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: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, Origins DL content, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
A/N: I am so glad that I came up with this chapter. Every summer, for some unaccountable reason, I develop writer's block. The last two chapters of "The Lost Adventures" were hard to crank out, the last chapter of "In A Nearly Perfect World" was absolutely torturous. I thought for certain I was going to hit the wall. Every time I stop writing I'm afraid I'll never start again; I took a break from the craft once and didn't start again for three years. But this chapter felt like grease to the gears. It's still a bit of a slog, but things are loosening up. Here's hoping I beat the summertime blues.
Chapter Eighty-One: Rumors From Abroad
Uncle Fergus was reluctant to relinquish his odd but endearing niece when her parents came to collect her. "I have so enjoyed this time together."
"Fergus, Brother…it's time. Find a woman, make little Ferguses - Fergusi?" Elilia said. She shook her head. "It doesn't mean you've forgotten Orianna and Oren. It just means you're still alive."
"You…may be right, Sister. I will give the idea some consideration."
Harvest had much to say about her first adventures sans parents. She seemed quite happy, however, to be back in their arms. They camped twice on the way back to Denerim from Highever, and Harvest enjoyed that very much, too, particularly the campfire, which she tried several times to grab. Between them, Elilia and Loghain had strong enough reflexes to keep her from it, and neither made mention of the fact that they were less afraid that she would burn herself than the possibility that she would not.
The dogs were a tremendous help in keeping the little girl corralled. Champion and Haakon seemed to have worked out an agreement between them that they would take it in turns to chase after her and curb her wandering when her adventures took her too far from her parents. On the second night out the little girl sat making mud pies with both mabari lying at full attention to either side of her, like an honor guard. They looked like the statues that stood to either side of the royal thrones in Denerim. Not far away, with the firelight flickering on their faces, Elilia and Loghain shared a kiss.
They reached Denerim by the middle of the next morning. The group broke up and they all went to their respective homes, or at least headquarters. The Wardens had already left the group the day before, for the road to Amaranthine. Elilia and Loghain took Harvest to their Denerim home and life settled back into its usual day-to-day pattern. Eventually rumor came from across the mountains that a large number of Chantry-loyal templars had come down in favor of the Empire and shortly after that, the rumor came that Nevarra had withdrawn its support for the Revolution, probably out of fears of angering the Chantry. The rebellion itself, evidently, was still in full swing, assistance or no assistance. The problem was, without the martial might of Nevarra to back them up, the peasants of Orlais stood little chance of success.
"I feel sorry for the poor buggers," Loghain said, when he heard, "but so long as they keep it too hot in Orlais for the Empress to consider reattempting her invasion of Ferelden, I'm not going to shed many tears for them."
It was likely that things would be too hot in Orlais for some time to come, for the peasants continued to fight the only kind of war they could hope to fight against the combined might of the Chevaliers and templars; a guerrilla war. If they played it smart they could keep the Empire on coals for a good long time. And who knew? Stranger things had happened than a successful peasant rebellion against the world's mightiest empire.
Loghain and Elilia determined to stay in Denerim for an extended period. There were no children in Gwaren that Harvest could interact with daily, while in Denerim there were many children of similar status she could meet and play with, including the prince and princess. Duncan found the child rather alarming, in truth, but after a brief interval of wariness, Baby Anora embraced her younger aunt as an equal and the two were often together. Partners in Crime, as Alistair called them. Watching them exploring and learning about the world together was Loghain's personal joy.
Loghain stopped wearing his silverite glasses in front of the children: hiding his eyes while Harvest's were on display wasn't right. He needn't have worried about the children's reaction. Baby Anora did not seem to notice the change and Duncan evidently thought it most interesting but not at all frightening. Someone evidently let slip the secret of his new dragon-breath attack powers and Duncan wanted very much to see that. It was difficult to get the boy to speak of aught else.
The family opted to winter over in Denerim, and at one year of age Harvest was more than large and sturdy enough to play outside in the snow with her niece and nephew. She was as tall as Duncan, who was not small for his age. Often that winter the whole family could be found in the palace courtyard, building snowmen or staging snowball fights, the King and Queen included. Alistair took a more open joy in these outings, but Anora had a devastating way with a sneak attack that left everyone shivering with snow down their collars.
