Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the reviews and for following along! The info on Antiva is remarkably... scant, so I worked off medieval Italy (which info is also remarkably scant, ha) to fill in some blanks. Hope you all enjoy.
Chapter 49 - Fit for a King
The pyre was hastily built, made of downed logs and bits of broken barricades the four of them had been able to scavenge from the area around the Tower of Ishal. Serena wished they could have taken his body back to Denerim and given their king the funeral he truly deserved, but she knew it wouldn't have mattered in the end.
Parading into the capital with the dead body of King Cailan in tow and they would have been lucky to survive the first five minutes, immediately people would jump on them as traitors to the crown. Loghain would have them arrested and placed in Fort Drakon for torturing and Maker knew what else. So deeply had the king's father-in-law sunk in his madness, Serena knew not what would await them, to what extent Loghain would hunt them, if they tried to give their former king a proper funeral.
Alistair and Zevran were gently laying Cailan's form on the wooden planks now. Taking him down from the gruesome display had been trying enough, his body pierced with arrows and strung up with rope and bits of wire by filthy darkspawn hands.
Wynne had pulled a cloth from her pack and wiped away much of the dirt and blood from the king's wounds, so now he appeared to only be sleeping, instead of the dirty disheveled mess he's been previously.
Alistair crossed his half-brother's arms across his chest, stepping back from the pyre, his head bowed solemnly. "He was a good man who hoped too much and died too young. He deserves what little honor we can afford to grant him."
Dropping to one knee, Serena watched as Wynne lit the pyre with her hands, the old wood catching easily. Flames licked across the king's body as the pyre caught, burning brightly in the afternoon sun.
"You should say something, Serena," Alistair said softly, kneeling beside her. "You're... much better with... words and things." Beside him, Wynne nodded, tears slipping silently down her wrinkled cheeks.
"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands. From the lowest slaves to the highest kings," Serena said quietly. "Our king... he was... the best of us all. His will was the strongest, his life the brightest. I pray that you find your way to our Maker's side, King Cailan."
Serena took a deep breath, running her hand swiftly across her eyes. "I pray... that you find the glory that eluded you in life beside Him. May you always rest peaceful at or Maker's side, always in His light. In your blood, we shall find resolution, and defeat those who set themselves against us, and against your kingdom. Amen."
"Amen," echoed Wynne and Alistair. Zevran stood off to the side, his head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. In Antiva, they had enormous processions for the royal dead, with the people wearing black garments for days, even weeks at a time, in respect to the fallen. Considering the Crows routinely took out politicians and royalty alike in Antiva City, the people of the capital could be dressed for mourning for years at a time.
"We should get back to the others," Serena said softly, her eyes still lingering on the blazing fire. Shaking her head, she led them back through the snow to where Leliana and the others were camped with the Feddic's wagon, a slight limp in her step.
"Serena!" The red-headed bard held up an arm in a wave, running towards their group as they emerged from the lower ruins. "We were so worried- we hadn't seen a single darkspawn, and Morrigan was sure you all had been overrun."
"Ah, that was very nearly so, but..." Serena shrugged. "We found King Cailan. He's... he's with the Maker now."
Leliana nodded solemnly, wrapping Serena in a hug. "If you have a moment, I found some of the... well, I found some documents and things." Leliana's voice was soft in her ear, and she pulled back, her eyes looking sharply around.
"Show me," Serena said simply, following the bard back to the wagon.
Leliana pulled out a packet of papers from her knapsack sitting there, and a long blade, carved deeply with what looked to be dwarven runes. "These were in a chest in the King's camp. It's correspondence, from Empress Celene, and..." She held out the sword. "This, I believe, was King Maric's. I had heard tales, of the sword he carried, carved with runes that glowed brightly against the darkspawn."
Serena examined the blade closely, it glowed ever-so-slightly in her hands in response to the taint that flowed through her veins. She turned and beckoned to Alistair, who came to stand beside them, his honey colored eyes lingering on her side where she knew a puckered scar was trying desperately to heal.
"This was your father's, Alistair," Serena said, showing him the blade. "It responds to the taint." She saw he carried Duncan's sword in a makeshift sheath created by his shield on his back, the sword in his belt was still the one he had found on the bandits in Lothering. "If you'd like...?"
