Sorry for the delay in updating. I've been ill and just could not get my mind to read anything, let alone write.
Anyway, here it is – Denerim at last! My thanks to everyone who continues to read from the shadows, alert (I've gotten quite a few more!) and, most especially, review: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, cloud1004.
I struggled with this chapter; just trying to pull the loose threads together. It wasn't until I got to the end that I really got momentum. And, then, I had to stop!
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 63
Denerim was very…gray. That was the only way for the elf to describe the city that had been her home until a year ago. Gray, sad, foreboding.
Tainted.
It was not so much of color, although the capitol city of Ferelden had seemed to lose much of the vibrancy it had sported – the reds and greens that were popular for people to paint their homes; the numerous floral gardens that lined the walkways and trimmed the small parks that even the more desolate market place had sported. Oh, Adela knew enough of history and that those of other nations saw Ferelden and its natives as backwoods, barbaric and, well, greatly lacking in style.
But to the small elven woman, Denerim had been the very embodiment of Ferelden's people: hardy, strong, stalwart, and colorful.
The Denerim she now faced was a shadow of itself, as all color had seemed to bleed out of the ancient city, taking on the pallor of the sky above.
Alistair seemed to sense something, as he stepped closer to his wife, his amber eyes scanning the environment, anticipating trouble. Arl Eamon and his retinue hung back, waiting for the Wardens to lead the way, secure that, with a Landsmeet being called, no one would be foolish enough to try and collect on the bounty upon the heads of the Wardens.
Adela glanced back, taking note that the two guardsmen – young men she did not recognize, but who had, obviously recognized her and allowed them to pass without incident. Both were making a great show of guarding the gate, but the elf noticed the occasional glances the pair threw at the Wardens and their companions.
The look in their eyes was one of almost pure, unadulterated hero worship.
Shaking her head, trying to shake away the uneasy feeling that overcame her when looking at the young soldiers, the Commander of the Grey turned back down the road, Alistair beside her, leading their train of nobles, soldiers, warriors, mages and rogues to where the Arl of Redcliffe kept his townhouse, just off the eastern corner of the Market place.
DA:O
"Are you certain about this?" there was worry in Howe's voice as he watched as Arawn marched into the room, Loghain directly behind him. The Arl of Denerim noticed that the Teyrn's pace was surefooted and certain, his icy blue eyes scanning the room with his usual wariness, his perpetual scowl in place. That caused the conspirator to pause, his gray eyes searching that of their blood thrall, searching for any indication that he was, indeed, under the blood mage's power.
Arawn noticed his friend's scrutiny, and allowed a small smile – one that was all too infrequent these days – to cross his handsome, if not haggard, face.
"Have no fears, my dear friend," the mage all but purred as he patted the Teyrn upon the shoulder. Loghain turned his head, his scowl deepening as those uncanny eyes settled upon the offending hand. Chuckling, Arawn removed his hand as he circled Loghain.
"He is, indeed, fully under my power," the mage continued. "With the branding, our Teyrn's personality and characteristics come through; however, his actions are ours to command."
Cauthrien, who was seated next to Elissa on a nearby settee, rose, her eyes searching Loghain's. The Teyrn followed her movements, eyes narrowing slightly, that familiar grim line of lip telling of his displeasure. An expression he had never had cause to throw in her direction.
But that was before Ostagar, before his former Lieutenant had come to see the truth of the man and his legend. Seen how readily he was to allow Cailan to allow the Orlesians into their country, to once again gain a foothold into their proud, ancient country.
He remained silent, those icy eyes following the knight's movements, and she felt ill at ease at the scrutiny, and wished, just wished, that he would say something – anything – against what she had done, what she was going to do.
And do so willingly.
"Will he speak?" the knight asked after a moment, the feeling of apprehension coming over her.
"Indeed," Arawn stated, stepping back in front of the Teyrn of Gwaren. Loghain's eyes were once more upon the mage, narrowed further with obvious distaste. "Greetings, Teyrn Loghain."
Eyes still narrowed but the scowl lessening somewhat, Loghain replied, "And to you, Chancellor Arawn."
