"Ave rex, moriturus te salutat!"* a raspy voice greeted me when I strode into the cell, radiating kingliness. Alright, who am I trying to fool? There was nothing remotely kingly about this situation. I hated being here. I hated being forced to make the decision I had to make. I hated being king... What? I keep repeating myself? Whining won't change a thing? Ugh. You sound like Mrs. Couldry, you do.
"Greetings?" Greetings my ass! "This is no courtesy visit." The light of my torch fell on the miserable figure crouched in the corner of the dark, cold cell in the bowel of Fort Drakon. Ironically, it was the very same one Suri had inhabited when captured by Ser Cauthrien. "Maker's Breath!" I gasped, stumbling backwards, already calling for a healer. "Blast it, Zevran! Why didn't you tell them what they wanted to know?" I handed my torch to the man at my back while carefully examining Zevran's injuries and assuring him help was on the way. I had come here with the determination to show no sympathy or mercy when informing the captive of my judgment, but the sight of the elf had my voice waver with pity. In the flickering light of the torch, he hardly resembled a humanoid figure anymore and... let's just say it was horrible to look at him and I'll spare you the details, okay? My self-righteous anger and hatred melted away instantly. I hadn't ordered him to be tortured but obviously Eamon and Teagan had taken matters into their own hands while I had been rolling around in bed with Rori.
"I did give them every piece of information I had. Alas, they did not believe there wasn't more. I'm afraid I had to disappoint them," the elf croaked, offering what probably was supposed to be a smile. He failed miserably. His usual merriness sounded forced. No surprise. I'd have curled up and bawled my eyes out in his place. "Why have you come here? To see me on the ground begging for mercy? Well, here I am and I do beg. I'm not ready to die. Isn't it strange? No matter how miserable life is, it is still worth living... When I accepted the contract to kill Suri and you I wanted to die. I did not expect to survive a confrontation with two Grey Wardens..."
"As I recall, you referred to us as easy targets," I huffed.
"You didn't expect me to admit I was clearly inferior, did you? I have a reputation to maintain!" the elf replied with a smirk. As much as he still could smirk with his destroyed face. With enormous effort I fought down the urge to apologize to him for the inconvenience of having been tortured and tossed into the darkest cell one could possibly find in Fort Drakon. I had to remind myself of his victims and that Zevran had tried to murder me several times—and next to being hopping mad, I still felt utterly sorry for him. I hadn't known you could despise someone and still feel sympathy for them. I guess you learn something new everyday. "It is a useful strategy to make your opponents believe you are stronger than you actually are. Turn yourself into a legend. It helps scare those away who are tempted to stack the deck against you. You should give it a try."
"Good advice? From you?" I snorted, sulking because he was right. Without my display of weakness and indecisiveness, the nobles might not have teamed up to replace me. "Suri should have killed you when we first met you," I grunted.
"Alas, she did not. Instead, fate offered me a possibility I hadn't dared to dream of and Suri showed mercy I certainly did not deserve. I was lucky. Brasca," he cursed, heaving a heavy sigh. "I guess this time I run out of luck. I am going to die. The only questions left are when and how." He quirked his eyebrow questioningly.
Oh, so it was my turn now. Wisdom and justice, here they come!
"In the Deep Roads by the hand of darkspawn in thirty years, give or take. With a bit of luck, that is. It could also happen much, much sooner..."
Zevran's jaw dropped, or what was left of it dropped. Briefly I wondered if it was due to the rather miserable condition of his face but the stunned silence betrayed him. Haha! For the first time ever, I had shut Zevran up effectively. Booyah!
"Alistair, my foolish friend," Zevran said slowly after he had recovered from the shock. "Are you saying you wish to recruit me for the Grey Wardens?"
"Oh, that would be foolish indeed, wouldn't it? You tried to murder me. I have to use your execution as a warning to show I am not the pathetic weakling everybody believes me to be. Even you advised me to act like a hardliner. What would the conspirators think if I set you free? To pardon you is beyond question, you understand?"
"Absolutely," Zevran confirmed.