"Where did you find it?" he asked quietly, his eyes flipping between the two women.
"In a chest with documents and miscellaneous things from the king," Leliana replied. "I don't know why Cailan didn't use it in battle, it is a fine sword. Perhaps..."
"He knew we'd lose," Alistair finished. "He didn't want it lost." Pulling the old sword from his belt, he replaced it with Maric's blade, which glowed gently in his hand before going dark again within the sheath. "We can sell this one at the next town, I suppose. It's still a fine sword."
"You said these documents were letters, between the Orlesian empress?" Serena prompted the bard.
"Yes, it's... well, perhaps you should look over them yourself. One of the letters is from Arl Eamon, as well," she added, glancing at Alistair. Tapping the back of the wagon, the three of them sat down, spreading out the letters between them. Once read, Serena felt a headache coming on that had nothing to do with the darkspawn.
"I... wow." Alistair set down the letter Serena had finished reading moments before. "So, the plot thickens, I suppose." He frowned, running a hand through his hair. "It's interesting, if Loghain had allowed the Orlesian forces to back us... perhaps this place wouldn't look like this now... I wonder if he knew...?"
"About the Arl's letter to Cailan? I wondered that myself," Serena answered, tapping the letter in question. "Arl Eamon obviously believes Anora is... is barren, and... it seemed as if he was pressuring Cailan, or... at the very least, implying that a marriage between the two countries..." Serena sighed. "Can you imagine? If Loghain saw Cailan was about to put aside his daughter in favor of an Orlesian?" She looked quickly to Leliana, smiling apologetically. "No offense, of course. But Loghain..."
"He'd go mad," Alistair replied. "Perhaps he has gone mad. Bann Teagan certainly seemed to think so when he saw him declare himself regent a few weeks ago."
"Do you think Anora is...?"
"She's nearly thirty." Alistair shrugged. "You tell me when women stop being able to carry children to full term?"
"It is not unheard of," said Leliana carefully. "But... there are risks, with older women. While thirty is not old by any normal standard, in child-bearing..." She trailed off. "Hadn't they been married for a few years yet?"
"Five, I think," Serena said, counting quickly on her fingers. "Cailan married her just after the coronation, I believe. A month or so later. My parents came to Denerim for the wedding. Luckily Fergus and I were allowed to stay back..." Serena paused, tipping her head up to stare at the roof of the wagon. Mentioning her brother always made her tear up a bit. "Anyway, I think a lot of people were wondering when they'd have an heir. If they'd have an heir. My mother always said perhaps Anora was too ambitious to have children."
"How do you mean?"
"And as the black clouds came upon them, They looked on what pride had wrought, And despaired." Serena shrugged. "Granted, I believe that part is about the Tevinter Imperium and their descent, but the same idea applies, I believe. I don't know, you'd see what I mean if you met her. Anora has always had her eye on the prize."
"Perhaps she even enjoys being a single monarch. Then again, I'm biased, because I simply don't like her." Serena folded up the letters and tucked them into her pack. "Regardless, we have a few more things to take care of before we continue on to Haven."
"Oh?" At Serena's intense look, Alistair sighed. "Right. The swamp witch."
"Swamp witch?" Leliana asked.
"We have to... deliver an amulet... to Morrigan's mother. She lives a bit further south of here." Serena shrugged again, as if this was a needless errand and not a life-or-death mission. "She saved our lives, so I suppose we owe her one."
"If you take the horses, you could be back in a few hours, I imagine," Leliana said, gesturing to the two mounts munching nearby on a bale of hay Bodahn had brought along.
"That's a good idea," Alistair replied, brightening. "I've about had it with walking for today."
"Right, well, let's be off then." Serena turned to Leliana. "I'm leaving you and Sten in charge. She won't tell you so, but Wynne is most definitely tapped out for awhile. She spent a lot of her energy on healing me not so long ago, so if you can get her to rest, it'd be good for all of us."
She glanced around their makeshift camp. Morrigan had already set up her small tent contraption and was making health poultices near her fire. "I believe we flushed all the darkspawn out of the area for awhile, so it should be safe enough to continue camping here for the night. Alistair and I should be back before full-dark."
