Dragon 9:25, Autumn
Aedan looked on as a part of the crowd, away from Cailan, Loghain and his father, all three of them standing at the front of the assembly. He was a silent observer, the youngest son of a Teyrn, with no official say where he stood.
"And what about the Teyrn of Highever?" It was Bann Fosnick Eremon of the Waking Sea, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the Landsmeet chambers. "Should he not be given some consideration toward the throne?"
There were mixed murmurs from the nobles.
"With all due respect to Cousland," Eamon said cautiously, "We did not take back Ferelden just to lose the royal line within a single generation. Surely, Cailan should be the one to take up the regency?"
The Theirin royalists voiced their agreement.
"Your fetish for Calenhad's blood will bring about the end of this nation, Eamon," spat Rendon Howe. "Cailan is still a boy!" Feeling attacked, the young prince straightened his posture in defiance. "Is it so wise to give the crown to someone so ill-equipped, just because of his -"
Loghain slammed his silverite gauntlets together, the loud clang ringing throughout the hall and snapping the attention of the nobles to its source, including Cailan. "Enough, Howe! You will show respect for your rightful king!"
"Well, he isn't king," growled Howe, "not yet."
Aedan overheard Arl Urien of Denerim whisper to someone nearby, that Loghain was only supporting Cailan for the throne to gain influence through Anora and as a mentor. Perhaps the man was correct, perhaps he wasn't. Either way, Aedan knew and respected how deep Loghain's love for Ferelden went, how every action the war hero took was motivated by the hope that the nation would continue to flourish.
As for Howe, well, Aedan had always thought him to be overambitious and a little too self-interested. The Arl was an old friend of his father's, a brother in arms, something the opportunist would no doubt try to take advantage of if the Couslands really were to ascend to royalty. But he didn't mind; it was just politics, after all, as Anora often put it.
"Do I get a say in this matter?" Bryce raised his hand in an attempt to silence the crowd. The noise died down. "Although I am honoured to even be considered for the throne, I am afraid I must decline. Not because of the issue of blood, but for stability. Would it really do the nation good, so soon after being freed from occupation, to have to carry the burden of such a drastic change in the monarchy? It was Maric that freed us. It is only fitting that his son continues to lead us, to lead Ferelden.
"And I, for one, believe that Cailan is no longer the boy you, old friend," Bryce motioned to Howe, "claim him to be. He is a man, capable and strong, and perhaps most importantly, he has a good heart. Is that not what is important in a ruler?"
Although Aedan believed that Cailan was in fact not ready to take up the throne just yet, he did concede, in his own mind, that his father had raised a valid point. A ruler's character was just as important as his technical ability. Skills could be taught, by advisors, scholars and generals, whereas a person's character was far less malleable beyond a certain age.
The murmurs started again, but this time they were mostly of approval. Howe was silent, of course. Bryce, Loghain and the not-so-little Cailan shared a look, the three men coming to an unspoken agreement.
"Then let us decide, here and now," Cailan announced, eyes unusually full of determination. "Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet, who will swear fealty to me, Prince Cailan Theirin, as Ferelden's regent?"
Silence.
"Highever swears fealty, Your Highness." Bryce kneeled before the new regent, bowing low.
Loghain followed. "Gwaren also swears fealty."
With the two Teyrns having done so, the rest of the chamber had no other choice but to follow in declaring their allegiance to their newly appointed head of state.
"You will send out additional search parties into the sea, immediately," Cailan declared.
They were in the drawing room now, in the east wing of the royal palace, all sitting on luxurious couches surrounding the fireplace. The walls were filled with great paintings of great people created by great artists, only Maker knew how many Ages ago, with a central chandelier hanging proudly from the ceiling. Aedan found himself between Fergus, who was clearly itching to go out into the night and look for Maric himself, and Cateline, quietly sipping on a modest glass of brandy and trying her best to look composed. She was the only one with a drink.
"It is already done, but it still leaves the matter of financing," Loghain said, hands clasped and elbows on his knees. The lines in his face were deeper than usual. "We will search for Maric with all of the fleets we can muster, but we must also maintain a sizeable presence on land and acquire a larger fleet if we are to organize a proper search. We must do nothing that may be taken as a sign of weakness, especially by the Orlesians." He said the last word with venom, then quickly glanced to Cateline as soon as he had, his expression equal parts apologetic and suspicious.
"It is unbecoming of you, my lord," Adriani said coldly, "to treat my future sister-in-law as an enemy of the state."
Loghain opened his mouth to retort.
"It's okay," Cateline assured softly, taking Adriani's hand in hers, wearing the best smile she could conjure.
"My apologies," Loghain said roughly, "I meant no offense."
"There is nothing to apologize for," Cateline replied, taking a rather large sip of her drink. She sounded genuine to Aedan, although whether it really was would be a matter for a later time.
"Then we are left with no choice." Bryce sighed, returning to the task at hand. "We will have to ask for our vassals' aid, if we are to keep the treasury from running dry." He looked to Cailan. "I offer my full support, of course."
The prince nodded in thanks.
"As do I." Loghain pinched his brow. "But many of the others," referring to the Arls and Banns, "aren't going to like it. We must pay careful attention to our rhetoric if we are to convince them to build us ships and offer up their men to guard the borders."