"But this fellow here..." I gestured at the man in the background, still holding the torch and shifting his weight uneasily. "Warden-Commander Caron used the Right of Conscription to recruit you, didn't you, Commander?" I elbowed the Orlesian Grey Warden when he just gaped at me, then at Zevran, then at me again. I glowered at him as menacingly as possible. I should have borrowed Mrs. Couldry's ladle. It had proven to be a quite useful decision-making aid.
"Um... oui... yes..." Caron muttered reluctantly. "That's what I did. It was my idea. Nobody suggested anything to me. All my idea." He insisted, convincing no one.
"Commander Caron came to me at the break of dawn, kicked me out of bed as it were." Pointedly I glared at the Orlesian.
"It was very early indeed," he grumbled, hardly stifling a yawn.
"And the Commander said: 'This man, Zevran, he is experienced in fighting darkspawn. During the Blight, he fought darkspawn day after day. Ferelden is short of Grey Wardens. We do need any reinforcements we can get, considering the state of Amaranthine.'"
"That's exactly what I said," Caron confirmed lamely.
"He spoke with ardor and he had good arguments," I added. "Alas, I had to deny his request even when he beseeched me..."
Caron grunted, regarding me sullenly while he scratched his unshaven chin. Everything about him screamed: Too early!
"So he went: 'Your Majesty, you leave me no choice but to evoke the Right of Conscription on Zevran Arainai.'" I sighed heavily. "What could I do? My own father, King Maric, had given the Grey Wardens this privilege. Who am I to disregard my father's decision?"
"Alas, Alistair, my royal friend, there was nothing you could do," Zevran agreed, sounding much more like himself again. "That also applies for me. The Grey Wardens are very much like my last employer— you just don't turn their offer down. When they say you're in, then in you are."
"C'est vrai." Caron muttered when I kicked his shin. "Bienvenue chez les Gardes des Ombres, Monsieur Arainai."
"You have such an incredibly sexy accent, my knightly friend," Zevran purred. "My life is yours, my deadly sex god!"
I rolled my eyes in undisguised amusement. I bet he even flirted with his torturer. Something like 'Oh, you have such a long hard tool, my sadistic friend. Do you intend to use it on me?'
Caron stared at the elf in shocked disbelief. Haha! Priceless. Well, he would get used to Zevran somehow, someday.
"Very well, now that is settled..." I rubbed my hands contently, clapped Caron's back and nodded at Zevran. "See you at Vigil's Keep."
"Your Majesty certainly has better—more important—things to do," Caron protested.
"Believe it or not, I can decide myself what is and isn't of importance," I deadpanned. Caron didn't like the prospect of me looking over his shoulder, as though it didn't sit well with him to be told who to recruit. The Grey Wardens had always been independent. Not mingling with politics guaranteed their independence. I had come to understand that too late. My intention when giving Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens was to honor them, show their importance and make sure they had the needed strength to stand against whatever the darkspawn would come up with next. So much for that theory. In reality, I had forced the Grey Wardens of Ferelden to become a political force in a moment of complete aberration and now had to face the music. Mrs. Couldry always said we all make mistakes. Even kings. Anyway, I wasn't going to sit idly by and wait for Caron to mess things up. That was my job after all!
"As you wish, your Majesty," Caron grunted, bowing stiffly before he turned on his heels and marched off.
"This is an unexpected turn of events," Zevran remarked as soon as his new boss was gone. "I'm not sure whether your mercy is a punishment worse than death or yet another chance at life."
"It's what you make of it, I guess. In my case, I'm not sure whether this is a wise decision or a foolish one. Unfortunately—unlike you—I have no influence on the results anymore." I was taking a great risk with the assassin. If he survived the Joining, he could decide to come back to me and finish what he had begun. "You already know what it means to be a Grey Warden. Kinda. To travel with them is still different from being one, but you have the basics."
"You could have me executed," the elf insisted. "You could have had your revenge— and guarantee your safety. Yet you chose to recruit me for the Grey Wardens. Why?"
"I'm trying to do the right thing for Ferelden. That's what good kings do, right? At least Wynne kept telling me that. And Suri. Oh, she would go on and on about what kind of king she wanted me to be. Mrs. Couldry and Rori, too. Eamon, Teagan... Everybody keeps reminding me what it takes to be a good king."
"I see."