"Maker's speed to you both," Leliana said, giving Serena another hug.
Without the small map Morrigan had made for Serena, she realized they quickly would have become completely lost. The Korcari Wilds looked just as confusing and desolate as before, with the added annoyance of sheer cold. They arrived at Flemeth's hut by late afternoon, Alistair and Serena dismounting just beyond the stones that led to her front door.
"And so you return," the old woman said, coming up behind them. "Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh, I don't know, she's not much of a musician," Serena replied, watching the old woman as she made her way to the small wooden hut. "She can be downright intimidating on a good day, though... especially when she's swinging that lute around."
Flemeth laughed, her eyes flickering between Serena and Alistair. "What has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?"
"She... found an old grimoire of yours, and believes..." Serena sighed. "She knows how you extend your... rather unnatural lifespan."
"That she does," Flemeth replied with a clap of her hands. "The question is, do you?"
"You plan on possessing her, right?" Alistair said frankly. "Not that I care, of course, but Serena for some reason happens to like your daughter."
"Ahhh, I see." Flemeth nodded, seemingly to herself, and then eyed Serena again. "Let us skip right to the ending then, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn?"
"I need Morrigan, that much is true, but... Alistair and I wouldn't even be here if not for you. These are two absolute truths that are... in conflict." Serena sighed. "I do not know if I have much of a choice."
"Choice, indeed. There is power in choices, as there is in lies." Flemeth nodded again, seeming to come to a decision about something. "I shall give you one of each."
"Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain." The old woman shrugged. "What do you say?"
"I prefer to not bite the hand that feeds, or... saves us from a burning tower." Serena exchanged glances with Alistair, who nodded firmly. "I believe we can convince Morrigan of your... most fortuitous demise."
"It's far easier this way, don't you think?" Flemeth replied with a cackle. "The lies are always more fun."
"Yes, fun. Tricking Morrigan... oh, who am I kidding? That does sound like fun." Alistair laughed. "I'm a bad man." Serena shook her head, a small smile on her face.
"The book is inside the hut, with notes and spells enough to make even Morrigan blush with delight. There is another bundle as well. Take it and go." Flemeth looked over the two Wardens. "You and I... we shall not meet again. That I guarantee." With a swift gesture, the old woman tossed Serena a key and walked off around the side of the hut.
"I can't honestly believe we're not dead right now," Alistair said. "Let's just get the book and go. This place totally creeps me out."
"Agreed." Serena used the key on the lock, realizing had she really wanted to, she probably could have picked it easily enough. On the table was a large leather book, marked with bits of ribbon. Next to it was a small bundle of what appeared to be robes with a little note. Serena flicked the note open, reading it quickly. It appeared as if Flemeth knew they were coming. Had this perhaps been planned between her and her daughter all along?
"You know, I can't quite fight the feeling we're being played here," Serena said softly, stowing both packages in her knapsack.
Alistair laughed. "Of course we're being played. They're witches, Serena. It's all they know how to do. It's like expecting your mabari to act like a cat. Or Sten to act like a human. They just can't do it." They headed out of the hut and mounted their horses again. Flemeth was still nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she'd turned into a bird and flew away.
"I suppose you're right," Serena relented, jockeying Aster to a trot. "Let's just, forget this happened, eh? It's been a long day and I'd rather not worry about the nefarious plots of swamp people."
"I knew you'd see reason eventually," Alistair called, leading them back through the Wilds to the ruins of Ostagar.
They arrived back at their temporary camp just as night was falling. Smartly, Alistair had suggested they stop by a nearby river and rough themselves up a bit, so the lie would be more easily believed by Morrigan.
"Surely she knows her own mother's powers better than us, right?" he'd said, reopening a gash on his cheek from the darkspawn they'd fought briefly on the way back. "I doubt if we just wander into camp looking no worse for the wear, she'd be instantly suspicious."
"You, my love, are absolutely brilliant," Serena replied, placing a quick kiss on his lips.
"Mmm, say that again," he murmured.
"That you're brilliant, or that I love you?"
"Either," Alistair whispered, pulling her close. "Then I need you to punch me in the face."
