As always, my thanks to those who read and review, set alerts, or simply lurk about, as many of us have been doing lately.
To those who review, my heartfelt thanks: celtic-twinkie, Wyl, cloud1004, Biff McLaughlin, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, CCBug, Munz, Shakespira.
Extra special thanks to Wyl who helped work out the gracelessness of my first draft!
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 58
Adela stood, staring at the leaders of their allies, her eyes leaving their determined features to scan over to where their warriors stood mingled among her own people. Turning back, she fixed her eyes upon Swiftrunner, who was watching her, his tawny eyes narrowed slightly.
"How many warriors have you, Swiftrunner?" she asked, her voice low enough just for the Wardens and the two war leaders with her.
A feral grin crossed his rugged face, and he barked out a chuckle. "We have with us over two hundred of our finest warriors," his grin widened as he stepped nearer to look down upon the smaller elf, his grin widening as she stood her ground, tilting her head to continue staring into his eyes. Beside her, Gatekeeper smiled broadly as the alpha male continued. "Nearer to two thousand than one shall meet us at the place of battle against the Archdemon and its ilk."
Her eyes widened and beside her Alistair clapped the former werewolf firmly upon the shoulder. More than two thousand of the former werewolves, fighting by their side? She shook her head in wonderment.
"Our people lived within the Forest for generations," Gatekeeper's rough voice cut in, lowering slightly as he leaned forward. "There were many of us that roamed among the trees."
"Some of our warriors now accompany our young and infirmed to quieter lands," Swiftrunner added, his dark eyes scanning towards the north, as though he could see those he and his warriors had need to leave behind.
"That is…" Adela shook her head again, a smile upon her face. "Thank you, Swiftrunner. To have such fierce and skilled warriors at our side…we are honored."
The two former werewolves - who now preferred to be called The Wolves - straightened slightly at the Warden Commander's praise and respect.
With a nod, she turned to the Chasind leader, Apumayta, who stood straight, his dark eyes fixed upon the small woman. By this time, Fergus had made his way back to their side, and was listening with great interest.
"Apumayta," the huge man bowed his head at the elf's acknowledgment, "we thank you for helping us against these darkspawn."
"Many shall fall to our combined might," the Chasind warlord declared, his countenance serious and fierce as his glittering eyes remained upon the elf. "With the five hundred here and amongst the trees, more than three times that number shall meet us at the end."
Roland let out a low whistle, and Adela again found herself overwhelmed, her cheeks and ears burning, a slight dizzying feeling sweeping over her. They had just garnered for their army over four thousand of the fiercest warriors upon the face of Thedas. With the combined might of the dwarves, the elves, and the mages…the elf stopped her thoughts there. She had no idea how things would go once they made their way to Denerim, but she knew that they still could not hope to defeat the Archdemon and its own army without the combined arms of the Fereldan nobility and armies.
She shook those thoughts from her mind. Her eyes fixed first upon the face of Swiftrunner, briefly to Gatekeeper, and then to Apumayta. "You are aware that there are dangers to fighting darkspawn?"
"Far more danger than not fighting them," Gatekeeper remarked dryly. He quirked a bushy blond brow. "We are Fereldan," he growled out, "and we shall fight and shed blood - both that of our foes and our own - for our homeland!"
Swiftrunner and Apumayta each nodded their agreement, and Adela felt an intense sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that flowed through her as she turned her eyes once more toward the warriors that surrounded them.
Then, with a wide grin and a nod, the Warden Commander said, "We would be fools not to accept the strength of arms you and your warriors offer to us." She bowed slightly to all three men. "You have our thanks and gratitude."
DA:O
Faint light flickered through the thick canvas of the tent she shared with Alistair. Lightly, she fingered the runes that Sandal had embedded within the flap of the tent - runes that ensured that whatever noises were made within the confines of the tent were not overheard by those outside. She smiled slightly, recalling how she had made the discovery of said runes when she had unwittingly interrupted Niall and Zevran.
Even now, that memory burned her cheeks and tips of her ears.
There were certain obvious benefits for a married couple to have said runes. But for this night, the conversation she wished to have with Alistair, she was very appreciative of the magic that the talented - if not strange - little dwarf was able to perfect.
Adela had not removed her armor. For this conversation, she had to be seen as 'Commander' and not 'Wife' by the man who was both her husband and her Second. Fortunately, their tent was large and tall enough that the elf could stand straight up in relative comfort.
Moments passed, and Alistair swept the flap aside, ducking his head to enter. Adela shifted her feet slightly, stepping back as Alistair's large frame fully enveloped the interior of their portable home. A small smile graced his face, and he turned those honey brown eyes to her. He must have noted her serious mien, for the smile slipped slightly as he turned fully toward her.
"Am I in trouble?" he asked, trying for a joke, realizing quickly it fell flat.