"What? Did you expect a more personal explanation? Something about the good old days or how we fought so valiantly together? I would have gladly killed you like I killed Loghain. But other than the satisfaction of the moment, there was nothing to gain from Loghain's death. He could have been useful. I have come to realize that the hard way." For my part, I was done talking. I didn't want to discuss my personal life or inner musings with Zevran. I wanted to be done with him and move on before I changed my mind and went back to my original plan of tearing his head off with my bare hands. One problem solved, another one to deal with. I had left Rori asleep in her bed. With a bit of luck that's where I would still find her when I returned to the palace. Without farewell I turned to the door, stopping when Zevran called my name.
"Alistair!"
"What is it now?" I groaned.
"Thank you. You will not regret your decision."
The sincerity of his tone made me pause. This was Zevran, the master deceiver. Was he luring me into a false sense of security? Or had he truly changed his mind about killing me? It was impossible to guess. "You're full of surprises, Zevran," I said tiredly. "Hopefully this is the last one. You'll just have to forgive me for not believing a thing you say."
"Alas, it seems I have to prove myself worthy again," Zevran mused merrily.
"Whatever," I muttered, squeezing past the healer who had finally arrived and at the sight of his patient's condition began to curse loudly.
On returning to the palace I wondered whether Zevran would make it. The Joining could very well end his life—or his former employers, both the Crows and the conspirators, could feel tempted to make an example out of him. He was like a cat, though, always landing on his feet and with nine lives. I was pretty sure I had made the best of this situation. Still, I craved revenge. There was a huge gap between the logic of my mind and my sentiments. And I certainly didn't abide by Mrs. Couldry's 'but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also' platitude. It didn't sound very wise to me, though Mrs. Couldry made it sound like it. I guess, as an elf you had hardly any possibility to strike back, so for her it made sense. For me as king... I preferred a strong punch right to the face. Although I had never regarded the life of a Grey Warden or the constant fight against the darkspawn as a punishment myself. I had chosen this way of life for Zevran. It had given meaning to my life and I had felt at home amongst my brothers in arms. For Zevran, however, it would be active repentance. I had no intention of doing him a favor. It was all about what was best for Ferelden.
On entering Rori's room, I tripped over her boots. Blasted curses of a thousand misfortunes! Why did she have to leave those lying around everywhere?! With a loud thud, I landed on my hindquarters, knocking over a pile of books and the—thankfully empty—chamber pot in the process. So much for a silent entry.
"Alistair! Are you hurt?" Rori asked worriedly the same time Mrs. Couldry croaked: "A tidy house, a tidy mind. You really should clean this room, girl."
Oh... aha... Rori out of bed and Mrs. Couldry in the house. This was not going as planned... Blast!
"It's not messy in here," Rori protested lamely as she helped me back to my feet. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose snotty, dried tears stained her cheeks. She turned away when she felt my eyes on her.
"Hey Puck, what's wrong?" I asked gently, reaching out for her. She shrugged my hands off her shoulders, fleeing to the other side of the room where she stood at the window, staring into the park, her arms safely wrapped around herself.
Uh-oh, what was going on? I had come here with every intention of making her cry but someone beat me to that unpleasant task. Who and why, that was the question. Why I wanted to make her cry? I had to. I had to end this between us. It was for her own good, although I never expected her to share my opinion on the matter. I had to protect her! I loved her so much I would rather rip my own heart out—and hers—than lose her for good like I had lost Suri.
"Err... Mrs. Couldry... what are you doing here?" I inquired, hoping for some insight. "Room service?"
"Secret Service," the old elven lady replied smugly, twirling her ladle around. "The Bannorn is bringing charges against you, son. They won't come here to Denerim for the Landsmeet, however. They meet at West Hill where your father was defeated by treachery. That alone is an impertinent affront." Mrs. Couldry snorted disgustedly. "You cannot stay in Denerim, your Majesty, and wait for the outcome of this meeting. Those who are undecided about which side to take can only be convinced by the presence of their king. They force you to come to them and thus mark you a target."
Aha! Same shit, different day. More problems ahead but certainly not the reason of Rori bawling her eyes out.