"Is it not possible that he is dissembling?" Elissa asked, a frown upon her pretty face, as Rendon moved to take Cauthrien's place by the side of his young lover.
Smirking at the noblewoman, the mage moved behind the Teyrn, lifting the raven hair to display the brands, now glowing with a faint blue-white. "He cannot free himself of the brands," the mage remarked with firm confidence, settling the hair back to the man's neck.
The Nevarran mage turned back to his coconspirators, a self-satisfied smile upon his lips. "I believe that you should prepare yourselves to meet the Arl of Redcliffe and his…guests."
DA:O
They had only arrived an hour prior to the announcement that Teyrn Loghain and his retinue were approaching the townhouse. Barely enough time for the Wardens and their companions to stow their still unpacked gear in the rooms provided by the Arl.
Fergus was shepherded to a small room off the main hall, where the Arl had determined he and the Wardens would greet their guests. From this room, the young Teyrn would be able to watch and hear everything said during the meeting.
The other companions were scattered in other rooms just off the hall, weapons ready, spells prepared, in case the meeting broke out into violence.
Roland paced behind Adela and the other three Wardens, earning a deep frown from the Arl and a sharp glance from Adela. Running his hands through his loose, red hair, he ceased his pacing, taking a firm stance, hand upon the pommel of his sword as he quieted his body, but could not quiet his heart.
Word had reached them that Arl Howe was one of Loghain's companions.
The former knight of Highever was uncertain if he could restrain his temper, but one look at Adela's face – tight with her own anxiety – helped to calm his own frayed nerves, ease the tension growing within him. The need to simply coil and pounce, sword leading the way, the pierce the viper's heart and cease its beats.
A deep breath calmed those thoughts, pushing them away.
Time for Howe's reckoning will come. Just not today.
As one, the small group turned as the great doors to the hall opened, heralding in Loghain, followed closely by Cauthrien and Howe.
Adela took one small step forward, her eyes fixed upon the striding form of the man she had known all of her life as a friend. She watched as his steps were purposeful and confident, his eyes scanning the area around him, as always searching out any threat.
To her, he seemed himself, fully in control of his faculties.
It was only once he was standing before them, his blue eyes cold, scanning over the group, passing over her as though she was a stranger, that she knew her initial impression to be far from correct.
"Ah, Eamon," Loghain's gravelly voice echoed throughout the large chamber. "I see that you have recovered from your illness."
A gray brow rose, a frown forming upon the Arl's prematurely lined face. "Why don't you call your poison for what it is?" The Arl snarled.
Hands clasped behind him, Loghain paced a few steps before the Arl, turning to face the man once more. Despite being more than a decade his senior, at this time Loghain appeared younger than the prematurely aged Arl. The Arl had made a remarkable recovery, having marched alongside his men during the trip to Denerim. However, the poisoning and subsequent imprisoning in Connor's desire demon's realm had taken its toll on the man. And Loghain appeared more than ready to take advantage.
He moved closer, towering over the Arl's slightly stooped form. "Have you accusations to make?" the Teyrn asked, blue eyes narrowing.
The Arl's gray eyes searched Loghain's face. Seeing nothing, he reversed tactics. "I would hope you would not put the country through any further…indignities and allow us to face the threat of the Blight."
"Then stop this nonsense, Eamon," the Teyrn implored. "You can be the voice of reason. Call off the other nobles, have them cease their ridiculous infighting and step to our side. Only together can we defeat this darkspawn incursion!"
Loghain's voice had risen, echoing throughout the large chamber. Once the ringing of the man's voice had ceased, Eamon shook his head. "You make it sound as though I have something to do with the civil war." He frowned as he took a step closer. "I have been in a coma, thanks to your blood mage. Had it not been for these Grey Wardens…" he moved his hand to indicate Adela and the others, who had remained silent as they watched the exchange between the nobles. Behind them, Roland seethed, his eyes piercing into Howe's smug face.
"Ah, yes," Loghain turned to scrutinize Adela, who raised her eyes to stare directly into Loghain's. She swallowed down the ill feeling as those eyes seemed to not recognize her. "I am sorry for what happened to your Order on the field," he continued. "A shame they chose to turn traitor at so ill an opportunity."