The group fell silent.
Anora was the first to speak again, her voice unwavering. "There may be an alternative solution." She hesitated, stealing a glance at Fergus, who was obliviously playing around with a bit of loose fabric on his dinner clothes. The future teyrn was a skilled warrior and a good leader, but only in battle; ever since he was little, Fergus had never been very patient during discussions such as these.
"What do you suggest, my dear?" Loghain encouraged, keen to hear what his daughter had to say.
"The idea is relatively simple, really. Fergus can marry Lady Oriana a year early."
The mentioning of his name perked Fergus' attention, although he was obviously confused. "What? Why? How would that help in any way?"
Anora's eyes went icy cold and Fergus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Aedan couldn't entirely blame her; his brother was a little dull sometimes. He interjected before the young Mac Tir could start her reprimand. "Oriana will come with a substantial sum of her father's money, brother, a dowry. Enough to build several fleets and to keep them deployed for years." The daughter of an extremely wealthy merchant in Antiva, Oriana had been Fergus' betrothed for the last five years.
"That could work, yes," Bryce considered thoughtfully, "That could work. The only difficulty would be convincing the Chantry to recognize the marriage of a seventeen-year-old boy."
Aedan had always wondered why the Chantry insisted that men could not marry until they were eighteen, while there were no such restrictions for women. The number 'eighteen' seemed arbitrary, but that was just how things were.
"That shouldn't be too difficult," Loghain declared with confidence. "The Grand Cleric will surely support our cause."
"I wish I were as confident as you are. After all, they claim their allegiance is with the Maker, first and foremost. I will have a word with Elemena, though, first thing tomorrow morning."
"No," Cailan objected loudly, probably a little more so than he had intended. "No," he repeated, voice lowered, "I will speak to Cleric Elemena. If she is to bend the laws of the Maker for the sake of my father, it would only be proper that his son asks her to do so."
"Well said." It was Eleanor, who had thus far remained silent, her expression glowing with warmth. "It is settled then."
"I have no objections about the plan, by the way. You know, if anyone wanted to hear what I had to say, or anything," Fergus joked, deadpan.
Anora tried and failed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The others shared a laugh, a reprieve from the dire topic they had been discussing.
Cailan smiled from ear to ear, before turning somewhat sheepish. Loghain placed a reassuring hand on the regent's shoulder. "You will be fine. Be respectful, but not a coward. Do not let her bully you, ruler of Ferelden."
The door on the west end of the room opened, gently, and Parry, the palace butler, announced that dinner was ready to be served.
Aedan walked groggily through the dark hallway, the candles extinguished near the guest bedchambers unlike the rest of the palace. He had awoken in the middle of the night, his throat terribly dry. The dinner roast had been especially salty. He walked quietly, careful not to wake anybody up, making his way to the stairs that led down to the cheese cellar. Being an adolescent boy, he was almost always peckish and up for a snack.
The palace was mostly silent. He could make out the gentle autumn breeze outside through an open window, the rustling of trees, his own slipper-padded footsteps, of course, and … weeping?
He stopped by the door to his left. It was Cateline's. His throat suddenly felt even drier and he gulped emptily. Raising his fist to the door, he hesitated a little, then proceeded with three quiet raps, so gentle that nobody else could hear.
The crying stopped abruptly.
"It's Aedan," the young lord whispered. Not sure of what to say, exactly, he fell silent.
A pause.
"Yes?" Cateline whispered back eventually.
Another pause.
"Well, you see, I was going downstairs for some water and cheese, but, well, mother doesn't really like it when I snack in the middle of the night. You know how mothers can be." Cateline remained silent. "So, I was thinking that if you were to accompany me, then even if we were to get caught, she would let me off lightly."
Aedan heard movement on the other side. The door opened, and there Cateline stood in her nightgown and slippers, which was just about all he could make out in the dark. "Just this once," she whispered.
Aedan grinned.
The warm light of a candle placed atop the table filled the otherwise dark and cheesy room. Roll upon roll of a countless variety of cheeses populated the shelves, each marked with a detailed label. The pair sat on either side of the table, each with a glass of water, and Aedan with a generous serving of dairy delight.
He put his fork down on his plate, still only midway through his snack. "Sorry about earlier tonight." Cateline looked confused, genuinely, raising a brow. "You know, when Loghain was being…"
"Like I said, there is nothing to be sorry about," Cateline assured quickly.
"No. I should have defended you. It wasn't a direct insult, but I still should have defended you." Aedan clenched his fists. He had failed her. "You are my betrothed, and I owe you that much."
The young girl turned scarlet, made clear and apparent without her usual makeup. "You owe me nothing," she mumbled, her voice barely audible and with a smile that brought Aedan more joy than any cheese ever could.
He looked at the woman sitting opposite him and realized that, come to think of it, this was the first time he had ever witnessed Cateline's bare face. He observed closely, taking in the elegance of her features; her deep green eyes, her sharp nose, her supple cheeks, the tiny little mole just to the left of her lips, her lips, glowing in its natural pale pink under the candlelight.
He felt a sudden fullness in his groin.
He cleared his throat, picked up the fork and resumed his assault on the remainder of the cheese.