Sorry, this took quite some time to write. I hope the next one won't take as long. Thank you so much for reading.
Marika Haliwell - Geez! Just how do you know such things ;) Love you, too. Hope you enjoy this one.
doristhechanger - Oh, I won't stop. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you like this one.
22. The Point of No Return
My heart heavy with dolor, I stared out of the window of Lady Jane's bower, my reflection staring back at me pale and hollow-eyed. The last weeks had taken their toll and I couldn't get rid of the feeling of being caught in a maelstrom. Even now when I was invited for tea, my cup resting on the small table between my betrothed and me untouched, I couldn't relax. Next to the door, a chaperone had dozed off in her armchair, her knitting had slipped off her lap. Jane exertedly tried to make conversation, a one-sided affair as I failed to take part. My brow furrowed, my eyes fixed on the gate at the far side of the court; I was occupied with my troubled mind.
One week since Mrs. Couldry had taken Rori with her. One week without a word. The plan Mrs. Couldry had introduced to Rori and me had been quite simple: Both women would enter Franderel's estate as members of the kitchen staff—jobs they had acquired thanks to Mrs. Couldry's contacts. We all knew they had to act quickly afterwards. One because I was running out of time; two because Rori couldn't last five minutes in a kitchen without giving away her complete inability to master any kind of chores. And all Mrs. Couldry offered when asked how they intended to get past the soldiers guarding the premises was: "Time will tell, son."
Next to being worried out of my mind about Rori... What? Worried about Mrs. Couldry? Not a bit! Bad weeds grow tall! But Rori... Maker watch over her! I couldn't even endure the mere thought of losing her.
Anyway, Rori wasn't the only reason for losing sleep. There was Franderel and his absurd accusations of course, and the Grand Cleric showing she was clearly tempted to side with him. And the cherry on top was Warden Commander Carron's decision to take the children of Amaranthine nobles hostage because he had heard through the grapevine that some nobles planned to have him assassinated. His way to handle the threat was to threaten them in return. Of course, Franderel mercilessly used this incident against me, and I had a whole lot of hopping mad parents amongst the nobility suddenly deciding to join Franderel because of course, I was responsible for Caron, the Orlesian peacock I had invited to rule one of the wealthiest Arlings of Ferelden.
Doom!
DOOM!
I was formulating a letter in my mind telling Caron to set the children free and deal with the matter in a less drastic way. I was seething with anger, worried out of my mind for the children, and kept ending up with: SET THEM FREE, YOU SODDING SON OF A BITCH OR I'LL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THE ASSASSIN WILL FIND HIMSELF UNEMPLOYED!
Oh I wished I could ride to Vigil's Keep and kick Caron's ass all the way back to Orlais, but I was stuck here in a matchlessly absurd political game. I was grimly fantasizing about shoving Caron into the Deep Trenches—and Franderel and his whole lot—when Jane's monotone voice suddenly took on an urgent tone that finally caught my attention.
"Your Majesty," she gasped distraughtedly, setting her cup down to wring her hands instead. Confusion, sadness, despair all written over her normaly expressionless face. "Would you like it better if I... wore fancier dresses? Maybe I could do something with my hair..." Unhappily she pulled at a strand of her mousy brown hair.
Oh blast!
"No, no, Jane, you don't have to change who you are for me!" I exclaimed, giving Jane my undivided attention—for the first time ever since I met her. Of course, I knew she was unhappy. She was following me around like a kicked puppy, but with Franderel breathing down my neck and Rori gone, with Caron starting a bloody vendetta, Jane didn't even appear on my to-worry-about-list.
"You do not love me," Jane observed, tears welling from her eyes.
I was taken aback by her question. I knew nothing about my future wife except that she blended in perfectly with her silent manner and unspectacular looks. She was no one to take notice of. She had never given me the slightest hint that she was feeling anything for me at all. To me, she seemed an obedient pawn of her father's political game. She would have married an ogre without complaint if it had suited Arl Wulff's goals. "Well, do you love me?" I retorted defiantly.
"It's a wife's purpose in life to love and serve her husband," Jane answered stiffly.
