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.
Chapter Eighty-Six: Home
Maric's physical recovery was rapid - too rapid to be explained by Seanna's expert magic. She strongly suspected the man had been given a surreptitious dose of the Sacred Ashes at some point when no one was looking. He remained desperately thin, but his respiratory infection, and the many ailments of poor nutrition, cleared up within the next few days and he was stronger and healthier than she'd ever expected he'd be again. Neither he nor Loghain said anything about it, however, and an exchange of looks with the latter individual made her keep her mouth shut. It seemed he did not want his old friend to know yet about the miracle he was in the keeping of.
"He'll tease me unmercifully," Loghain growled to her without further explanation. It was enough.
Maric spent as little time below decks as possible. Whatever the weather, he could be found at the rail, breathing deep of freedom. Even when they dropped below the warmer latitudes and the south wind blew up shiveringly cold, he merely bundled himself into warmer clothes and enjoyed the taste of fresh air.
"I thought it was always quite chilly in the dungeons, but I guess I must've gotten used to Antivan weather," he said, teeth chattering.
"You'll acclimate. Lucky for you it's summer," Loghain told him.
"Yes. This is hot, for Ferelden," Alistair added.
"It's sad that I had to be told that," Maric said.
"You're too thin. Once we get some meat back on your bones the cold won't bother you as much," Loghain said.
"Mm, meat. Speaking of meat, could we eat, soon?"
At Seanna's suggestion, Maric was to eat six small meals a day, instead of three large ones. After some initial gorging, he settled in to eat each with a reverence that spoke of long years of privation. Even something as simple and homely as a coal-baked potato was a meal to be savored. Loghain watched his old friend rediscover the joys of freedom and felt that his once-lucky sovereign had paid for all that good luck at one massive blow. Well, at least it was over now. With the Maker's grace perhaps it marked the end of Maric's ill fortune.
The weather was decent as they made their way south. It rained often, but the storms were seldom dangerous. The further south they traveled, the less rain they received, and the winds began to blow warm and dry. It was laborious sailing, for the prevailing winds were southerly, but Isabela was an experienced captain and the ship moved with all available speed. Still, it was longer than a month before the lookouts shouted "Land ho!"
It was the northern coast of Ferelden, the white Cliffs of Conobar. They would not land there: the ship turned east to travel the coastline to Denerim, many miles distant. But they would be in sight of land for a good portion of the remaining journey, thanks to the narrowness of the Waking Sea between Ferelden and the Free Marches. Maric watched his nation slip past with rapt eyes that had never thought to look upon it again.
"It's actually rather pretty, from a distance, isn't it?" Isabela said, joining him at the rail. "I mean, get closer and you notice it could use a nice fresh coat of whitewash, but that's every place. You're almost home, Your Majesty. How does it feel?"
"I can't believe it. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up in chains, in that god-awful mask." He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the scent of Ferelden. "But you smell that? That's real. Timothy, clover, and dogs."
Isabela chuckled. "I think you're smelling those damned mutts that have been pissing up my ship."
"Ha. Maybe so."
"It must be nice. Coming home, I mean. You spent a long time in a dark place, White Man."
It was Maric's turn to chuckle. "I'll admit, I could use to lay out in the sun for a few…years…but I'll fit right in in Ferelden. What about you? You're Rivaini, aren't you? When's the last time you were home?"
"Hmm, if I told you that you could figure out how old I am. Not going to happen."
"You're not old. But I bet it's been a long time, hasn't it? You look like someone who hasn't seen home in a long time."
"Yeah. It's been a long time. Not sure I'd even call it 'home' now."
"Do you live in Ferelden now?"
"Sort-of. I guess. It's not a bad place, as places go. The Kings are folksy."
"Ha! That's what they tell me."
"The sea is really my home," Isabela said. "So…I guess I haven't been gone long at all."
"That would be rather nice. To travel all over the world, and never leave your home. I guess that's like carrying it with you. I tried to carry mine, but after awhile, the memories got a little heavy. I'm glad to be coming home, though. I've had more than my fill of adventure and I'm ready for a nice, peaceful stroll to the grave."
"Ew."
"Hey, I didn't say I was ready for it now."
"Well, if you hang around that Loghain character too much, you'll get the grave but none of the peace."
"Is he still that bad? I might have expected being a grandfather might calm him."
"Ha! From what I hear, the Dragon is still a force to be reckoned with. You should hear some of the things he's been up to recently. Oh! And just wait 'til you see Denerim Harbor."
"What's changed about Denerim Harbor?"
"Oh, lots. The docks were rebuilt after the city was partly destroyed during the Blight. A nice overhaul to a waterfront that hadn't been updated for a couple of thousand years. But that's not the surprise. You'll just have to wait and see."
"What, not even a hint? Cruel. Let's see…it has something to do with Loghain, right? But what could Loghain possibly have to do with Denerim Harbor? Don't tell me: he created an armada of iron-clad ships."
"No, there's just the one. Thus far that's been all Ferelden has needed."
"So the Wallowing Loghain is still afloat, eh? Astonishing. I've never seen a less seaworthy tub."
"That tub destroyed a flotilla of Orlesian warships, Your Majesty."
"Did it, now? I bet Loghain was happy. He loves that stupid boat."
"There's sandbars ahead. I'd better man the helm."
"All right, Captain. Nice talking to you."
Isabela returned to the wheel and Maric returned to a silent contemplation of the shoreline. He saw the docks and walls of Amaranthine glide past, and then the ship left the Waking Sea for the Amaranthine Ocean. Denerim was now only a few miles away. To clear the rocks that partially enclosed the bay, The Siren's Call II pulled out into open water, leaving the land behind. As the bow of the ship turned west and pulled into sight of land again, the two strange pillars he'd been watching resolved themselves into vaguely human shapes, and finally into titanic statues. He ogled them, stunned and awestruck at first, until he realized just who he was looking at. He collapsed on the deck in a fit of helpless laughter as the ship ploughed through the water under the watchful gaze of the Guardian Statues, Loghain and Elilia.
"I wondered how he'd react," Alistair said.
"I didn't," Loghain said, sourly.
The reason for the King's voyage was not generally known, and by clever maneuvering they were able to keep the secret up until the special Landsmeet was called. On that day, the nobility gathered in the Landsmeet chamber with nervous energy caused by the mystery of it all, fearing some potential catastrophe. When Alistair announced the reason for his departure from the country, an audible sigh of relief mixed with a degree of disappointment went up. Everyone expected, by Alistair's solemn expression and by common sense in general, that this venture had been unsuccessful.
"Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, it does me great honor to present to you King Maric Theirin, restored."
Maric stepped out from behind the throne, dressed in a fine suit of clothes that did a bit of lying about the state of emaciation from which he had not yet recovered. With his severely-cropped hair gone mostly gray he bore little resemblance to the King of old, but the Landsmeet caught and held its collective breath as he stepped forward.
"Lords and Ladies…old friends, and those with whom I have not had the honor of acquaintance," Maric began. "I stand before you by the grace of the Maker and the strength of King Alistair. Long live King Alistair."
There was much yet he had prepared himself to say, but he was unable to say it. The Landsmeet erupted in cheers and whistles and loud huzzahs. A chant went up from the assembled, with even the guardsmen posted at the doors adding to the clamor by clashing their spears and swords as they chanted along.
"Long live King Maric! Long live King Maric! Long live King Maric!"