My thanks, as always, to those who continue to follow, alert, favorite and review: Wyl, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Legionary Prime, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, csorciere
See? I can update quicker now. *cheeky grin* Although, the chapter is shorter than intended. However, that just means the next update will be more timely.
DragonAge: The Halla Reborn
Chapter 71
Wearily trudging through the Alienage toward the front gate, Adela barely glanced back toward her companions. Each was as worn and tired – as weary – as the elven Warden. Even Oghren, who had seen enough battle to placate even his own berserker driven blood lust, was uncharacteristically quiet, fully understanding the somber attitude of the group.
They had stopped the slavers; had gotten to the heart of the matter of the disturbances within the elven ghetto. But, too much damage – irreparable damage – had already been done.
Adela's father was gone; her cousin's pregnant wife was gone; their Hahren, Valendrian…so many – too many others, gone. Taken to the Tevinter slave markets with little to no hope of ever being recovered. How the Alienage would recover, Adela had no idea.
Anders stumbled along beside Zevran, who reached over and gently grasped the human mage's arm, steadying him with a deft pull. The mage gave the elf a careful, grateful smile before it fell as his brown eyes fell upon the small, stooped figure in front of them, and he cursed his own failure to save the life of the elven warrior who had joined their group to stop the slavers.
Adela had been heartbroken as the mage had shaken his head, indicating without words that there was no hope. No matter how skilled in the healing arts the Spirit Healer was, he could not repair the fatally broken neck or back, the twisted organs within bruised flesh, nor could he call back a life that had passed beyond the Veil. Any magic that could do that was not magic the healer would practice.
And so, they had taken Nelaros' corpse from that final, blood filled chamber, and left him with Shianni and the others, certain they would see to his care. The corpses littering the alienage would be dealt with by the city guard once the warden and her group reported in.
Michael, she was certain, would be relieved to be able to get into the alienage and take stock himself. However, telling her human friend that Naomi was out of reach…her head hung lower as she considered her human friend's pain at the loss of the woman he loved.
She briefly wondered about those who were quietly backing the City guardsman, wondering if they would take note of the happenings within the alienage.
If they would care.
A chill settled over her with that thought and she adroitly pushed it away. No need questioning the motives of any she could call upon as ally.
They had promised the blind Templar to send another group in to assist him with his investigation of the alienage orphanage. The Templar had smiled pleasantly, understanding fully that the Warden and her current companions were in no shape – physically or mentally – to help him. So he had promised to remain within the Alienage and await the arrival of the Warden's promised team. She tiredly assured him that they would arrive later that day and then had led the group from the alienage's center, unable to meet again with either Shianni or Soris, determined simply to return to the Arl's townhouse, report their findings, bathe and then sleep.
Feet dragging slightly upon the path, scuffing the dirt into tiny wakes behind, she felt a coward. Running away from what family she had left within her childhood home, unable to report her failings. Cyrion Tabris was as much father to her cousins as he was to her. To tell them that she had been unable to save him…she could not face them.
She knew neither would blame her – the slavers had been active within the alienage for months, while she had been gathering her armies, fighting darkspawn and dodging the agents and assassins of those who pulled the strings of the Regent. But, when her thoughts drifted to Alistair, she felt that twinge of guilt. She had managed to glean some happiness for herself. Perhaps…perhaps if she had been less focused on garnering some small joy for herself…
Her blonde head shook, but not with denial, more weary, drooping slightly to her chest. She had not noticed that Zevran had moved to her side until the elven assassin placed a warm arm across her tense shoulders, pulling her against him, lending her what strength he could from his mere presence. Smiling gratefully at her friend, she did not pull away, but burrowed deeper under his arm.
A smirk crossed her face before scrunching up as the smell of leather, blood, dirt and sweat assaulted her senses. "You need a bath, Zev."
Chuckling, the rumbling quaking through the younger elf, Zev took an exaggerated sniff of the girl beside him. "As do you, my Dulcinea," he purred lightly in her ear, chuckling at her grimace at the newest nickname.
Glancing back over her shoulder and Zevran's hand, she replied in a rough voice, "I'll bet neither of us smells as bad as Oghren."