"That's not what love is about!" I protested.
"So, you know everything about love, don't you?" Jane asked angrily. It was the first time ever she showed any emotion apart from her silent endurance. It suited her quite well.
"Not everything, no. But I know what love feels like for me." Ever since Rori and I had broken up, I had locked my emotions away. I had buried my own heart, built strong walls around it to suffocate my feelings for Rori. But now, when I tried to find the words to explain my emotions to Jane, the walls came crumbling down and I found myself overwhelmed by the purity and strength of my love. Grinning stupidly, my voice trembling with emotion, I went on: "Love makes me as light as a feather, I feel like floating and whenever I think of the person I love, I grin like a fool because my heart is flooded with so much warmth I want to jubiliate and sing and dance and tell the whole world how wonderful and ravishing, how amazing and adorable my love is." I paused, grinning from ear to ear as Rori's image poped up in my mind, her bubling laughter, the sparkle in her dark blue eyes, the myriad of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks, the chaotic mess of curls, framing her lovely face... "When she is with me all my sorrows and pain fade. She chases the shadows away and brings light and color to my life..."
"You are right. Neither do you love me nor I you," Jane interrupted sharply. She bit her lips, staring at me gloomily for a moment.
"Forgive me. It was inappropriate to mention my... err... my... um..." Maker, how did I always manage to put my foot in my mouth, boot and everything?
"Your mistress?" Jane offered coolly.
"We've broken up before you and I got engaged," I said lamely.
"But you still love her?"
"Believe it or not, I cannot switch my emotions off as though snuffing out a candle," I huffed defiantly.
"I suppose I should be grateful for your honesty." Jane sounded hurt and rather offended. "Well, you aren't the only one with a secret passion!" I didn't ask what hers was, much to Jane's dismay. I was sick and tired of playing games. With angry little sips she drank her tea, glowering at me over the rim of the cup before setting it down forcefully. Then she opened her mouth, closed it again, cast a scared look at the sleeping chaperone and finally, when she had made up her mind, bent forward, murmuring: "Can you keep a secret?"
Oh, now that was unexpected.
"My lips are sealed," I promised, realizing how lonely and desperate she had to be when she chose me out of all people to confess to.
"To be honest," she whispered hoarsely, her eyes darting towards the snoring chaperone at the door once more. "I don't even want to marry you—or anybody else." Shocked by her own bluntness, she bit her lips, strictly looking at the empty cup she kept turning in her hands. "I appologize, your Majesty. I didn't mean to insult you."
"No offense taken." I chuckled. So she wasn't as servile and obedient as she wanted everybody to believe. Good for her. "Anyway, if Franderel wins, there won't be a marriage for you to worry about," I muttered.
"He won't win," Jane said.
"I wish I had your confidence."
"The Grand Cleric is a wise woman. She is immune to his lies," Jane preached.
Not to his bribery, though. Tonight—tonight the Grand Cleric would decide my fate. It was a matter of life and death. I wondered if Jane realized the danger I was in and that she would have to desert the sinking ship as quickly as she had boarded it, just in case.
"Then what do you want to do?" I asked, smiling reassuringly at Jane when she stared at me, her expression wavering between embarrassement, fear, and the impulse to confess her dreams to the stranger that was meant to become her husband.
"I... I want to become a scholar!" she finally gasped, leaning across the table in a conspiratory manner. Her eyes glittered with excitement. "I want to study and read and discover secrets. I want to gain knowledge and explore the world... or at least explore Haven." She blushed when confronted with my undisguised amusement. "Yes, I know, it is very silly..."
"Not at all! Jane, I do not laugh at you. Your dreams aren't silly at all." Actually I was glad to find there was some livliness inside of her, that she wasn't just the puppet she seemed to be. "And you could still be a scholar as queen."
"Seriously?" Jane exclaimed giddily, her cheeks flushed. She was actually rather pretty when she didn't wear a face as long as a fiddle. She wasn't a classic beauty, her nose was too long, her jaw too strong and broad. A bit of soulfulness, however, worked like magic. She seemed like a different person.
"Sure, why not?"