"But I am needed in Amaranthine!" Not a single second did I believe Caron could deal with the situation. Alright, I also didn't have much faith in myself, but this was my kingdom after all and I was still a Grey Warden and thus felt responsible for any darkspawn threat. In my opinion, darkspawn were always more threatening and worse than political games. Unfortunately, I was pretty much standing alone when it came to reason. My dear vassals thought six months after the Blight was just the right time to kick the king off the throne. There wasn't yet enough chaos, I suppose.
"Amaranthine has to wait," Mrs. Couldry decided. "This is a serious situation. It could lead to yet another civil war. You have to prevent it."
"Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure."
"We cannot just take out the nobles opposing you," Mrs. Couldry instructed me. "You don't have the strength to attack them. At the moment, I daresay more nobles stand against you than side with you. An open confrontation would be a disaster for this country."
"All right... so any advice on how I should possibly convince them I'm their man? Blast, I'm not even convinced myself!" I groaned, slumping down on the bed. Mrs. Couldry and Rori looked at each other. The old lady pressed her lips to a thin line. Rori burst into tears again. "I so won't like this, right? You've already jumped to a conclusion and I really so won't like it. Why is Rori crying?" Why didn't she allow me to comfort her? Why did she keep her distance? Maker's Breath! "Stop beating around the bush. What is all this about?"
"You need allies," Mrs. Couldry declared matter-of-factly. Like a miniature general, the tiny old lady occupied the armchair in front of the fireplace, tapping the arm rest with her ladle. "I suggest a marriage with Arl Wulff's daughter, Jane. Give Gwaren to Levi Dryden. I believe it's time for the Dryden family to be rehabilitated, wouldn't you agree, your Majesty?"
"Huh?" I had hardly listened to her. I had stopped paying attention after "a marriage with Arl Wulff's daughter, Jane". No surprise Rori was bawling her eyes out. No matter how often I had spelled it out for her, no matter how often she had acknowledged the difficulties of our relationship, in her heart Rori had always hoped I would be her fairytale prince. And I—though I kept denying it—had hoped for her to become my queen. One day in a better future. She was the woman I loved and I didn't want any other. Stupid, I know. But, well, I had a dream, you see, and it was turning into a nightmare. Last night after the disastrous encounter with Zevran, I had briefly tried to convince her to leave Ferelden, go on some diplomatic mission I had to make up in order to protect her. I wanted her out of the line of fire. Unsurprisingly, she had refused my request. She was as stubborn as a mule and as loyal as a Mabari. So, I had begged her to stay away from me, to keep her head down.
"I'm in too deep already. You made me Arlessa of Denerim. I cannot act as if I wasn't part of the political game. I am right there on the game board and I'd rather decide for myself if I was a pawn or the..." Defiantly she had met my eyes. "... well, any other... piece."
It was a shame, but it was neither her nor my decision. We were thrown onto the board randomly, fate dictating our position—and it certainly was no sucker for romance.
"I... no... I don't want to..." Absolutely I didn't want to break up with Rori, but I had to protect her at all costs. I couldn't see any other way and had dreaded the confrontation with her, knowing what I had to do, although it was the last thing I wanted... This seemed to become the motto of my life. I never got what I wanted. Now, Mrs. Couldry had done the dirty work for me already I was wavering between anger and relief. The little speech I had composed in mind had become obsolete. Mind you, it wasn't such a big loss. Mostly it was me putting my foot in my mouth. You know how I used to handle situations like that with deft brilliance. Thus, I was thankful for being spared to live through that utterly devastating situation. It had not been my words that made Rori cry. It hadn't been me to tear her heart to pieces. It was a no more but a small comfort.
Another decision being taken away from me made me downright angry, though. Yes, yes, I know, I keep whining about how I'd rather have others decide for me. That doesn't mean I'm always happy when I get confronted with such decisions. I guess I'm hard to please. I don't know.
"There's no other way, Alistair." Rori's voice cracked. She blew her nose, using one of her rainbow-colored striped socks she picked up from the floor. Mrs. Couldry's ladle-arm twitched but the poor girl was in such a miserable condition, the old elf abstained from whacking her. I myself was close to tears and quickly wiped my eyes when I thought nobody was watching. I stood there, rooted to the spot. Like the day I had broken up with Suri. I had marched in and held my speech while everything inside of me screamed at me to embrace and kiss her. It was the very same now, and again I couldn't make myself move. I mustn't.