His chuckling gaining in strength, Zevran nodded. "However, he would, rather proudly I might add, strut within his own odor for days if we were to let him."
"Which we won't," came the quick rejoinder.
"Naturally."
Silence fell again and the pair continued to walk, Adela tucked protectively under Zevran's arm, Anders and Oghren just mere steps behind.
DA:O
There had been little time for pleasantries as the Warden and her group stumbled into the great hall of the Arl's townhouse. The four waved aside servants and members of their party as they made the journey to the upstairs study that the Arl seemed to prefer for going over strategy.
Face drawn and pale, Adela slumped into a nearby chair, the other three taking strategic positions around her, still feeling protective and weary and worn from what they had seen and learned from the alienage.
Alistair, suddenly feeling very much the outsider, stood behind Adela's chair, hands placed gently and lightly upon her stooped shoulders as the four recounted everything they had discovered in the Alienage, Nelaros' second death as Zevran pulled free from beneath his armor a treatise, signed by Loghain, giving permission for the Tevinter slavers to purchase any elves from the Alienages.
Eamon's face went tight as he read over the document, stoically ignoring the blood that stained the edges of the parchment. Gray eyes rising, he looked down at the weary elf, frowning deeply.
"This is, indeed, Loghain's signature."
Sighing, lifting her head, Adela nodded. "I recognized it as well." She frowned. "Had there been other such activities in the other Alienages around Ferelden?"
The Arl shook his head, frowning. "None that have reached my ears. Although word of lone elves – those not within the walls of Alienages – disappearing had become more frequent."
Sighing, Adela rubbed a stained hand across her face, nodding wearily at the news.
Eamon's frown deepening, he handed the document back to the Warden. "This will help us out at the Landsmeet."
"All it does is continue to point the finger at Loghain," Adela muttered, scowling at the document back in her hand. "We need proof against the blood mage that is behind the scenes."
"Chancellor Arawn is well respected and not known as a mage," Eamon reminded the elf as he sat down in a chair near hers, eyes penetrating upon her face, capturing her attention and holding it. "Anything we found at Howe's estates would be useful, but we still have nothing directly linking the man to any of the illegal activities perpetrated by Loghain."
After handing the slaver documents to Alistair, Adela scrubbed her hands roughly over her face. "The Landsmeet convenes in…?"
"Two days, Warden." Eamon offered the girl a slight smile. "Day after tomorrow."
Rising, glancing over at her three weary companions, she sighed again. "Get bathed and rested, all," she offered a tired smile as three faces looked up at her. "I'm going to do the same." She looked over at Eamon, who seemed about to protest. "We can't do anything about it right now," she said turning away from the man, ignoring how rude the action seemed. "Oh," she looked over at Alistair. "Alistair, I need you, Leliana and Wynne to go to the Alienage. There is a Templar therein who needs some assistance with an issue he is investigating." She clutched at her head for a moment, a soft curse slipping from between her lips. "And, on your way back, stop by the Servant's Path. You will find the real Arl of Denerim hiding somewhere along the path. He's to be brought somewhere safe until the Landsmeet."
Missing the pained expression that crossed her husband's face, unaware that her final command had prompted further questions, the elf slumped out of the room, heading to the chambers she shared with Alistair, searching out that bath.
The others glanced at each other and then Alistair briefly before making their own escape to their chambers, each missing the look that Eamon exchanged with the other Warden.
DA:O
It felt as though a door was suddenly swung open wide to a winter storm. A chill flashed over him, washing over him in a cold wave, shocking him. Gasping, he opened his eyes, sitting up quickly and rubbing a long fingered hand along his narrow face.
Breath catching, harsh, in his throat, he glanced down at his sleeping companion. Surprisingly, the elf remained asleep. Chuckling, Niall carefully disentangled himself from Zevran's legs – which had twisted with his own during slumber – and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, slumping over slightly, face resting in the palms of his hand as he tried to collect his bearings.
With another glance to his sleeping lover, the mage rose, soft muscles dancing lightly along his shoulders and back as he reached over for his robe. Quickly slipping it over his head, the young mage made his way from the chambers.