"I've never thought it would be possible!" Jane cheered. "Brother Genitivi chose me for his new apprentice!" she added with pride. "I've lived at the chantry ever since my mother died," she offered as an explanation. "I would have happily spent my life there. It was so peaceful."
I groaned. Peaceful, yeah. You could also call it incredibly boring. "It used to get so quiet at the monastery that I would start screaming until one of the brothers came running. I would tell them that I was just checking. You never know, right?"
Jane frowned at me disapprovingly. "That was very childish behaviour," she scolded me.
I shrugged. "The look on their face was always priceless." Jane's sour expression wasn't as amusing. "Anyway, no need to give up your dreams just because you're going to be loaded with me for the rest of your life."
"It is an honour to be chosen as your wife," Jane answered stiffly and the moment when I had been allowed to glimpse the real Jane was gone. She returned to acting acoording to the script her father had indoctrinated her with. At least she had realized that marrying me wasn't the end of the life she wanted to live. It was a relief for me, too. I wouldn't have wanted her to be unhappy. It was one less thing to worry about. The list still was endless, the pressure overwhelming.
"Yeah, whatever." I returned to staring out of the window and to my gloomy thoughts. I could feel Jane's eyes on me, regarding me thoughtfully. It made me squirm uncomfortably. "What?" I snapped unnervedly.
"But what about your dreams?" she asked with more concern than I deserved.
"Kings don't have dreams, it seems. They have nightmares." The hopelessness of my voice made me shudder. Teagan had told me how troubled my father had been about being king. It seemed I had more in common with him than I had ever expected. And yet people referred to him as Maric the Great.
"You are a good man. A good king," Jane said softly as if she had read my thoughts.
I pressed my lips to a thin line to stiffle a bitter laugh. Jane certainly deserved better than me. I could have tried but my heart belonged to someone else and I didn't have anymore strength left to pretend. "You have no reason to say so."
"You listened to me." Jane explained. "And you don't tell me what to do. You don't laugh about my dreams. I've felt so lonely and sad and desperate ever since I left the monastery..."
"It seems we have more in common than I thought. Two more and we can start a quartet and call it The Lonely Hearts Club Band," I quipped. Jane frowned at me in confusion. "That was a joke."
"Oh," Jane said without amusement. "I do not understand. What's funny about it?"
SIGH.
Before I found myself forced to explain my admittedly rather lame joke, Bann Alfstanna burst through the door and startled the snoring chaperone out of her sleep and into hysterics.
"Your Majesty!" Bann Alfstanna cried, almost as hysterical as the chaperone. "Finally I found you! Franderel called for a meeting. He claims he has highly volatile information about you that will eliminate your claim to the throne, no matter your heritage! Everybody's already gathered in the great hall!"
"Blast!" I muttered. Franderel obviously had no intention to wait until tonight. Did he know my allies were trying to compromise him? Or was this just another outburst of his uncontrollable temper? Whatever the reason, I was in deep shit trouble. I had nothing to counter his attack without the evidence Mrs. Couldry was supposed to equip me with. Plan B? I didn't have a plan B. And the ladle-swinging bard was nowhere to be seen.
Doom!
DOOM!
"What kind of information?" I demanded to know as I hurried after Alfstanna, Jane following on our heels. She couldn't say, but the smug grin Franderel greeted me with when I burst into the room bode ill—as did the fact that the doors were shut and locked at my back. I made out Franderel's soldiers at all tactically critical spots in the hall. It was a trap, and I had walked right into it. There was no escape. This was it. The final confrontation.
"The puppet king finally graces us with his presence," Franderel sneered, his nasty voice raising above the chaotic ruckus of the pugnacious nobles. I had no clue what Franderel had up his sleeve, and by the look on Teagan's face, he didn't know either—and he was worried. It could have been nothing but a whole lot of rather smelly hot air. It could have been a mighty fat explosion. Whatever Franderel had planned, I wasn't meant to leave this room alive. Well, I wasn't too concerned about a fight. Others had planned to murder me before, and I could already see my allies preparing for the danger they, too, had recognized. I just prayed Franderel's sneer had nothing to do with Rori. Everything but losing her I could handle. Believe it or not, in spite of everything, I managed to keep my expression under control so that my worries and fears did not shine through. I am just a natural talent when it comes to looking stupid and clueless.