The elven warden tilted her head slightly, watching the other warden. "I would not say that you were in trouble," she stated quietly, still watching his face closely. "But, we do have some things to discuss."
The smile slipped further, turning down into a frown. Taking in that Adela remained standing - and in her leather armor - Alistair replied, "Alright."
Adela took a deep breath. She knew that she should have had this conversation with Alistair a long time ago, even before they married, long before any proclamation of love. She had known - even at the earliest days of their acquaintance - that Alistair was overly protective of her. And, while at the beginning, when her skills were raw and her experience seriously lacking, she was appreciative of that protection, now…well, now, especially with the additions of the Wolves and Chasind warriors…
She decided to start there.
"We have gained some fierce warriors for our army," she stated, looking up into Alistair's face.
He nodded, obviously a little confused by the start of the conversation.
"Over four thousand," she mused. She tilted her head upwards slightly. "Did you notice any females among our new warriors?"
His face scrunched up slightly, and then he nodded. "Swiftrunner's people contained females." He recalled seeing the women - tall, as rough and rugged as the men - swords and bows strapped to their backs and hips. The proud countenance upon their features marked them as capable warriors, easily sliding into the use of man-honed weapons as opposed to the teeth and claw.
"And amongst the Chasind?" she prompted.
Here, the man shook his head.
Adela took a deep breath. "Alistair," he bent his head down slightly, his feet shifting as he wished he could sit down. However, he knew this conversation for what it was - a commander speaking with one of her men. He gave her a slight nod, indicating he was listening.
"With the addition of these new warriors, it is more important than ever that they see me as the leader of this group. As the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. And, that if they join our forces, they must follow my lead."
Confusion flickered in those honey brown eyes. "Of course," Alistair replied simply.
"The Wolves…well, Swiftrunner is their leader because he is the strongest. The Alpha male. They will follow him until someone stronger can defeat him. That is the mentality of pack creatures, and, despite their being human, this is the way things have been for them for generations."
"That makes sense," Alistair said. "But…" Adela interrupted him with an upraised hand and brow. He fell silent.
"The Chasind follow a similar code. The strongest leads. And the two groups follow the physically strongest. How, then, do you think they will view me - a small elven woman, not even a warrior but an archer - and my leadership if my Second continues to put others in our contingent into harm's way trying to protect me?"
Alistair's mouth gaped open, snapping shut in an instance. Eyes narrowing slightly, he said, "One mistake, Adela…"
"That nearly cost Morrigan her life!" Adela snapped back, and Alistair flinched at the intensity in her blue eyes. "And, Alistair, it was not one mistake! You have always been hovering over me in battle. If you see - or perceive - that I am in danger, you leave off your own battles to get to my side. I've seen you leave the side of our fellows to come to my rescue!" She pointed a steady finger at him. "It needs to stop." She growled out. "It will stop."
"You are asking me to willingly let the woman I love remain in danger if I could do something to prevent it!" Alistair fumed, stepping back to glare down at the woman.
But Adela shook her head. "On the battlefield, Alistair, I am the Commander. On the battlefield, we are all warriors - Grey Wardens - fighting against the darkspawn, or whatever other evil pops its head up. We need each and every one of our companions to survive these skirmishes, to live to the final battle." She took a deep breath. "We all need to be able to rely upon each other, to know that the one at our back is truly at our back."
Shaking his head, Alistair paced to Adela's side, turning to pace back to his original position. "I can't do that," he admitted, turning back to her. "I can't just let you…"
"It is a direct order, Alistair," Adela replied evenly. "And you ignored a direct order today, and almost cost us Morrigan." She shook her head. "It cannot - it will not - happen again."
Alistair stood, breathing hard, staring down at the woman he loved. She was both his wife and his Commander. And he had been trained, from an early age, to follow orders by those who commanded him.
But, to do so…
His throat clenched and he tried to swallow past it. He had seen her, far too often, take hits from larger foes, watched her fall too many times to be able to resist rushing to her side at any sign of danger. His eyes closed as he tried to maintain control over his emotions.
"You also need to be more aware of our companions than you are," Adela continued, noting the anxiety upon the man's face, pushing passed her concern for him to get this out now before her courage failed her. Alistair's eyes opened, confusion still there.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, frowning deeply.
Sighing, Adela placed a small hand upon Alistair's arm and then pulled it back. "When we were discussing the change of the Taint within me, what was your main concern?"
Leaning back on his heel, Alistair stood quietly, going over the conversation in his head. "That you were not protected against the Blight," he responded after mere moments.
Nodding, her arms folded across her chest, one hip cocked slightly. "And just how many Wardens are in our group?" she prompted.
"Four," came the immediate reply.
Chuckling, she shrugged, "I think Hafter can count. He's swallowed enough darkspawn blood and still remains healthy."