The cold still danced along the air, and the Circle trained mage knew that it signified the Veil of the Fade being sundered. Frowning, he carefully closed the door behind him, standing, barefooted, robe crinkled, as he raised his face, eyes closed, as he tried to discern the mage casting.
Months of traveling with the mages in the Warden's group had made it so that the Fade sensitive mage could tell which of his companions was utilizing the Fade, regardless of how small of a casting it was. However, this time, the talented mage could not discern the origin of the magic being utilized.
Taking a deep breath, eyes remaining closed, the mage followed the trail of cold, only vaguely grateful for the hour. There were no servants about to question his rather strange demeanor.
The trail took him to one of the balconies, overlooking the backyard gardens. Frowning, his eyes quickly skimmed over the grounds, taking note of the pair of guards at the far side of the grounds. Confused, he raised his eyes, finally fixing upon the still form of Ser Perth, who stood upon a balcony a floor above his own. Stepping closer, the mage took note that the knight had not taken notice of his own presence, the knight's dark eyes fixed upon the gardens below, a perplexed and astonished expression upon his fine face. Frowning, with a quick glance about, the mage closed his eyes once more, seeking out the trail he had been following.
It was gone, vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Head hanging slightly to his chest, he stood there, trying to reconnect with the opened Veil. However, whoever had been casting had ceased, and the tell-tale sign of the Fade being utilized was gone.
Being nothing else for him to do, determining that one of his fellow mages had been utilizing their own power and he was simply too tired to identify who it was, Niall shrugged, casting one more look at the still form of Perth, before making his way back to the chambers – and bed – he shared with Zevran.
DA:O
A day's travel from the human city of Denerim the dwarves had made their camp, wide eyes often glancing up with apprehension to the wide open sky above them. Just two days prior they had met with the Queen's Scout, Brosca, who had giggled with near insane intensity at the warriors' discomfort at being upon the surface for such a long period of time.
Even after the Casteless had explained how they would not, for fact, fall up into the vast emptiness of the sky above, they still moved with great caution and trepidation, uneasy, squinted eyes upturned toward the mass of blue and white above.
The various commanders of the gathered armies sat in conference, deciding to remain outside of the human city until they had word from the Warden Commander herself, maintaining the outposts spread between the human city and Ostagar, runners sustaining communication between the spread-out groups on a daily basis.
During their travels, they had met up with the outspread groups from the Dalish clans, many of whom had chosen to camp nearby. Although they would never admit it, the dwarves felt somewhat comforted by the wild elves' presence, fully aware that the elves would be far more capable against any natural-born surface danger they could face.
And the elves benefitted from the presence of the dwarves in case any darkspawn happened by.
The arrangement, unspoken as it was, was met with welcome from each camp.
Even when the band of strange humans – feral, wolf-like eyes and rough appearance – had shown up and camped just beyond where the elves were stationed the mood of comradery between the disparate groups only grew.
They all choose to take the companionship as a good indication that they would face their foes easily side by side.
DA:O
With a frown, Gail followed dutifully behind her mistress, watching as Isolde pulled the cloak tighter about her slender form. The noblewoman glanced back to her maidservant, motioning for her to get closer, a matching frown upon her scarred face as she reached over to tug the elf's hood closer about her cheeks. Then, with a soft smile, the Orlesian led her servant along the hidden passage, watching as the magelights that lined the cold stone walls blinked on with a soft light as the women passed.
Gail knew who the noble was meeting, and she felt a slight sense of excitement at being included in the rendezvous. It had been many months since last they had managed to speak with Isolde's agent, and the young elf was anxious to learn of her progress.
And, guessing by how Isolde herself quickened her pace, the servant was certain her mistress was as anxious as well. After all, the Warden had acquired valuable information. Information that she was certain her agent could use in her search.