"Meetings with the nobility of Ferelden about the future of this beautiful nation seem to be of no importance to him," Franderel bleated. He was standing so close to the Grand Cleric that he made her quite uncomfortable. But whenever she inched away, he would follow. Yeaaaah, right. In case of a fight, hide behind the priestess—it is highly unlikely she would become the target of violence... "Once I am king, it will always be Ferelden first..."
"You mean like when you stayed home during the siege of Denerim?" I dead-panned and was rewarded with one of Franderel's infamous tantrums at once. That guy had absolutely no sense of humor.
"Liar! Total loser! You're a fake!" Franderel trumpeted. "This kingdom needs a real man for a king—not some impotent wannabe!"
"We're not talking about the size of your hands and what this tells us about the size of your private parts again, are we?" I groaned in exasperation. What was wrong with this man that he felt it necessary to point out he had a large penis over and over again? He for sure was a huge dick, I gave him that much.
"This..." Franderel looked me up and down, contempt and disgust all written over his fat face. "... this IT. That is no man; it cannot have an heir. It lacks what it takes to be a man..."
"Whoa! We've already discussed this and NO! I am not a magically altered woman called Alice. And NO! I am not going to show you my... um... manly parts!" I snapped, rolling my eyes.
"There's not much there to show anyway," Franderel sneered, his two chins wobbling as he laughed.
"That's it? That's what you have brought us here for? The old 'he is no man' nonsense again?" Teagan growled.
"I make for quite a pretty queen," I grinned. "I'd even put on a dress. But it would have to be a pretty one."
"Come to the point, Bann Franderel," the Grand Cleric said icily, once again trying to shake Franderel off by putting me in between him and her. The bann followed and found himself blocked and face to face with me—and I was for sure the very last person he wanted to be close to.
"As I said, it cannot have an heir," Franderel shrieked, showering me with spittle and malice, his face red, bloated and glistening with sweat. "This nation does not need a king too weak to sire an heir. The Theirin line will end with this... thing. It lost its maleness when it became a Grey Warden. Grey Wardens cannot have children. With a Grey Warden king, the kingdom will find itself bereft of a leader after his death. We want stability—not yet another civil war over power. This is a dead end!"
Oh fuck!
FUCK!
"Is this true?" the Grand Cleric said sharply across my shoulder. "Your Majesty?"
"Err... well... actually..." Blast! Where did Franderel get that piece of information? It was one of the things the Grey Wardens kept secret. The shouts and sneers, the heckling and boos... it had all died down. You could have heard a pin drop while I stood there in the middle of the crowd with everybody's eyes on me. I looked around at expectant faces, their expressions wavering between fear and hope, contempt, victory and defeat.
"There are Grey Wardens known to have children after their Joining but it is a rare occasion," I admitted truthfully. "So indeed it is difficult for a Grey Warden to have an heir..."
"He admits it!" Franderel hopped around gleefully, clapping his fat hands. "He admits it! He's impotent! He cannot be king!"
"I did say no such thing! I said..." Not that anybody listened to me any longer.
"LONG LIVE KING FRANDEREL!" someone from among the crowd shouted, his cry echoed by many throats.
Franderel threw his arms up in a gesture of victory, his followers cheered, the royalists shouted their protests, the Grand Cleric called for silence, I was caught in a maelstrom of disbelief, shock and defiance—and then with a loud CRASH, the huge double doors were unhinged.
A huge creature, almost as broad as it was long, grey, and massive stomped in, followed by a wrinkled white haired mage with shining blue eyes.
"Oh, I hope we do not crash a party," the old lady chuckled. "You can all calm down; we mean no harm. I'm afraid the door stuck," she added nonchalantly when Franderel threw a fit about the destroyed door as if this were his castle, not Wulff's. "Alistair, my dear boy, it is so good to see you again." Ignoring the hopping mad bann, the old lady gave me a motherly hug—and pinched my cheek.