Alistair allowed a moment to chuckle back, but his face became serious as he saw where this line of conversation was going.
"How many of our group - not including the new additions of the Wolves and Chasind warriors - are not Wardens?"
"Adela…"
"Alistair," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Most of our companions put themselves in danger on a daily basis, fighting against darkspawn, leaving themselves open to the Blight sickness." She tilted her head again. "How do you think Niall must have felt when you questioned my safety, knowing that Zevran is not protected in any way against the Blight?"
His heart plummeted, and he suddenly felt very ill. How, indeed, would the quiet, mousy, bookish warden mage have felt with such a question? He knew how he would have felt should their positions be reversed.
Angry. Indignant. Betrayed.
"That was a very insensitive thing to say, eh?" he admitted, his head hanging down slightly, a lock of hair escaping the confines of the tie to flutter across his eyes.
"Yes, that's the word," Adela agreed, straightening as she watched Alistair.
"I should probably apologize," his face lifted.
She nodded, stepping nearer now, allowing the Commander to give way to the Wife. She patted his arm, giving it a squeeze. "I think that Niall would appreciate it."
"Did he say anything?"
She shook her head in the negative. "You know Niall. He'll let things pass rather than cause a scene. However, I saw the expression that flickered across his eyes. He was hurt by your words." She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued. "You may also want to talk with Morrigan, apologize to her as well."
She smiled at the scowl that crossed Alistair's face. For how far the two had come from constantly sniping at one another to a more subdued acceptance, the former Templar in Training and resident Apostate still rankled on each other's nerves. "If there's a mage in this group to be wary of, it would be Morrigan. After all, an apostate, raised by Flemeth, a strong shape shifter in her own right…" She paused, turning a grin up to Alistair.
Brow furrowed slightly, he prodded, "What?"
"Well…" she dragged the word out. "If there was a mage who could turn your well muscled manliness in squishy toadiness…"
With a heavy sigh, and a hang of his head, Alistair finished wearily, "It would be Morrigan."
Still grinning, she patted her husband on the arm before turning away. "You should still speak with Niall as well. I know he was bothered." She gave a small shrug and sly smile over her shoulder. "Morrigan is probably just fuming quietly, plotting her revenge."
Nodding his head, Alistair moved to the tent's flap. "Better sooner than later," he said as he reached out for the canvas. He paused, turning back to Adela. "Do you think we should make the offer for anyone to join the Wardens?"
She shook her head as she began to remove her armor. "They all are aware the invitation is an open one. Any one of them - with the exception of Wynne - would be more than welcome, and would make excellent Wardens." Should they survive, she amended in her head as she dropped her breastplate to her pack. She physically shook that thought away. There was a Blight to consider, and there were only four Wardens left in Ferelden. And still no real idea as to why Wardens were needed to end the Blight. Sighing, she continued aloud. "Right now, I just want to concentrate of getting to Redcliffe, take care of a few errands, and see where our armies are before heading to Denerim."
He nodded, turning away. As he lifted the flap, he said, without turning back. "I will try not to be as overly protective as I have been." Then he turned to pin her with his gaze. "It will be difficult, love. You are all I have; you hold my heart. I could not bear to lose you, especially if it there was something I could have done to prevent it."
With those words, without giving her the chance to speak, for he already knew her mind and knew he would have to follow her orders, he pushed through the entrance of their tent and stepped out, seeking out their Warden mage and shape changing apostate.
DA:O
Lake Calenhad dominated the horizon as Redcliffe Village came into view. Even from the height, activity was obvious in the village proper below. Swiftrunner and his Wolves had decided to camp beyond the village's perimeter, certain that the untamed former werewolves may cause discomfort among the more human inhabitants of the village. Adela had to agree - despite the great strides the former werewolves had made in acclimating to human society, they had only been truly human for a few months, and were, themselves, still somewhat discomforted by the demands of human society.
Apumayta, in the meantime, had sent several runners off, to gather the warriors that were making their way toward the arling. The Chasind war leader had set his camp alongside the Wolves, declaring that, once he had word of his fellow Chasind, he would proceed eastwardly, setting up an extended camp along the boundaries of the Brecilian Forest. The war leader felt that his people, of them all, would be best suited to meet up with any Dalish armies that would sweep out of the ancient Forest, and, again, Adela found herself agreeing.
And wondering, hoping, that her mother's clan would be among those Lanaya pulled together for their fight against the Blight.
For now, all the Warden Commander could hope was that all of the armies she and her friends had gathered would cooperate, would understand that the threat of the Blight outweighed any misconceptions they may have of each other. She brought hand to her head. Dwarves and elves fighting alongside Fereldan troops…alongside mages and Templars…add to that mix the Chasind and Wolves…she was not certain if she was merely trying to borrow trouble now. But, she had seen the level of racism amongst the noble born of Ferelden; among the humans of any station. She had witnessed - had been the victim of - racism from the Dalish because she was 'city-born', had witnessed both Dalish and Alienage born elven hostility to those who were not born elven (she rankled at the word 'shem'). It was clear and evident among the dwarves - even if they were more accepting of those of other races, they were not so much those of the lower classes. And then the dynamics between Templar and Magi…her head was beginning to hurt.