DA:O
Shadowy figures dodged and weaved through the alleyways of the city, slipping into doorways and alcoves, shadowed faces turning, watching, as the group entered the brothel through a hidden side passage. One form, slighter than the others, rose, stepping fully into the light, revealing a lithe, leather clad elven female, a dark hood pulled carefully over her head, casting her features into deeper shadows. Stepping to the door, she bent down, examining the locking mechanism. Behind her, the other figures disengaged from the shadows, revealing three others – humans; two men and a woman – who took up defensive positions behind the stooped elf.
There is a near silent click and the elf rose, carefully pulling the door open, nodding her head briefly as she then pulled finely crafted twin daggers from their sheaths. The woman and one man mimicked her motions as the second man pulled his shield and a long sword free from his back.
Silently, the four slipped into the revealed dark passage, following the group who had entered mere moments before.
The passage led to a stairwell, leading deep beneath the building. No other doorways or stairwells revealed themselves to the quad, so they were certain this was the path the others ahead had followed. Carefully, they descended the stairway, pausing every now and again to check for traps or listen for life below.
Apparently those they followed were certain in their secrecy and the four soon found themselves standing at a broad, wooden door.
Moving her hood slightly, the elven woman pressed an ear to the cool wood, lifting a hand to tick off the number of voices she could discern behind the door. As she ticked off six – the number they had witnessed enter through the hidden passage – her companions nodded, rolling their shoulders and flexing their knees as they prepared to rush the room beyond.
No words were passed between the four – they had already gone over why they were here and what needed to be done. No need to go over well established plans.
With a final nod, the elf pulled the door open with a sudden burst, startling the occupants of the room beyond. Swiftly, her three companions rushed the room, engaging those within with blade and shield. As her companions engaged the others – two qunari mercenaries and three human males dressed in leather armor - the elf slipped around the doorway, slipping easily into the shadows of the ill lit room, focusing upon the leader of the group – a tall, slender human woman with chestnut hair and haughty features, a finely crafted bow settled upon her back.
The trio easily felled the woman's bodyguards as their leader slipped from the shadows, facing off against the human. An easy smirk crossed the woman's handsome features as her gaze fell upon the elf before her.
"Well, well, Little Bird has finally found her way back to me," the woman spoke with a heavy Orlesian accent, her tongue curling around her words.
"Only to stop you, Marjoline," the elf said in a voice equally thick with the foreign accent. A slender hand rose, to pull the hood from her face, revealing the pretty, sharp features of the Queen's maidservant. "And do not call me that," she frowned slightly. "I am not that person any longer."
"Tsk, tsk, Little Bird," Marjoline taunted, long, elegant fingers playing at the leather skirt about her hips, eyes turned downward to peer into the smaller woman's dark eyes. "You will always be my Little Bird."
If Marjoline noticed the three foes at her back, she made no outward appearance of such. Her attention seemed fully upon the elf before her.
"Your meddling in Ferelden politics ends now, Marjoline," Erlina continued, eyes narrowing as she gave her blades a slight wave, loosening her wrists in anticipation.
"Oh?" Came the smooth response as the human's eyes drifted back, seeming to finally acknowledge the three accomplished warriors at her back.
"We outnumber you, Orlesian wench," the shielded man snarled out at her. "We know that you have been working in Denerim for some time now."
Barely given the man a look, the Orlesian bard kept her gaze fixed upon the elven rogue before her. "Ah, Little Bird," she purred, "your companions are so pedestrian." Now she allowed her cool gaze to briefly flick over the warrior.
"Maybe so," Erlina offered the warrior an apologetic smirk, "however, they do have their uses," she turned back toward the bard master. "Stopping you, for instance, from causing any more harm."
"What harm, may I ask?"
A dark brow quirked up at that, the smirk never leaving the elf's pretty face. "You are behind the false information about the Couslands being leaked out," Erlina took a small step forward, Marjoline watching closely, warily narrowing her eyes. "The references behind the Chancellor's appointment." The dark head tilted slightly as she took another step nearer, this time forcing the bard master to take an almost imperceptible step back. "And, you are currently the rallying cry against the Wardens here in the city." Now she stopped, eyes focused upon her former mistress's sharp face. "Yes?"
Smirking back at the elf, Marjoline shifted on her feet, hip tilted as she brought her hands up to clap slowly at her former student. "Brava! Nicely worked out, Erlina. Although, you have only barely touched on what my organization has been involved in within Ferelden's borders."