"They turned traitor?" Alistair's voice broke in, anger in his tone. The young warden knew of Adela's Fade walking, knew that she suspected Loghain was being held in thrall to a blood mage. And he did believe her. However, the anger and pain of the treachery they had suffered at Ostagar rose up, and he had to release it. Besides, he had a role to play. And angry Warden suited him just fine at this moment. "It wasn't the Grey Wardens to turn traitor that day!"
Blue eyes rose, taking in the form of the young man. A black brow rose in recognition. "Ah, so this is Maric's bastard." He turned to look back to Eamon, once again ignoring the Wardens. "The one you wish to put forth to the Landsmeet as King." Loghain shook his dark head, the scowl firmly in place. "The nation already has a strong ruler, Eamon. Anora is the Queen, and I shall lead the armies!"
"Yeah, great job you did at Ostagar," Alistair continued vehemently, ignoring the glare Adela shot at him.
"Silence, churl," Cauthrien cut in, her voice condescending as her pale gaze settled upon the young Theirin son. "Your betters are speaking."
"Oh?" Adela spoke up, her eyes going to Cauthrien, who glared at the elf with barely disguised hatred. Adela's blue eyes scanned over the three, settling upon Loghain for a moment before returning to the female knight. "When we see any who are our betters, we'll be sure to hold our tongues."
Howe's eyes narrowed, but an amused grin crossed his hawk-like features at the elf's comments as his scrutiny of the young elf turned to open admiration. Cauthrien continued to glare at the elf, but Loghain's attention was now turned to the girl. Adela turned her own eyes to him, watching as something flashed through the man's blue eyes. A moment of recognition, she was certain of it, and she sought to press him.
"Loghain," she stepped closer, her eyes searching the Teyrn's once more. There was a familiar, albeit faint, flutter in her stomach as she stood near the man, staring up into the familiar planes of his features. His eyes were shuttered now, and unreadable. "Loghain," she repeated, a soft whisper. "I know you are in there somewhere."
Her companions – including Eamon – remained quiet. There was a faint gasp from Cauthrien, and Howe chuckled. Loghain merely stared back at the elf for another moment before turning once more to Eamon.
"Call off this Landsmeet, Eamon," the Teyrn implored. "Allow the nobles to defend their homeland against the darkspawn. There is still a place for you amongst the defenders."
Shaking his gray head, Eamon allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. "Loghain, this madness you have carried out…it harms Ferelden as much as the darkspawn do. Call off your armies, pull them in and step down as Regent, so that we can get the true business of defeating this Blight!"
"And what of Anora?" Loghain remarked.
"She is not of the Theirin blood line, Loghain." Eamon replied back. "Alistair is."
"Sure," behind the Arl Alistair muttered as Adela turned her glare to the nobleman. "No pressure there."
Eyes hardened, and Loghain spun about abruptly. "We shall see you and your puppet at the Landsmeet by week's end, Eamon," came the Teyrn's parting words, tossed over his departing shoulder as Loghain and his companions stalked from the chambers.
Once the Teyrn and the others were out of sight, Eamon released a sigh of relief. Turning to the others, taking note of Fergus' emergence from the small room, he remarked. "Well, I had not expected him to reveal himself quite so soon."
Adela's eyes remained upon the doors, still opened to the townhouse's exit. "I see you haven't given up on trying to force me on the throne," Alistair quipped irritably as Adela turned, a concerned expression upon her face.
Eamon shook his head. "Merely a politician's tactic, my young man," his voice was soothing as he patted the irritated young Warden upon the shoulder. "Perhaps we can use it as a bargaining chip."
Niall, who had remained quietly standing directly behind the Arl during the entire exchange, turned to look at the Arl. The man appeared smug, as though he had somehow managed to win a victory. However, the mage was unable to discern what that victory could possibly be.
Beside him, Roland's tension had eased, although his green eyes remained fixed upon the still open doors. Slouching his shoulders slightly, Niall reached over and patted the young warrior upon the arm, pulling his attention back to his fellows.
"What do we do now?" Alistair asked of the Arl, pulling everyone's attention back to their companions. The irritation still remained in the young Warden's voice, but it was obvious he was striving against it.