"It is in trouble," the massive creature observed as soon as it caught sight of me, its booming voice easily drowning out the startled cries of the assembled nobles "Is anyone surprised? Anyone?" It thankfully did not hug or pinch me.
"Wynne!" I laughed with heart-felt relief. "Shale! What are you doing here? I mean, I'm glad you're here but how? ...Why?"
"I thought you could use some extra support." Rori emerged from behind the golem.
"Rori!" I gasped, grinning foolishly at her. "Where have you been so long? What have you done?" I had so many questions and none could be answered right away while everybody and their dog was eavesdropping.
"Believe me, I've got some really good stories to tell and you will hear them all in time," Rori grinned. Maker's Breath! Her beaming smile was like a ray of light in the darkness. Despite the quite hopeless situation, I now felt myself inspired with confidence—until Franderel shrieked and hopped up and down like Rumplestiltskin: "I am king! I am king! This loser cannot be king! He's not even a man! I am a real man! I have..."
"Oh dear! Not the big hands thing again," Rori groaned.
"HE'S IMPOTENT! HE'S NOT A MAN! HE CANNOT HAVE AN HEIR!" Franderel screamed at the top of his voice, his face bright red, his hair a terrible mess wavering around on his fat head.
"Hang him!" voices rang from the crowd. "Kill him!" Others roared: "Justice for Loghain!"
The yelling stopped when Shale mused aloud: "I feel an overwhelming urge to crush some skulls like grapes."
"The kingdom needs stability. A king who cannot sire an heir..." The Grand Cleric said into the silence.
"Blast," Rori muttered under her breath. "That probably means Mrs. C's friend couldn't gag Commander Caron before he could spill the beans."
"Caron!" I breathed. "But he's a Grey Warden!"
"One with a shitload of gambling debts," Rori added.
"Fuck!" I groaned.
"Don't worry," Rori reassured me, but she didn't look too happy. "Nothing is lost. I didn't mean to spill the beans in public. I wanted to talk to you first. I guess, it's not possible now Mrs. C failed to keep the lid on your secrets."
"So you have a plan B? I won't like it, will I? What is it?"
"Um... oh well... you know... Alistair, the thing about the spirits of the Fade and how they... you know... err..."
Meanwhile Franderel's ranting and raving about my manliness had not stopped. But even he had to breathe once in a while. That's when Wynne took her chance to step in for me while Rori still hemmed and hawed and I got more and more confused with every minute passing.
And where in the name of the Maker was Mrs. Couldry!?
"Alistair is a good man. He can be a good king. He could change the world and make it a better place," Wynne interfered calmly, a voice of reason in a world gone crazy. She hadn't yet learnt that reason was a blunt blade when truth didn't matter anymore. "History has taught us many times that an heir is not a guarantee for stability."
"We have to make Ferelden great again!" Franderel roared. "We need a real man..."
"Alistair is a real man! He has no such problems!" Rori gave up on breaking the news gently to me. I was still clueless, but at least Rori seemed to know what she was doing. Her fists clenched at her sides, defiance written al over her face, her stance unwavering, her chin stretched forward, she stepped forward, challenging the ranting bann. "I know...," she declared, her voice clear and proud. "... because... because I am pregnant and Alistair is the baby's father!"
Doom!
DOOM!
"WHAT!?" I squeaked into the dead silence that followed her confession.
"I really wanted to tell you, but..." Rori shrugged helplessly, offering a sheepish grin.
"Maker! Rori!" I gasped while the Grand Cleric demanded to know: "Is it true?" I looked from Rori to the Grand Cleric to Franderel and felt awfully dizzy. Maker preserve me! Didn't this brave, silly girl realize she had just signed her own death sentence? Franderel would never allow her to live, not with a possible Theirin heir in her womb that could become a threat to his claim on the throne. If he won, I died—and Rori would die with me. But she stood there and insisted I had impregnated her... Maker! Didn't she see the danger she was in?
"Is it true?" the Grand Cleric repeated.
"She is pregnant," Wynne confirmed.
"Yes, but did His Majesty sire the child?"