One shoulder shrugged up. "Those are the most damning."
Mirroring the nonchalant movement of the elf, the human said smoothly, "If that is what you choose to believe, who am I to say otherwise, no?"
A dark brow twitched ever so slightly, however the human bard master caught the motion. That smirk widened a hint of triumph upon her pretty, sharp features as she contemplated the elven woman before her. Only the slightest of movements, just at the human's peripheral, caught her attention.
"Ah, so, Little Bird," the Orlesian human sighed out. "It would seem our reunion must come to a close." Dark eyes narrowed slightly as she made to turn. "I am sorry you have chosen new masters."
Erlina opened her mouth to speak, but the words never got out before the air tingled with heavy magic. Even the untrained elf could feel the power of a skilled mage nearby and she spun back, pushing herself away from her former master as a heavily robed human male was revealed just behind Marjoline, hands raised at the elven bard.
The human warrior that had accompanied Erlina gave a shout, his attention focused upon the mage. Arms raised, a blast of viscous white light erupted from the warrior's strong form, slamming into the enemy magic user, casting the slender male backwards, stumbling, eyes wide as he realized what he now faced.
The Templar gave the mage a slow grin as his sword hand thrust out, a blaze of white cascading over the longsword he held, piercing into the mage's chest. Bereft of his magic, the mage stumbled further back, seeking an escape from the Templar. A scream escaped his lips as the Templar's sword cut deeply into his back, slicing through muscle and bone, driving through lung tissue, to erupt from his chest in a spray of blood. Dazedly, dimming eyes drifted down to the protruding tip as he fell forward as blood and bile spilled from between his lips. The blade caught in ribs, tugging it free of the Templar's hand.
The Templar was still armed, and had spun about, close now to the Orlesian, and he smashed the shield into the startled woman's face, knocking her back as Erlina skipped forward, daggers raised to pierce through the soft leather the human woman wore.
It was over in less than a minute – the mage lay upon his stomach, the Templar's sword sticking from his back as a widening pool of blood flowed from his cooling body. Marjoline gave out a gasp as she slid to the floor, a wet cough bubbling up from her throat with a trickle of blood as her lungs collapsed. With cool eyes, Erlina watched as the final light went out in the woman's eyes and the human's body slumped forward.
"It would seem Lady Isolde's information was correct," the Templar said as he retrieved his weapon from the dead mage's body.
A small smile crossed the elf's face as she nodded her agreement. With a final glance around, Erlina gave her still standing companions a nod, and then led them from the slaughter.
Both Mother Boann and Ser Landry were going to be well pleased with her report.
DA:O
Tight faced, Sargeant Kylon maneauvered his men about the Alienage, sending one experienced soldier along with Adela's companions, who had arrived shortly after he and his group had, to assist the elder Templar with the orphanage. Thus far, the group had not emerged from the broken down structure. He did not envy what they could still find among the rubble of the place. Although the official report had been that all bodies had been removed and accounted for, Michael Kylon was beyond blindly trusting even his direct superiors.
Tired eyes scanned the familiar area, taking in the unkempt appearance of the once tended common area. Although poor, many areas – especially the common areas – had been well kept, the pride the elves had for the ancient tree in the center of their ghetto obvious. Now, there was no avoiding or denying the blood stains that still showed in the dark dirt.
He lifted his eyes, scanning the elves that were busy working on setting things right as well as shoring up their gates and walls. His gaze skimmed over familiar forms such as Elva and Alerith and unfamiliar shapes, hopelessly searching out the one face he knew was not there. A pain rose in his chest and he clamped his teeth down upon the sob that threatened as he thought of his beloved Naomi, trying without success not to imagine what the girl was going through at the hands of the Tevinters.
Now was not the time…he shook his head, ordering his men to help shore up the walls and secure the damaged gates.
War would find them soon. He would make as certain as he possibly could that even the least considered among Denerim's denizens would be as protected as they could be.