Other than these snow day expeditions, Alistair spent the winter brooding over something. Loghain thought that it might be the news from Orlais, but the boy would not speak of it. Not at first. Then in early spring he called his father-in-law to a private conference.
"Loghain, when my father disappeared, you went looking for him, didn't you?" Alistair asked, without preamble.
Loghain knew things about that two-year expedition that he'd promised never to speak of to anyone. "Yes, Your Majesty, I did."
"You never found a trace of him?"
"I found traces, but that was all. His ship sank. There were bodies. I could not confirm that any of them were Maric. I came home because the treasury couldn't fund any further searching, and I'd used up pretty much all of my own coin, too. Still, there could be little doubt even in my mind that he was dead, though I tried my damnedest to deny it. Why do you ask?"
"I have heard rumors that he may yet be alive."
Loghain laughed. "Those rumors have always existed, Alistair. It's wishful thinking. It's been seventeen years. He's long gone."
"I know, I've heard hundreds of rumors over the years. I never put much credence in them. It was, as you say, 'wishful thinking,' or so I thought. But now I don't know what to think. You know Zevran, the Antivan Crow that traveled with Elilia during the Blight? He's back in Ferelden after a brief trip to his homeland. A trip I asked him to take. Loghain, it may be true: Maric may be alive and imprisoned in Antiva."
"How sure is Zevran of this?"
Alistair sighed. "Not very. But there is an important political prisoner being held in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice in Antiva City, and the rumor is that that prisoner is Maric Theirin of Ferelden."
It was a wretched thing, to have information and to be unable to disclose it for a promise to a dead man. "I really do not think that could be possible," he said.
"I know; it seems impossible. But can we ignore it just because we do not want to believe it? I feel like we should do something, mount a rescue. But I don't know. It's no small thing to invade a nation on the basis of what? An unsupportable rumor."
"Highly unsupportable. Whoever may be held in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice, it is not Maric."
"Do you know that?" Alistair asked. "Do you have proof? Because unless there is proof, I will never be easy in my mind until we know for sure."
"Do you truly care so much? The man abandoned you, after all."
"He is my father, whether he wished to be or not. If it were possible, I should like to show him how my life has turned out, to let him meet his grandchildren. To hear from his own lips, perhaps, exactly why he left me by the wayside. But even if he were not my father, he was King of this nation. I do not feel it is right to leave him in the hands of a foreign power under duress. So I ask again: do you have proof? Because if not then I think we have to do something, even if is does turn out to be a wild goose chase."
It trembled on his lips to tell everything he knew, but he could not. And deep inside his heart something awoke, a faint starburst of hope that what he knew was wrong, that somehow, someway, Maric was alive. It was a terrible, wonderful thought. How could he answer to his old friend if he met him again? How could he defend what he had done?
"I have no proof, Your Majesty," he said, reluctantly. "What is it you suggest we do?"
"Well…I was thinking…maybe we ought to…go to Antiva," Alistair said. "Just a small party. Make a precision, surreptitious strike. In and out before they know what hit them."
"You'd better hope. Antiva is the only nation in Thedas that has no standing army. They're the only nation that doesn't require one."
"Yeeesss, that could pose a problem. Well. That's why I'm talking to you. I figure, you're the only person in Thedas who's survived more Crow attacks than Elilia, you'd have to have some insight for me into making this operation survivable."
"You want to know how to survive the Crows? Well, apart from uncommon vigilance, there's no real trick to it. You just have to be a better fighter. And keep your shield up."
"Somehow I think it sounds easier than it is. And it doesn't sound easy."
"What's life without a little challenge?"
"Longer, in cases such as this. Will you come with me? You've got the experience I need."
Loghain raised a hand in a stopping gesture. "You're not going to Antiva. You are staying here, where you belong, and sending a strike team to Antiva. Ferelden needs her King, and more importantly, your children need their father."
"I have to do this," Alistair said. "I have to go. I will do it without you if I must, but this is something I need to do, no matter what the danger."
"Why? Just tell me that," Loghain said.
"Because he's my father. The rest doesn't matter."
Loghain stared hard at Alistair, who regarded him steadily. Finally he dropped his gaze and sighed. "All right. If you need to do this, I'm with you."
"Thank you, Loghain," Alistair said. "I feel a little better about my chances of coming back alive."
"I do have one question. Are you certain you can trust me that far?"
Alistair's hazel eyes were steady and locked onto his. "Yes, Loghain. I am."