And spotlight on King Alistair.
"It... I... um... er..." I stammered. What should I do? There was no way to communicate with Rori. I tried to catch her attention by wiggling my eyebrows, coughing, pulling faces but all I got in return was her staring at me with fierce determination. I couldn't let her down. And I couldn't let her doom herself and the baby.
DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
"Well?" the Grand Cleric asked impatiently.
"I am. I am the father of the baby." I blurted out, hoping beyond hope I hadn't sealed Rori's fate with my confession.
"It is not a legitimate heir!" Wulff shouted same time Franderel screamed "Liar!" his face as red as a tomato. "She's a whore! She's like a bitch in heat! She's a crazy nympho! Anybody could be the father of her baby. It could be some mongrel, street scum. She fucked the murderer of her parents..."
At that point, Rori, her brother Fergus, and uncle Angus—all hopping mad and seething with fury—roared "Duel!" in unison. Fergus took off his gauntlet to throw it down in front of Franderel, but Rori snatched it from his hands and instead slapped Franderel hard across the face with all the strength she could muster. Blood spluttered from Franderel's nose, he squeaked like a pig, scrambled backwards to hide behind the broad-shouldered knights supporting him and from a safe distance, with his hand pressed against his bleeding nose, he shrieked: "Duel to the death!"
"With the greatest pleasure," Rori hissed, flexing her fingers like claws. "I take it you are not man enough to fight for yourself?"
"I won't stoop so low as to duel scum like you personally," Franderel snorted with utmost arrogance. "Alwin Ceorlic will fight for me!" Franderel shoved one of the knights forward, Bann Ceorlic's eldest son, a formidable swordsman. Rori just grinned nastily and lept forward as quick as a lightning. Franderel shrieked and scrambled backwards, stumbling over his own feet in his hasty retreat, his fat face contorted with fear—and Rori hadn't even touched him. She used her momentum, turning her dash into a graceful pirouette, flic-flaced back to her original position and flipped Franderel the bird on landing.
"Bitch!" Franderel spat, showering everybody close by with spittle. "Stop laughing! Stop laughing at me!" he screamed at the crowd while some of his supporters pulled him back to his feet. "You sons of bitches! Dogs! Traitors! I will ruin you! I will make sure your names get erased from history..."
Charming
"You exceed all my expectations, Bann Franderel," Rori said grimly. "So much for stooping to never before seen lows." There she was, five feet and three inches of pure, tremendous girl power, having Franderel tremble with fear. "All bark and no bite. Spite and malice, but no grandeur. You better step back, Franderel. We wouldn't want you to get accidentally hurt while a little girl beats the shit out of your bully."
"You don't intend to fight yourself, do you?" Fergus was shocked by the mere thought.
"Of course I do!" Rori growled.
"No way, young lady!" her uncle droned, shoving her to the background.
"I will represent Lady Rori," I announced quickly, stepping forward into the circle formed by the spectators while Rori was still arguing with her brother and uncle who should stomp Franderel's representative into the ground.
"I can very well fight for myself," Rori snapped in a huff.
"I know," I said with a soothing smile. "I do not doubt your skills, Puck. But you are with child. Your mission is to protect the baby. And my mission is to protect both of you."
My declaration was rewarded with a warm, loving smile from Rori and some Awwws from the present ladies. Arl Wulff wasn't impressed, though. Quite the contrary. "How dare you! This is a defamation I will not tolerate! Jane is your betrothed and you defile her by defending this whore! I will not support you any longer..."
"Father! Shut up!" Jane snapped, her face glowing with anger. She pulled her father away from me as he began to shove me.
"Jane! This is no way to talk to your father!" Wulff complained, shocked to find his obedient daughter to have turned into a seething valkyrie. "I am your father and I know what is best for you..."
"No, you don't! And I won't have it any longer!" Jane exploded. "Stop conditioning your support for Alistair on our marriage! You cannot seriously side with Franderel just for your own personal profit! The outcome of this trial is too important for Ferelden to base your loyalities on you bearing a grudge!" Turning from her slack-jawed father to me, she added: "King Alistair, my prayers are with you."