She glanced back toward where Apumayta stood, proud, as he barked out orders to his warriors. Her gaze turned to Swiftrunner and Gatekeeper, each watching as their Wolves settled into an easy campsite, bare under the open sky. At least she knew that these war leaders would not allow previous hatreds and distrusts to get in the way of what was truly important.
What she faced with the nobles…she shook her head again, stepping quickly to match Alistair's long legged pace. No sense borrowing trouble where there may well not be any. For now, she would just concentrate on meeting with the Arl.
As these thoughts rolled about her head, Fergus stepped nearer, matching his stride with those of both senior Wardens. He wore worn splint mail, his face hidden behind the metal facing of the helmet he wore, a nondescript greatsword upon his back. They had all agreed that the young Cousland's identity be kept secret as they made their way through the village and to the castle. With luck, Arl Eamon would be able to keep the young man's presence quietly held.
They had no wish for Rendon Howe to learn that another Cousland survived to threaten his taking of Highever.
As before, when the Wardens and their companions passed along the bridge connecting the village of Redcliffe to the surrounding areas, the folk from the village were aware of their passing through. Several people ran up to them as others lined along the path's trail, calls rebounding down the column, proclaiming the return of the Champions of Redcliffe. A slight flush tinged Adela's cheeks, and a glance toward the others showed varied states of discomfort with the attention they were garnering. The elf's eyes skimmed down to the village, seeking the shoreline and the houses lined up along the dock. She had business there later on, but, for now, they had to continue onward to the castle, to meet with the Arl and plan their next move.
Of all the battles the elf had entered into, this one with the Arl was the one she was most dreading.
DA:O
Eamon met the group at the wide, double doors that topped the wide staircase leading into the castle. A wide grin crossed his face as he clapped Alistair happily upon one shoulder, offering Adela a shallow bow. After Alistair introduced Roland and Niall as Grey Wardens, to which the Arl offered each man a bow of his head and verbal congratulations, all four Wardens - and the still disguised and unacknowledged Fergus - were ushered to the Arl's study as the rest of their companions were guided to the rooms that had been permanently set aside for their use.
Surprisingly, the meeting that she had been dreading for weeks - no, months - had gone far easier than she had thought. Certainly, the Arl had tried, once again, to put Alistair forth as a potential candidate for the throne. And, yet again, Alistair had declined it, reiterating that he was a Grey Warden and that Anora was an effective, rightful and legal Queen for Ferelden. She had watched as the Arl's steel gray eyes narrowed slightly, his mouth tensing in a thin line. But, ultimately, he had little choice but to accept Alistair's proclamation.
It almost seemed too easy.
However, every victory - regardless of how small - was still a move in the right direction. And, for now, Adela had more important things to worry over than the Arl's dislike of not being able to control Alistair as he had obviously hoped to.
As the tension eased, Adela explained to the Arl the armies they had gathered for their battle. Eamon's face relaxed from the tense frown he had maintained during their discussion of Alistair's ascension to the throne, a small smile forming upon his lips. "That is wonderful," he congratulated, nodding as he brought a hand to his chin. "The experience the dwarves bring against the darkspawn will be invaluable. And with the other armies…" He paused, giving a slight shake of his graying head, almost as though he was dumbfounded the odd grouping of wardens, mages, rogues and warriors could have pulled off such feats. Collecting himself, he continued with his thoughts. "The Dalish, mages, Chasind and these Wolves of yours…once we get the nobles in line to fight our true foe, we should be able to see success."
Despite being pleased by the mild praise of the Arl, Adela found his words slightly unrealistic. "We need every warrior, every rogue and mage. And we may well need even more. We have no idea of the exact number of forces the Archdemon has around it, nor when or where it will appear." She frowned slightly, unwilling to take the sting from her words, despite seeing the disappointment cross over the Arl's face. "You haven't seen what we've been seeing around Ferelden, Your Grace. The darkspawn as a great foe, and seem to greatly outnumber us." She glanced uneasily at Alistair and the others before continuing. "During our time in the Deep Roads, we found the Archdemon."
His eyes widening at the words, the Arl stumbled backwards, sitting heavily upon a nearby chair. "The Archdemon?" he whispered, eyes closing slowly.
Nodding, Adela continued. "From what we saw in the Deep Roads, it is calling a great number of darkspawn to its side. How many? Again, we do not know. Although, we have had a clue that it may be leading them toward Gwaren."