Running his hands through his hair, Eamon resumed pacing. "Not all of the nobles have arrived yet. It is our hope to call the Landsmeet by week's end. I would suggest," he stopped his pacing, eyes fixed upon Adela now. "that you unpack and then scour the city. Speak with as many as you can. Find out what has been happening here during our absence. The more information we have, the better prepared for the Landsmeet we shall be."
"Sounds like as good a plan as any," Adela remarked, frowning, her eyes once more going to the door way. She did not notice Eamon's attention upon her, his eyes narrowed and a slight frown upon his face.
DA:O
They had split up, deciding to blanket the city in as small a period of time as possible. Leliana led a group comprised of Zevran and Anders along the Red District, searching out gossip that normally could be found for a coin or two at such notable establishments as the brothel, The Pearl and the popular tavern, Warden's Whip. The former bard knew well that nobles tended to frequent the less reputable establishments to whet their particular appetites, and quite often gossip and rumor followed hand in hand. Alistair had merely rolled his eyes as the bard explained this to the more sheltered of their companions – most notably, Alistair and Adela.
Familiar with the Market Place and surrounding taverns, eateries and shops, Adela led a group that consisted of Wynne, Natia and Roland. Roland canvased the Gnawed Noble while the elven and dwarven rogues scoured the Market Place and shops, sifting through the plethora of concerned talk and anxious gossip as Wynne engaged the tranquil clerk at the Wonders of Thedas before making a call at the Chantry grounds, chatting up the Templars and priests who tended to prowl the grounds.
Alistair's group was formed of himself, the Sten and Oghren, this group traipsing through the Dock District, engaging the talkative sailors and dock workers, skimming information on the incoming and outgoing vessels and other gossip that always managed to find its way to the watery boundaries of any port city.
Fergus had been left behind, much to his chagrin, at the townhouse, kept company by Morrigan, Niall and Gail, who helped him pore over the books in the Arl's vast library, pulling any and all references to protocol and motions set at the Landsmeet. While Fergus would be able to tutor his Warden companions well enough, he wanted to be prepared for any surprise that may greet them once the Landsmeet had finally been called to order.
He recalled many times his father recounting surprise motions coming forward at past Landsmeets, and how precedence had been set many times. The young Teyrn was certain that this upcoming Landsmeet would more assuredly see some startling revelations and calls before the day was through.
DA:O
Adela flopped unceremoniously upon the large bed provided her and Alistair. Her feet ached and her throat was dry. However, it had been a successful day, all told.
Very successful.
Gossip, rumor and innuendo abounded within the capitol city of Ferelden. Most were worthless – just fears and speculation on the part of frightened and wearied souls.
Everything from Anora being dead to the Grand Cleric was, indeed, the Archdemon, seemed to be making its winding way through the streets and taverns of the city.
However, if one gleaned enough, listened with sharp ears, one could sift the wheat from the chaff.
And most of the groups came back with enough 'wheat' to piece together what was occurring within the ancient city.
Leliana reported that, within different quarters of the city, a rogue group of Warden supporters was growing, pulling together their resources to assist when the time came for the Wardens to call. The bard determined that she would return, alone, to the Warden's Whip to try and learn more that very evening. As a matter of fact, Adela believed that their lovely bard was already making her way through the seedier parts of the city.
The sailors and dockworkers were a talkative bunch, and many were more than willing to compare notes with hardy warriors such as Alistair and Oghren, allowing their curiosity of the mighty Qunari warrior to loosen their tongues even more. There was a great curiosity centered upon the near steady stream of vessels from Tevinter arriving and debarking during the last few months. However, none of those the trio of warriors had spoken with could provide information on why, exactly, Tevinter ships had made port at the docks. It was a matter that the warriors decided one of the rogues – Zevran, more than likely – would be better suited to root out the answer to that question.