"Save your breath. The Maker himself couldn't help him anymore," Franderel sneered. He was in high spirits. No surprise as he had Ceolic to put his head on the block for him. If I won, Ceolic died in place of Franderel. If Ceolic won... well, you get the picture. The pudding man took no risk while I risked everything. "Kill him! Kill him!" Franderel cheered his duelist on and his followers joined in the chant.
What? Yeah, sure, I could have let Rori's brother or uncle fight for her. Teagan would have volunteered, too. It would have been easy for me to push someone else to the front, but then I wouldn't have been any better than Franderel. Just because Rori and I claimed I was the father of her baby didn't mean anybody had to believe us. Franderel had called me a liar so often, had told them so many fake stories about me, that I had to show them that I was the honorable one—the brave, the honest guy. It was time for a little less conversation and a little more action.
Ser Alwin didn't take my hand when I held it out for him to shake before the duel. Instead, he attacked right away, wielding his sword like an axe. The blade ripped the sleeve of my shirt when I threw myself sideways in the last nick of time and crashed onto the ground. And there it was... During this brief moment when I lifted my head right before I jumped back to my feet I glimpsed the very last creature I had expected to meet here. It was the size of a small dog. It had the ears of a rabbit, the snout of a pig and it wore a red hand-knit pullover. I only saw it for the blink of an eye but I could have sworn it scurried after the Grand Cleric being led away by a tiny old elf with a ladle sticking in the band of her apron...
"Schmooples?" No time to wonder about the nug. Alwin's sword collided with the stone floor, slicing a wisp off hair of my head as I rolled away and hauled myself off the ground. Spinning around I blocked Alwin's next strike, launched into a riposte and with a whirl of quick blows forced the knight to retreat.
Franderel's man was riled up by the scrupulous lies and false promises of his master. Blinded by his own hatred and consumed by his envy, he fought with brutal force, putting all his strength into each of his blows.
My own incentive was to protect the woman I loved and our unborn baby. In addition, I had to save a kingdom from falling into the hands of a complete lunatic. Oh, yes, and of course I also wanted to stay alive.
Ser Alwin had caught me napping when he had attacked me without going through the formal rites of a duel. His buddies were already celebrating my defeat. It was for his advantage, but it soon turned out I was the more experienced swordsman. He grew tired quickly and that's when the wraith of the just came upon him in form of King Alistair Theirin, the one and only rightful king of Ferelden! I dodged most of his blows, danced around him to avoid the confrontation, searching for one opening in his defense. This wasn't how templars usually fought; it was a type of fencing I had learned when sparring with Leliana and Zevran during the Blight, and with Rori afterwards. Experience—that's what you get for broadening your horizons.
"You fight like a little girl!" Alwin bellowed when again I evaded his attack.
"You haven't seen many girls fight, have you?" I laughed. "They'd kick your sorry ass."
With a loud roar of fury, Alwin lunged forward—and past me when I sidestepped and slammed my sword at his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. Wielding my shield, I knocked him off his feet, his head colliding hard with the stone floor, the impact knocking Alwin out instantly.
Yeah! Eat that!
"Now that this is settled..." I sheathed my sword, stepping away from the unconscious knight.
"It's a duel to the death! It's not over yet!" Franderel shrieked from the back rows.
"Alwin is knocked out. The fight is over. I won't murder a helpless man," I informed him.
"You're not man enough to kill him!" Franderel sneered.
"And you're not man enough to take his place," I snapped angrily.
"It's not over! You back out of the fight! You lose! Scumbag!" Franderel shrieked, unaware of most of his followers having fallen silent. Some even stepped away from their so called leader.
"Bann Franderel! Behave yourself!" the Grand Cleric ordered sharply on reentering the hall with Leliana at her side. WOOT! The Nightingale was in the house. Rumors had it she was on friendly terms with the Divine. There was no better choice than her to break the news about the fake tears and Franderel's manipulative intrigues to the Grand Cleric.