"You need Wulff's support," Rori croaked when I didn't react, just stared. "Blast it, you need any support you can possibly get! We have to end... this... whatever we have... now." Tears streamed down her face. It was heartbreaking. I wanted to comfort her and whisper to her everything would be alright to reassure her and myself while I held her tight. I wanted to tell her I love her with all my heart—minus the part still reserved for Suri. Okay, I wouldn't have told her that. I'm not stupid. Not all the time. Holding out her hand to stop me Rori retreated, returning to staring out of the window. "Please, Alistair, it's the only way to keep you safe."
Funny. I had come here to protect her and now found myself protected by her. So not going as planned.
"I'm afraid more nobles are part of this conspiracy than we thought," Mrs. Couldry agreed. "One of my informers was found dead this morning. And I have lost contact to several others. There are no elven servants present during the investigation. At the moment we are blind and deaf—we do not know what our enemies' plan. The nobility was advised to leave them at home and to rely on the human staff. There are rumors you, your Majesty, are a half-blood in Orlais's service. They say you side with the elves to overthrow the human supremacy. They say you and Surana killed King Cailan and set the darkspawn onto Ferelden to weaken it. They say you plan alienages for humans. The rumors have reached the streets. Several elves have been attacked by angry citizens already."
"Oh come on! Nobody can possibly believe that nonsense!" I snorted. "This is ridiculous!"
"All you need is a talented demagogue to rile up the people. Especially in times like these," Rori muttered sadly. "We should stand together and help each other. Instead, men looking for their own profit incite the people to turn against each other. You've seen it happen during the Blight; it's happening now."
"Who?" I asked with deadly calm.
"Franderel."
"The pudding man!?" I laughed out loud. "Whenever he speaks his chins wobble like pudding," I explained when Rori and Mrs. Couldry blinked in confusion. "He is... so full of hatred—and of himself. His mum seems to have forgotten to teach him some manners. He shouts insults at anybody. He even dares to insult war heroes! During the siege of Denerim, Franderel wasn't even anywhere close to the battlefield! Health issues, he claimed. But he has the nerve to diminish the sacrifice and struggle of the soldiers by blaming them—and me—of deliberately and cowardly delaying the attack and thus being responsible for the fast destruction of the capital! He accused the Dalish of cursing the soldiers with their wild magic and striking them with fear. Oh, I could on and on. He's been going on and on for months, rubbish spilling from his mouth whenever he opens it. He is noisy but hardly ever says anything that makes any sense. And he lies like a trooper! He is my main opponent? Oh come on! That's a walk in the park—even for me!" Judging by the look on Rori's and Mrs. Couldry's faces, it was more like a walk in the Dead Trenches.
"People listen to him," Rori said unhappily.
"But... why?" It was totally beyond me.
"The Maker only knows, son," Mrs. Couldry sighed.
"Whoa! Wait a minute! You say, these measures—they are my only option? I need some time to let this sink in... I do not want to marry Jane. I barely know her!" And what I knew already wasn't thrilling me in the least. She was a nice, mousy woman. I had hardly talked to her while the bachelorettes occupied the castle. She just faded into the background while Rori... oh she was outstanding! "I have to talk to Rori first. I have to tell her..." I had to tell her how much I loved her. That I would love her for always and forever and would never forget her. That she was the wife of my dreams. I wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, ravishing, lovely. And funny! Oh boy, she made me laugh. She brought joy to my life! All that flowed into these three little words: I love you.
"She is informed about anything she has to know. This is not your choice anymore. Eamon has arranged a meeting with Wulff. He and Lady Jane should arrive at the throne room any moment," Mrs. Couldry cut me short, suffocating any attempt to speak to Rori in private.
"He did WHAT!? How could he without conferring with me on the matter?" I exploded.
"He did so on my advice." Mrs. Couldry lifted herself of the armchair to whack me with her ladle, silencing the stream of obscenities flooding for my mouth. "Language, son! Have faith in the Maker, he will guide you in these dark hours."
_
*Zevran greets Alistair with "Hail, king (rex), the one who is about to die salutes you." referring to the famous greeting gladiators offered the emperor of Rome before fighting in the arena: "Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant" - "Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you."