Looking up, confusion in his gray eyes, the Arl asked, "Why would it head to Gwaren?"
"There is an entrance to the Deep Roads near there. I am guessing that it is seeking to avoid Orzammar and make its way, unimpeded, to the surface."
He seemed to have aged another ten years, and Adela found herself feeling sorry for the older man. Slowly, he pushed himself from his seat, pacing the room. "I have heard no reports of the Archdemon - or a vast army of darkspawn - coming to ground."
"Any reports from Gwaren at all?" Roland asked from the corner he leaned into, his green eyes watching the Arl closely.
A shake of his gray head answered that question. And silence fell over the room, allowing the Arl to digest the news he had just been given.
And, as was with Ostagar, they had only the words of Grey Wardens with regards to the appearance of the Archdemon. Adela wondered if she would be hearing those words from the Arl, or if he would simply accept their word.
Apparently, it would be the latter. For which the Warden Commander was immensely grateful.
After another moment, Adela walked to the Arl's desk, pulling out her map and spreading it out upon the flat surface. "We have much to discuss - and scout, it seems, Your Grace." She pointed out the routes between Orzammar and Redcliffe, skimming her finger out toward the Brecilian Forest and northward to Denerim. "Before we retire for the eve, I wanted to point out a few thins for you to consider upon." She retraced the path as she continued speaking. "The dwarves will be maintaining a string of warriors and runners along these routes. Much as they do in the Deep Roads. The dwarven girl in our group will be left here in Redcliffe. Once the dwarves arrive here at Redcliffe, Natia will be sent along the routes, learning the route, gathering orders, until finally meeting up with us in Denerim." Adela smiled, looking up into the thoughtful face of Eamon, who had moved closer to study the map, watching the elf's finger trace the routes. "As she passes on the orders and positions, other runners will be sent to the other posts. It will be a far quicker means of communication, sending runner to runner, handing off the orders."
Eamon smiled, again nodding, tapping a finger at one point on the map. This one was northeast of the Brecilian Forest, at a place marked 'Dragon's Peak'. "There used to be beacons at the ancient Tevinter forts that litter Ferelden," his finger tapped at Ostagar, and then at another point at Kinloch Hold. "These are two other beacons I am aware of, although I know that there were other points." He looked up into Adela's surprised and interested face. "If we can figure out where those other beacons are, these beacons may well be used as a last resort to have the armies gather at a predetermined location."
Roland, listening intently to the discussion, piped in. "Is there perhaps a way to use the beacons to communicate by using the smoke as signals?" The others turned to the former knight as he continued, his arms crossed to his chest. "I seem to recall from lessons as a child that the Alammari were known to have used signal fires as more than a single 'get here' communiqué, but using the smoke from the fires to convey more complicated messages."
Alistair and Adela's eyes met over the map. "What about Apumayta?" Alistair asked. "Maybe the Chasind know of these signal fires as well?"
"We should make a point of asking him. He and his people may well know about these other beacons as well." Adela replied as she straightened, glancing at the Arl, who was nodding his approval as his eyes remained fixed upon the map.
"Okay, we'll ask Apumayta and go from there," the Commander remarked as she picked up the map, rolling it up and placing it back into her map pouch.
"Then we will be able to make more concrete plans regarding the gathering of the armies you have collected," Eamon agreed as he straightened, rubbing at his eyes. "The next order of business is Loghain's regency."
"And what do you suggest?" Adela cautiously asked.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Eamon began pacing the room, pausing before the large fireplace. "We will need to call a Landsmeet. All of the nobles of Ferelden will need to attend. Or," he turned back to the Wardens, a look of concern upon his features. "As many of them as would possibly leave their borders, considering the civil war that has erupted over the Bannorn."
"Are the Royal troops truly battling against the Bannorn?" Alistair asked, concern heavy in his voice.
The Arl's gray eyes settled upon the young man, searching his face before nodding. "Indeed. Loghain has demanded that the Bannorn bend knee to him and declare him regent of Ferelden. He needs their support to officially assume the role, regardless of what he calls himself now. The Banns, obviously, disagree, arguing that Anora is the rightful ruler, despite the fact that no one has heard a word from the Queen on this matter. They are also quite determined that, as sovereign lords of their lands, they bow knee to no one. Not King. Certainly not some upstart Regent." Here, Eamon sighed. "And no one truly believes this is a Blight, despite the devastation in West Hills."
"They are foolish to let their pride get in the way of defeating the Blight," Niall, who had remained quietly observing and listening, whispered.
"I agree, Ser Mage," Eamon replied, rubbing at his eyes again. "Especially given your report of what you found while in the Deep Roads. However, neither side will listen to reason. And, since my poisoning was ordered by Loghain, I know any words of mine will be unheard, seeming as seeking vengeance against the Teyrn."
"Then a Landsmeet it is," Alistair remarked, frowning.