Wynne, Shale, Leliana—Mrs. Couldry had sent the cavalry to save me. Sweet. Grinning from ear to ear, I waved at Leliana and she winked in return. I suspect she found all this very entertaining after months in the Deep Roads hunting broodmothers. She must have returned only recently. Luck, for once, was on my side.
But Franderel in no way was capable to behave himself. He kept blurting out insults and conspiracy theories, a chaotic mess of pure nonesense. "He's not even Maric's son. He's probably not even a man. For all we know he could be a magically turned woman from Orlais. Whoever this Cousland bitch slept with..."
Blah blah fucking blah.
"Oh, let me crush the head of this annoying wobbly thing already," Shale snorted disgustedly. "It would save us all a lot of trouble."
"It would, wouldn't it?" I sighed. It was tempting for sure, but I had to decline the golem's offer. I needed this investigation to end with the Grand Cleric's judgment. It was my only hope to prevent another civil war.
"Enough!" the Grand Cleric finally barked. "I am ready to make my judgment now..."
During the last week, the Grand Cleric's behaviour towards Franderel had been alarmingly benevolent. He hadn't mentioned the tears, but had openly promised Amaranthine to the Chantry. He had never kept his opinion to himself about how to deal with the mages—"Lock them in. All of them. They act out of line, make them tranquil. Zero tolerance, there's going to be zero tolerance."—or with the Dalish—"They steal our land. They have no right to be here. Drive them all out." He had made suggestive remarks about the priestesses and sisters in the Grand Cleric's company and about any other "fuckable" woman—his words, not mine. He really had made it quite clear what kind of king he intended to be—and still, the Grand Cleric had smiled at him and nodded like a blasted nodding dog. No wonder Franderel thought he had her assimilated, and now all of a sudden he found she wasn't the brainless minion he expected her to be. She even dared to talk back! It was quite a shock for him.
"But we have a deal!" he sulked like a spoiled brat.
"I really don't know where you got that idea from," the Grand Cleric said icily.
"We came to an agreement that you would make me king..." Franderel insisted stubbornly.
"So, you admit you tried to bribe the Grand Cleric. How dare you! And now you even try to shake her believablity! You don't expect us to believe a woman as noble and honourable as her would stoop so low as to make a deal with you! That's just ridiculous!" I exclaimed with as much indignance as I could muster when I knew the Grand Cleric did exactly as Franderel said. It was one of the rare occasions he didn't lie. Instead, now I was the one straining the truth. I'm not a good liar. I become flustered and nervous and my ears glow whenever I lie. But I couldn't have the whole assembly know that the Grand Cleric was open to bribery. Her unchallenged judgment was the only way to prevent another civil war, so it was beyond question to discredit her. Thankfully, Wulff, Bryland, Cousland, and even some of Franderel's supporters vociferously hurried to defend the Grand Cleric. It didn't stop Franderel from ranting, but for now he was outmaneuvered.
Finally, Bann Alfstanna snapped: "Oh for the love of Lady Andraste! Will you shut up already, Lord Franderel?! The Grand Cleric wants to make a declaration!"
Believe it or not. Franderel did shut up—and sulked. His tiny eyes, embedded in masses of fat, glinted nastily.
The Grand Cleric stepped into the middle of the hall between the opposing parties. She held her head high, every inch of her radiating dignity and solemnity. "We have assembled here to investigate the heritage of King Alistair and to discuss whether he is the man to lead Ferelden in times of trouble—or if there were a better choice, a man more experienced and with the guarantee of a stable bloodline. We have come to learn a lot about these two men—and there couldn't be two leader personalities any more different than these two. We've been informed about their political agenda and beliefs. We have tested their honor and believability."
I could feel the tension in the room, the aggression seething beneath the cultivated surface. You could have heard a pin drop, all eyes were on the Grand Cleric. Here and now, I had reached the point of no return. It was now my fate that would be decided, and I would get no second chance. Clinging to Rori's hands, I held my breath when the Grand Cleric cleared her throat, murmured a silent prayer and with gravity declared:
"We have heard many witnesses and though we have no real evidence, I in my heart I am convinced that His Majesty, King Alistair, is King Maric's son and the rightful king of Ferelden..."