DA:O
Darkness had fallen and Alistair and his group had returned from the Alienage hours before. They had found the orphanage haunted by a demon and its minions, which they had easily dispatched, with the help of the Templar and Sargent Kylon's man. Before heading back to the townhouse, Alistair had directed the group to the Chantry, wherein they had requested the old, abandoned building be cleansed and, if possible, taken down. The taint of the demon and its ilk had too deeply penetrated the old structure to make it worthy of any habitation.
Their return had found Adela and the group she had taken with her to clean out the slavers fast asleep, still exhausted – emotionally, mentally and physically – from their earlier exertions. Watching the calm features of the elf – her face having lost the tense anxiety it had been holding these past weeks – Alistair could not bring himself to wake her, even to report on their success and perhaps garner a kiss. So, he had tucked the blanket up around her chin, kissed her lightly upon her smooth brow – chuckling softly as she gave a little twitch of her mouth - and left the room.
Feeling at ease, the young Warden had made his way down to the kitchens, raiding the larder of meat and cheese, and set about putting together a cold supper. As he ate, Ser Perth had entered the room, requesting to speak with him and Eamon together. Confused, Alistair slipped slices of meat and cheese between two pieces of thickly sliced bread and, with a forlorn glance at the repast still spread out, followed the Redcliffe knight from the kitchens and to Eamon's private study.
DA:O
Heavy double doors – ironbark wood inlaid with tempered steel and iron – stood before them. Deep wounds, old scorch marks and dimpled wood evinced a time when war had come directly to this place, more than likely when Maric, Loghain, Rowan and Adaia had led their troops against the nobles who held out against the rightful king within the chamber beyond.
Raising a small hand, Adela lightly ran a hand over the damage, then stepped back, straightened her shoulders and gave a nod. At each door, Oghren and Sten gave a push and opened both doors wide for the Warden and her company to proceed into the Landsmeet chamber.
As the doors opened, angry voices and shouts could be heard, and Adela gave a slight sigh as her gaze settled upon the beleaguered figure of Loghain, who was currently shouting up at Eamon, who stood upon a high balcony, challenging the former general. Adela could not make out the words, as several other nobles had added their voices to the fray.
A chill, however, settled down her spine as she led her group deeper into the chamber and Loghain's voice rose to greet her.
"Ah, and here is the puppet master now," he sneered in a tone the elf had never heard directed toward her in her entire life. "Tell us, Warden, what has Orlais given you to betray your own kin?"
Surprised by the verbal assault, the elven warden almost stumbled in her step. A slight nudge from Alistair, who kept his features passive and calm, kept her on her feet and moving forward. Frowning slightly, she redirected her attention to the man who stood at the front of the chamber.
As their Warden's attention focused upon the Regent, Leliana and Zevran slipped, unnoticed, into the shadows. From the back of the group, Morrigan, Wynne and Anders stepped back further, separating, seeking with enhanced senses what the two rogues sought with their eyes.
"I am neither the puppet master nor traitor here, Loghain," Adela spoke in a low, clear voice, blue eyes searching a face that had been so familiar to her yet, at this time, seemed as foreign as any other she had encountered during the long, arduous year.
Ice blue eyes hardened further, and Adela had to force herself to straighten and, raising her voice, to begin telling those assembled of the goings on in the alienage. As the Wardens and Loghain squared off verbally, a group of shadowy forms slipped around the chamber, taking strategic stances as several knights, Templars and warriors filtered in from various doors, taking positions amongst the gathered nobles.
"And where have the Wardens hidden my daughter? Ferelden's Queen?" Loghain snapped out as the list of crimes had been presented and reacted to.
"What do you mean?" Alistair's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at the older man. Seeming to take note of the younger man, Loghain turned his attention to the Second.
"Everyone knows how your group stormed Arl Howe's estates, killing not only the Arl but his betrothed, the Lady Cousland." That declaration caused new stirrings and murmurs throughout those gathered. Blue eyes searched the group, finally settling upon the stiff form of Fergus Cousland who had moved to stand beside Eamon upon the upper balcony. The nobleman returned the stare with an open glare. "I see you have Fergus Cousland, the man who would directly benefit from Howe's demise, with you."