Wynne had a very nice discussion with a pair of Templars at the Chantry, although neither really provided anything solid for the group to follow up. Their discussion centered mostly upon the death of the Grand Cleric at Ostagar as well as the unease of the poorer citizens of Denerim. One of the Templars, an older man whose mind was deteriorating after so long usage of Lyrium, had stated he felt sorry for the elves in the alienage. When Wynne pressed what he meant, he stumbled along his words, explaining how a fellow Templar had gone in to investigate a concern of demonic activity within the decimated ghetto. He could provide nothing further other than that said Templar had not been seen for over a week.
That news had affect Adela strongly, enforcing the concern she had felt for her former home. Her efforts in the market place had proved fruitless, no one willing to speak directly to her as either a Grey Warden or an elf. Natia fared about as well as the elf had.
Roland had managed to confirm the growing lack of confidence in Loghain and Anora from the nobles, many who found their way to the Gnawed Noble seeking information of the Grey Wardens. The young knight had been pleased to learn that many of the nobles were more than ready to give their support to the Wardens, should they prove strong enough to oppose and depose Loghain and his cronies.
Teyrn Howe's name came up more than once, all attached to nefarious rumors that no one could prove.
And so now, after spending all day scouring the city, the elf felt that they were on the right path. But there was a niggling along her senses, something she was missing, something that she needed to delve into further. However, it was out of reach, just beyond the periphery of her mind's eye.
But it felt something so obvious…she shook her head, turning to her stomach to bury her face into Alistair's pillow. She could hear the splashing of water from the washroom as her husband busied himself with washing the day's dirt and dust from his skin. Despite the homey sounds – the water splashing, Alistair's off key humming – something felt strangely amiss to the young elf.
It was that feeling that always came over her whenever they were at Redcliffe Castle. The ill ease, the corrupted flow of the air itself. She had not noticed it as they marched along the road to Denerim, the open air about them, Arl Eamon striding purposefully by Ser Perth's side, amidst his own soldiers and knights, those of Highever marching stoically about Fergus and the Wardens and their Companions. But here, in the confines of this townhouse, the pain and sorrow that permeated the ancient fortress at Redcliffe was making its presence felt within the more modern structure of the townhouse.
Abruptly she jerked up into a seated position, her head twisting to stare at the closed door to their chambers, another realization coming upon her.
All of Denerim had felt this way. Corrupted sorrow, copper and iron upon the air, as humid and tainted as the Deep Roads, but worse, for they were in the open air, not surrounded by the depths of earth that had long been exposed to the taint for centuries untold.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest heaved with the desire to just breathe. Urgently, she pushed off the bed, ignoring Alistair's concerned stare as she made her way from their chambers. The need to get out a most palpable and urgent need.
Trailing behind her, towel still in hand, Alistair could only follow as his wife – whom he believed to be hyperventilating by now – scurried passed startled servants and guards, forcing her way through the huge doors that led out to the townhouse's courtyard.
He found her, bent over, hands to her knees. Behind him the sounds of scurrying feet brought him round, and he watched as Niall and Anders rushed to the elf's side, healing magic already aglow upon the blond mage's hands as Niall bent down beside Adela, one square hand upon her back, speaking soothing words as Anders cast about with his rejuvenating and healing spells. Carefully, Alistair made his way to his wife's side, a question upon his face. Another set of footfalls and Roland was there, watching with concern upon his face.
And, despite that his wife was obviously struggling with something – something physical and emotional and worrying as the two mages worked their spells upon her - Alistair could not quell that feeling – that old jealousy – that threatened to blur his vision and choke him alive.
Only when Adela was standing straight, Niall's hand still upon her shoulder, an almost embarrassed apologetic expression upon her face, that Alistair moved away from the man who had once – once – been his rival, to peer with concern into his wife's face.
However, that feeling did not leave him as Roland continued to watch as Adela struggled to recover from whatever affliction had come over her.
And that jealousy was subverted by anger – anger toward himself, toward Roland – and would not release him from its grasp, even as Adela stepped to him, allowing him to put his arms about her shoulders, holding her, squeezing her tightly to his side. He could feel her shuddering breaths, the warmth as Anders cast one last rejuvenating spell upon the elven warden, and he bent his head down, to place a comforting kiss upon the top of her blonde head.
And still, the ill ease and tension would not leave him, not until Roland had moved away, to speak with the mages, as Alistair turned to lead Adela back into the house.