With a nod, Eamon stepped away from the fireplace. Adela and Alistair watched the Arl warily, each certain the wily nobleman would bring up Alistair's claim to the throne one last time.
Instead, Eamon advised the Wardens that he would send out messengers to the various nobles, calling a Landsmeet in which they would decide the validity of Loghain's regency. Alistair and Adela's eyes met briefly, each nodding their affirmation to the plan.
There was no mention of their own beliefs with regards to Loghain's regency, or those who manipulated the man behind the scenes. Before arriving at Redcliffe, the Wardens had all agreed not to tell anyone outside of their circle of companions and friends of Adela's Fade Walking ability, and her belief that Loghain was being controlled by a blood mage. This decision was made for a few reasons.
The first, and perhaps most important, being that they had no real proof that Adela actually met the 'real' Loghain in the Fade.
The second was that anyone outside of their group - not having seen the things they had seen; not having heard or experienced the strange occurrences over the past year as they had; would assume that they were all stark raving mad. How could they entrust the safety of this country in the hands of lunatics?
So, silence prevailed and the pair of senior Wardens merely nodded their heads, agreeing to a Landsmeet in which they could remove Loghain from the throne. After all, that was their ultimate goal in political aspect of defeating the Blight. Removal of Loghain essentially and effectively removed the blood mage who manipulated the hero.
Eamon turned toward the bar, and, after offering a drink to the others - all of whom declined politely - the Arl poured himself a snifter of brandy. Taking a quick sip, he turned back towards the others. "There will be more preparations in the near future. However, I believe that any further plans made by us at this time could be moot if we do not have the support of the Bannorn and other nobles behind us." He took another drink, carefully placing the glass back upon the smooth wood of the bar.
"I agree," Adela replied, her posture relaxing for the first time since they had met the Arl at the top of the stairs. "There is one other matter that must be discussed before we retire for the day."
With a nod and wave of his hand, the Arl indicated the elf to continue.
Fergus, who had remained silent and helmed throughout the exchange, stepped forward to stand beside the Grey Wardens. Without preamble, the young noble removed his helm, running his fingers through his dishelmed chestnut locks.
Eamon's eyes widened in surprise as a wide smile cracked across his face. With a chuffed burst of laughter, the Arl stepped forward to clapped a hand to the young Cousland.
"Fergus!" he cried, pulling the younger man into an embrace, completely forgoing proper etiquette (if there was etiquette for such an occasion). Fergus was stunned by the overt show of emotion from the Arl, but made no move to break the embrace, but cast startled eyes toward his companions, who merely raised eyebrows at the display.
"You live!" The Arl exclaimed as he released his hold of the man, holding him at arm's length. "You have no idea how pleased I am about this most fortuitous circumstance!"
"No more pleased than I, Your Grace," the young nobleman remarked dryly.
"How much do you know…?" Eamon began, his joy at the sight of the young man dissipating into caution.
A profound expression of sadness and anger plastered upon his face, the young Cousland seethed. "I am fully aware of what happened at Highever," he informed the Arl, who stepped back by the unexpected show of hostility from the normally jovial man. "Warden Roland informed me of the events. I am also aware that my sister," he focused his eyes fully upon the other noble. "had found sanctuary in your home, but is no longer here."
"I apologize, Fergus," Eamon said conciliatorily. "She…"
"…slipped out in the dead of night," Fergus finished, his temper easing as he spoke. He waved a hand at the Arl's apologies. "You have no cause for apology, Eamon. I am well aware of my sister's habits."
"We tried to locate her, but she was well gone from Redcliffe by the time her absence had been noted." The older man offered with a grimace of regret.
"She's a skilled tracker and scout," Fergus remarked, shifting his feet slightly. "Knowing Elissa, she's found safe haven, and we most likely will not see hide nor hair of her until and unless she wants us to."
Eamon nodded, obviously relieved that the Cousland noble did not blame him for his sister's disappearance.
"Your Grace?" Adela asked, pulling his attention back to the elf. "Fergus's presence must be kept a secret. We cannot afford to let Howe or any of his lackeys become aware that yet another Cousland survived the attack upon Highever Castle."
"Of course, of course," Eamon remarked, ideas and plans already roiling about his mind. "He should accompany us to Denerim. My townhouse there has fewer servants and his presence would be easier to conceal there than here."
"That is what we had thought as well," Adela confirmed with a small, tired smile.
He must have noticed, for Eamon stepped away from the Cousland noble to fully face the Warden Commander. "I think that perhaps you and your Wardens should get some rest, Commander," he replied hospitably. "I am certain you remember the way to your chambers?"
Thusly dismissed, Adela gave a nod, and led the Wardens and Fergus, once again fully helmed, from the study, a thoughtful gaze from Eamon following after.