Serena appeared at Morrigan's tent, still limping slightly and with a nice bruise having developed around her right eye. Alistair hadn't wanted to punch her, but when Serena told him it was either a punch, or he'd have to cut her with his blade, he wisely chose his fists. Biting her lip nervously, she saw Morrigan's yellow eyes snap up at her approach, although she could tell the witch was trying to appear aloof, as usual.
She dumped her pack unceremoniously on the ground near the small fire and plunked down beside it, purposefully keeping her eyes downcast. Digging through the pack, she pulled out the grimoire and silently handed it to Morrigan.
"I... my thanks, Serena," the witch said softly, taking the large book carefully. Her yellow eyes peered around Serena's face, resting on the black eye. "I could heal that for you, if it pains you."
"Nah, I rather like it," Serena replied, putting a hand to her eye gently. "I think it makes me look tough."
"'Tis done then?"
"Yes." Serena's hands slipped into the pack and she pulled out the slightly wrinkled robes. "We found these, too. Thought you might want them, for when it gets colder, up north." She passed the bundle to Morrigan and the witch shook them out, nodding. "Did you... feel anything, when...?"
"No, which I suppose is a good thing." Morrigan stared into the fire briefly, and Serena watched the flames reflect in her golden eyes. "You took the templar with you." Serena noticed she had dropped the fool bit... for now, anyway.
"I'd be dead, if not for him. He took the brunt of it, I'm afraid." Serena glanced over where Alistair was sitting, a health poultice pressed to his cheek. "He disabled her magic just long enough for me to... well, I don't imagine you want to hear about any of this." Serena shrugged. "I'm glad you're... going to be you, or stay you, or whatever."
"Indeed." Morrigan tapped the grimoire with her nails. "I shall study this, starting tonight. Know that your efforts... both of you, they shall not be in vain."
"Well, study hard. Do us proud. If you don't mind, I'm going to go pass out by the fire, it's been a ridiculous day." Serena pulled herself to her feet, slinging the pack, now significantly lighter with the enormous tome gone, onto her back.
"Understandable," Morrigan replied, waving a hand to Serena. "If I should find anything of interest, shall I let you know?"
"Definitely." Serena headed back to the main camp and plopped down beside Alistair at the fire.
Alistair eyed Serena carefully, his hand still pressing the poultice to his cut cheek. "How did it go?"
"Couldn't have been better. Gave her the book, the robes. Asked her if she felt anything when, you know, we..." Serena shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I think I earned you some pity points, there. She didn't call you any names."
"Really? Will wonders never cease! Never thought I'd be happy to have run into a band of darkspawn," Alistair replied, putting down the poultice to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Kissing the top of her head, they sat quietly, watching Leliana and Zevran play Wicked Grace across the camp, beyond the firelight. Sten was sharpening his sword nearby while Peanut dutifully snored at his feet.
"It's times like these when I think, you know, maybe... we can actually do this." Serena sighed. "Maybe we won't all be gobbled up by darkspawn or murdered by demons or-"
"Dragon cults," Alistair supplied. At Serena's blank stare, he continued. "I was reading about them, actually. That book, that the fake assistant fellow had on his desk... It was written by a Chantry scholar, not Genitivi, but... anyway, it said that the cultists, they... ingest... a rather large amount of dragon blood, in exchange for taking care of its young."
"Disgusting. They drink its blood?"
"Well, its babies blood, actually," Alistair corrected, making a face. "I guess they're permitted to kill a few of its young in exchange for protecting the majority of them." He shrugged. "I can't even imagine how many young a high dragon must have, then, if a bunch of them are sacrificed for... yuck."
"So... the blood. What does it..." Serena gulped. "What does it do?"
Alistair closed his eyes briefly before staring up at the stars. "Supposedly it's said to have some strange... long-term effects. Greater strength, endurance... an increased desire to kill..."
"Fantastic. Ignore my earlier comment then," Serena muttered, putting a hand to her forehead. "Dragon cults. Sweet Maker, what next?"
"I thought that might cheer you up a bit," Alistair replied sarcastically, his arm squeezing her gently to his side. "Like I said, it's never a puppy cult, is it?"
"I'd rather it be a cookie cult," Serena mumbled, resting her head in the crux of his shoulder once again.
"I think Sten would like that, too."