and nobility believe themselves the chosen of the Maker, and set themselves to be greater than those beneath them, demigods who are free to take what they will from those less than they, as if the lower classes were less even than animals. To my way of thinking, if the Maker were truly to look down upon Thedas and decide to take a hand in the way things are run here, He would smite Orlais with both fists."
Too bad we didn't call Loghain in to hear this, Alistair thought. I think he'd jump up and kiss this woman full on the mouth.
But the Grand Cleric had more to say. "I do not wish to precipitate war, you understand. I'm sure you are as painfully aware as I of Orlais' strength of arms and resources. If they truly wish to retake Ferelden for their own then I fear greatly for the nation. I have sent a messenger to the Divine, imploring her to reconsider her position. I do not think I have much chance of changing her mind, but hopefully I can buy Ferelden a bit of extra time. I will hold her off as long as I can. If I might be so bold as to suggest, Your Majesties, it would seem to me a fine idea to seek all the allies you can muster against this impending danger. Perhaps if our armies are fortified strongly enough, Orlais will decide it is simply not worth the effort."
"Will you release the Circle to fight alongside us?" Anora asked.
"You know, Your Majesty, that the Divine has ordered all Circles locked down after the unfortunate events in Kirkwall. And the Knight-Commander is in an uproar because somehow a dozen mages managed to escape. They would be tracking these apostates now, but for the fact I have forbidden such use of manpower at this time."
That seemed to be the end of it, but a strange half-smile curved one corner of the Grand Cleric's mouth. "The phylacteries of the missing mages are here in Denerim, in a locked storeroom under the Chantry. If they were destroyed it would be a disaster, so I do hope Your Majesties will say nothing of this to any but your most trusted advisors, for fear of the unscrupulous. But that's as may be, you asked me if I would release the Circle mages to fight. There is no question in my mind that the mages of Orlais will be allowed - nay, forced - to fight if the Empress sends more forces against us, given that the untrained eye might have believed us to be aided by magic in our defeat of their first assault. I will not have our people suffer for an edict of an unjust Divine. The Circle will be allowed to join the armies of Ferelden. And if Your Majesties were able to find more of those clever souls who were able to mimic magical talent so very closely, I believe that would be most wise."
"You are not afraid of the consequences of using…mimicked magic?" Alistair asked, cautiously.
The Grand Cleric's smile was tight and hard. "I remember the Occupation, Your Majesty, quite vividly. Not all of my Revered Mothers will agree, but for myself I'd sooner risk billeting ten maleficars than one sodding Chevalier."
It was much as it had been in days long past, countless hours planning and drafting blueprints for defensive structures, setting up training programs, hearing reports on military activity. Part of him wished to be dead and not have to see this, not have to deal with all of this again. During the Rebellion he'd been a young man who could not honestly conceive of failure, and with few ties to worry him. Now it was different, he'd tasted the bitterness of defeat and knew it could be his again, and the stakes seemed so very much higher.
Every spare moment found him with the children, either enjoying their company or standing guard over them while they slept. He very seldom slept at all these days, even when he felt he needed it. There was so much to do, and so very little time. At his side always was Champion, already as dignified and stalwart a hound even with her puppyish awkwardness as a dog of many years and campaigns. Such a fine animal, a worthy successor to beloved Adalla. Their bond grew stronger daily.
Even in the face of bustling preparations, Elilia seemed perfectly optimistic. He wondered at that. Was it a brave face she wore, to keep those around her from despair? Or did she truly believe that they'd managed to land a blow powerful enough to shake the foundation of the Empire? He had to bear in mind that no matter how hard she'd toiled to prepare for the defeat of the Blight, essentially it had all come down to one grand battle - cut the head off the demon and save the world. Leaderless, the Darkspawn were no longer a threat. All of her battles, right down to the one she fought against him to end the civil war, were very much the same - prove your might to the adversary and accept its surrender. Real wars, against ordinary enemies, were a bit different. If he sent an assassin to Val Royeaux tonight to stab Celene in the heart then tomorrow there would be a new head on the snake, probably all the more eager for Ferelden blood because of it. It might slow them down, and if he had a worthy assassin on hand he might think to attempt it, but the only way to be sure and dissuade the invaders was to catch them each time they made a sortie, and crush them into the dirt. Ferelden…didn't have the strength to keep that up for long, not as they stood now. The little pouch of ashes he carried always at his belt seemed to carry also a small weight of hope. If it worked, if he could restore even a portion of the once-rich Ferelden breadbasket, if they could feed their soldiers…
They had to leave soon, no matter how dire the situation here at the capital. He took out his map once more and added a lighter outline defining the many hundreds of acres of land that could be worked but which now produced no more than stunted, withered crops that tasted bad and were likely poisoning the poor people who depended on them for their daily provender. If the ashes worked, the crops growing there now might by harvest grow strong and fruitful. If they recovered no more than that it would be a bountiful miracle indeed. If they could save the truly Blighted lands where nothing would grow, then if the nation still stood in the spring they could sow crops and pasture animals enough to feed the country and every ally they could draw into it. He still hated to leave with things so up in the air, but between the two of them he believed Alistair and Anora were equal to the task of carrying out and even improving his plans for defense.