DA:O
So, still dusty and tired from the road, plans and plots forming around her mind, the pair of senior Wardens made their way to their room. It was at their door that Adela and Alistair were greeted by Gail, Arlessa Isolde's personal maid, asking that the elven warden accompany her to her mistress's rooms. With a small smile to her husband, Adela followed after the red haired elf, lightly brushing at the dust that covered her armor in an attempt to some decency.
Gail paused by the door, turning with a clean cloth in hand. She quickly brushed down Adela's shoulders, offering the cloth to the other elf as she patiently waited as Adela tried to clean up more of the road filth from her armor. With a grateful smile, the elven Warden handed the now dirty cloth back to the servant, standing straight as Gail opened the door for her.
As Adela passed by the elven servant, she noted that Lady Isolde stood facing the door, a small, wooden box held tightly in her white hands. She looked up as the elven warden entered, her blue eye fixing upon the elf's face as a genuine smile crossed her still pretty features. Her cheek crinkled slightly under the ornate patch she wore, the jewels stitched within the silken material glittering slightly in the candle light.
"Thank you, Gail," the Arlessa's carefully soft tones bade her maid, "I wish to speak with the Commander alone, please."
With a small smile and bob of her head, Gail curtsied as she backed from the room, silently closing the door behind.
The two women stood for a moment in silence, Isolde's hands twisting around the box she held between them. Curious, Adela's eyes would skim from the Arlessa's face to the box, wondering at the importance - if any - of that item. Finally, Isolde let out a small sigh, and she lifted her eyes from her hands to the woman who stood mere feet before her.
"I was so pleased to hear that you have returned to us safely," Isolde offered softly, that smile still in place, still genuine despite the nervous twisting of her hands. "You and Alistair…" her voice caught slightly at the mention of Alistair, and she stopped for a moment, shaking her head as the smile slipped ever so slightly. Clearing her throat, she began again. "You and Alistair are too important to us all."
Surprised by the inclusion of Alistair, Adela bowed her head slightly. "My thanks for your concern, Lady Isolde…"
"Please, Commander," Isolde gave a slight shrug, seeking comfort as she treaded unfamiliar territory. "I would ask that you call me Isolde. After all," she smirked slightly, "we are not only friends, but family."
Family. Adela tilted her head slightly, studying the older human woman before her. Of course, Alistair had told Adela of his childhood; told her of the emotional pain that had been caused him, mostly on behalf of and perpetrated by this woman. However, that initial anger and dislike that the elf had felt upon her first meeting with the woman - oh so many months before - did not come readily to her as it once had. Now, she saw a woman, noble-born, who was making every effort to make up for her shortcomings. Adela saw it in how the Orlesian noble spoke to Gail; she had seen it when she and Alistair were married; and she could feel it now, as she stood opposite her in the small room that served as the Arlessa's study.
With a smile, Adela replied, "Of course, Isolde. And you must call me Adela."
Relief relaxed the human woman's posture, and her hands ceased their roving of the box. Taking a deep breath, Isolde said, "I only hope that Alistair can, one day, find it in his heart to be as gracious." Her eyes lowered to the box, and Adela remained standing, still and silent, for she could sense the noblewoman had something she needed to say.
"I remember when first I saw him," Isolde lifted her eyes to meet Adela's open gaze. "Alistair, I mean. He was such a small thing, little more than a baby." She shrugged, her hands tightening upon the box. "I had been told that Eamon was his guardian. I tried to love the child, however…" her voice caught and she shook her head. Steeling herself, she continued. "I just could not. Too many rumors that the babe was Eamon's, wondering how the child would affect any born to me and Eamon…I admit it. I was jealous of my position. Of the position of any future children I would bear. In Orlais, even a bastard could usurp the position of a legitimate born heir." She took a small step forward. "I convinced myself that Alistair was a threat, and I strove to make every day of his life miserable."
Isolde had stopped, turning around to pace beyond the position she had stood in prior. Adela bit her lower lip, trying to convince herself to remain silent.
Yet, she could not. "You succeeded, you know."
Isolde's feet stopped, and her head hung down in weary defeat. "I know." she whispered, turning back to the elf. "Even when I learned the truth of his heritage, I still…" again, she shook her head. "There is no excuse. I was wrong. My fear, my insecurity sent a child away to the Chantry, to live a life of servitude, want and need." She scoffed slightly. "Not that I allowed him any love or acceptance as he lived under this roof."
Isolde closed her eye as memories of how she had treated a child Alistair came to her mind. She visibly shuddered. "I am certain Alistair has told you of how he was treated." She opened her blue eye, and Adela was surprised by the tenderness therein. "I do not blame Alistair for Connor's death," it was a whisper, so soft, yet pained. "That was my doing, my responsibility. I…" she paused, shaking her head. "I cannot speak for Eamon, as he will not discuss it with me. At all. But, I wonder sometimes…" Her voice drifted, and her eye fixed upon the box in her hands.
Stepping forward quickly, she thrust the box into Adela's surprised hands. "This…this is Alistair's. When Eamon spoke with him about going into the service of the Chantry, Alistair was wearing this." She spoke as Adela opened the box, finding therein the shattered remains of an amulet of Andraste. It felt as though her heart rose in her throat as she recalled Alistair telling her about being sent to the Chantry.
"I had an amulet that belonged to my mother. The only thing I had of hers. And, when Arl Eamon told me that I was to be sent away…I was so angry, I tore it off and threw it at the wall. Shattered it. Stupid, stupid thing to do."
Isolde was still speaking, and Adela shook the words - the soft, weary, sad sound of Alistair's voice as he spoke those words months ago - from her head as she turned her attention back to the woman. "Owen is a fine craftsman," the Arlessa was saying. "In pinches, he has repaired broken jewelry for me. I am most certain that he could repair it for you."
Her eyes going back to the shattered remains of Alistair's amulet, Adela asked, "Why don't you have it repaired and return it to Alistair?" She lifted her gaze. "What better way to apologize?"
Isolde's smile softened further and she shook her head. "No. I do not deserve to have the honor of such an act. I return it to you," she stepped forward, covering Adela's hands and the box with her own, "so that you may arrange for its repair and return."
Blue-blue eyes swept back to the box and its contents, and the elf nodded her head. "Thank you, Isolde," she lifted her gaze, and then, holding the box in one hand, stepped closer and pulled the startled noble into a one-armed hug. She felt the tension leak from Isolde as the woman returned the gesture.
"Thank you," Adela whispered as she pulled free, holding the box once more between both hands.
Her smile widening, Isolde replied, "No, my friend. Thank you."
DA:O
"Why can't I come along?" Alistair almost whined, a frown upon his face as he watched Adela change from her armor into tunic and breeches, her daggers strapped to her hips, her bow slung over her shoulders.
"I told you," Adela replied patiently, fighting against the smile that threatened to make its presence known. "I have some errands to run; Roland has errands to run. You need to stay here as my Second and make certain everyone behaves."
"Behaves," Alistair quipped, still pouting. "You act like we're all a bunch of kids."
Smirking up at her husband, the elf rose to her tip toes, still too short to be able to kiss him properly. Settling to brush her lips along his jaw line, she straightened. "You are."
"Adela…"
"Alistair, please," she turned back as her hand settled upon the knob of the door. "Just make certain everyone is settling in. I know for a fact Bann Teagan has been looking forward to speaking with you alone. Take this chance now before things get crazy."
"Crazy again," the human warden qualified, sighing as he accepted he was not going along with his wife for her errands.
"Crazy again," Adela agreed with a smile, turning the knob and slipping through the open doorway to meet Roland at the wide front doors.
DA:O
Pink tinged the horizon, and Ser Perth turned his face towards the sight, leaning slightly forward along the rampart. This time of the day had always been his favorite: the events of a full day behind him, the quiet hours of evening ahead. Normally, the castle was quiet as well, given that the Arl and Arlessa seldom entertained at the historic home of the Guerrins, waiting until their time in Denerim to host grand balls and parties for the other nobles and notables of Ferelden. The knight had always liked this aspect of life at home; it was simply for the Arl and Arlessa, those who served within the castle itself, and the villagers.
Things had changed since young Connor's possession and eventual death. Of course, the death of a child would change so many things. The Arlessa had become…more…human. The knight frowned at that thought, seeking words to revise his opinion of the once self-interested Orlesian noblewoman. However, he could find none. Human. She now saw beyond her own nose, as it were, seeing how the suffering of others could, at the very least, sum up to her own.
The changes within the Arl, however, caused concern for all of those who served the noble. Especially those who had served so for years. Such as Sers Perth and Thomasson, knights who had been in the service of Redcliffe longer than any other.
His eyes swept from the dimming light of the horizon, scanning into the gardens below. The tract of his gaze paused as he saw movement within the flower beds below. Squinting, he leaned forward, frowning as he took note of the familiar forms that stood below. He watched as the taller, red haired form bent down to the lithe female next to him, embracing her tightly, head bent towards hers, slender arms reaching up to entwine behind the redhead. Despite the height, Ser Perth knew well who embraced amidst the roses, lilacs and wisteria.
Seldom indecisive, the knight now had no idea how to react to what he was now witnessing. The Arl had conveyed a certain…mistrust for the elven warden, although the knight had never understood exactly why.
Perth shook his head, turning from the sight of the pair below. Given the standing orders of his Arl (orders he had previously believed vindictive and unnecessarily intrusive), the knight straightened, frowning down at his feet. Taking a breath, he stepped forward and walked briskly away from his perch, seeking out his Arl.