Well, tell the truth and spurn the Black Divine, he was counting on Anora perhaps a bit more than Alistair. He was a good lad and far better as King than Loghain had ever expected he'd be, but he was still…Alistair.
He moved in darkness to Baby Anora's crib side. The little girl wrestled with demons in her sleep, and by the triumphant smile on her face she was getting the better of them. Dear little thing, she had the makings of a legendary warrior. He smoothed back her unruly curls and kissed her, and the nightmare loosed its grip upon her slumber. He covered her little, cold feet with the blankets and moved on to Duncan's bed. The boy slept peacefully, his dreams untroubled, the dark spirits of the Fade perhaps held at bay by the talisman of the fine silverite dagger that lay beside the pillow, carefully sheathed, and the mustard-yellow pup that sprawled across the foot of the bed. The boy was thoughtful and knew the value of both caution and boldness, which many of his elders had yet to learn so well. He was well on the way to becoming a just and wise King.
But no child's future was set, and there would be no future for them at all if they did not live. He remembered what the Orlesians did to the Theirin family the last time they felt Ferelden needed to be made an example of. Unspeakable tortures would be visited upon the children, and their deaths would be public spectacle. He could not bear such a cruel fate. He would not leave them to the "mercy" of Orlais. If the kingdom looked to be overthrown and there was no escape he would take his father's blade and slit their throats himself.
She slipped through the darkened streets of the lower market in a black woolen cloak, hood drawn up to shroud her face. She'd left Seanna behind, not wanting to risk her in this insane venture, and Haakon as well. The pup had begged and pleaded to follow but his white fur was a beacon. She commanded him to stay and guard Seanna.
The front doors of the Chantry were unbarred, and she slipped inside. A quick peek around the interior showed the place was eerily silent and utterly deserted, which should never be true of a place of worship the size of this. Either she was walking into a trap or the Grand Cleric had sent the priests and the old bat of a Revered Mother off on nighttime errands. If the former turned out to be the case she had her sword in harness on her back under the cloak. If it was the latter she would stand in the palace square in full light of day and declare the Grand Cleric Ferelden's Own White Divine. She slipped into the vestry and down the narrow stairs into the underbelly of the house where dwelt the Brides of the Maker.
She found the locked door, wished vainly for a moment that her training had included the fine art of lock picking or that she had thought to ask Loghain along - he probably knew a few of the more "practical" arts of survival, even though he would just scoff and tell her that breaking into locked rooms was "not my area of expertise." Leliana would have been a useful companion on this mission but she had gone back to her beloved Chantry and once more renounced her bardic training. Zevran was off somewhere waging war against the Antivan Crows. Nathaniel and Sigrun were busy in Amaranthine. With a sigh for the good old days, Elilia brought her fist down hard on the lock. The wood of the door splintered and it popped open. Messy, but perfectly adequate to the purpose. Her hand hurt, though, even through the dragonbone gauntlet. Note to self: make friends with a trusty cloak-and-dagger type keen on adventure. A good lock-picker and trap-snapper was a must on any well-organized expedition.
She more than half expected to be beset by enraged templars the moment the door was open, but the room proved as empty as the rest of the building. She crept inside and found the racks of crystal vials containing the blood of scores of mages. She read the neat labels carefully and each time she found one of the names on her list she took that vial and pocketed it. She would destroy them someplace more private, and wash the blood away. She would not leave it to pool and possibly be collected again by resourceful priests. Finally she found the most important name - Seanna Surana.
"They still have you caged, Little Bird," she whispered, "but that ends tonight."
With a brief prayer of thanksgiving for clerics who knew the difference between what was law and what was right, she hurried back out of the house of worship and into the night.