"How dare you…!" Fergus snarled, taking a step forward before feeling the Arl's calming hand upon his arm. Taking a breath, Fergus stepped back. "The Warden Commander has already presented evidence that Howe and my…Elissa Cousland were instrumental in the…destruction of the Cousland family…"
"I have it on good authority that they did so based upon evidence they unearthed," Loghain's voice rose, cruelly. "That the Couslands had turned traitor, giving Orlais valuable information and entry into our country. Thereby giving them open license to try, once again, to regain their rebellious territory."
"So a small child was instrumental in that traitorous act?" Adela almost whispered, keeping her eyes from her friend. She could not bear to see once again the pain that settled within the dark eyes of the Cousland noble above.
Something passed before Loghain's eyes as he turned, almost startled, to stare at Adela. The young elf saw it, the clearing of blue eyes, an almost return of the strong man's senses before whatever magic being utilized to control the man has reasserted itself.
"Besides," Adela spoke again, this time raising her voice as her eyes searched the shadows. "We have proof that the evidence Howe had was contrived by an Orlesian bard Howe, himself, had employed."
Again, Loghain's eyes cleared as his brows furrowed, confusion momentarily crossing his hardened features. It took a moment longer for the blood magic to reassert itself, but Adela knew that the man before her was struggling for control.
As Adela continued to watch Loghain, Erlina stepped from the shadows, stepping to Fergus Cousland's side. With a bow, her face impassive, she slipped the documents she had taken from Marjoline's corpse and private apartment into the startled man's hands. With another bow, she easily slipped back into the shadows, eliciting several startled gasps from the nobles nearby as the elf completely vanished from sight.
Dark eyes skimmed the documents, settling upon the signature of Howe at the bottom of several of the pages. Handing them off to Arl Eamon, Fergus raised his head as the elder man scanned over the parchments. "This proves that Howe had acted against my family, working in concert with the Lady Elissa to take over the lands, properties, rights and responsibilities that the Cousland have held in honest stewardship for centuries."
Eamon nodded his agreement before walking to a noblewoman – one Adela recognized as the Bann Alfstanna – and handing her the documents for her review.
"Convenient that the proof should appear now," Loghain sneered as Alfstanna's brow rose, her frown deepening as she read the contents.
"Convenient or not," Alfstanna said as she raised her eyes from the documents, "these are compelling evidence that Howe and Elissa Cousland," it did not escape anyone's notice that Alfstanna did not use the honorifics for either deceased noble, "were working in concert to accuse the Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland – and their vassals – that they were working to further Orlais' interest in Ferelden at the costs of our own liberty."
Outraged voices echoed throughout the chamber until a clear, feminine voice rose above them all.
"Nobles! Lords and Ladies!" All heads turned toward the source, eyes settling upon the tall, straight form of Anora, who now stood just before the throne, blonde head held high, a simple dress adorning her form as the gold singlet she wore at simple functions settled upon her brow. Behind her, Erlina stood, daggers sheathed at her hips, dark eyes scanning the area, searching out any threat to her fully exposed mistress.
Many of those gathered cried out "Your Majesty!" before falling respectfully in deep bows or curtsies, which Anora acknowledged with a simple bow of her head.
"Hear me, good servants of Ferelden!" Her blues eyes, so similar to Loghain's, settled upon the blank face of her father. "My father is not the man he once was. He has not been in control of his faculties for some time."
More shouts and questions, garbled and incomprehensible filled the chambers and, with an almost impatient raise of her hand, Anora opened her mouth to say more.
However, the words never left her mouth as Loghain snarled out, "It would seem as though our Queen has fallen victim to the Grey Warden's influence."
Anora's blue eyes flashed with indignation as she regarded her father with cool resolve. The Regent raised his dark head, icy blue eyes fixing impassively upon his daughter's face.
"Lords and Ladies," called Fergus Cousland from the high balcony, his large hands clasping around the handrail. His deep voice reverberated throughout the chamber, and soon the combined garble of voices from the other nobles quieted down as every pair of eyes – including Anora and Loghain – turned toward him. Satisfied he had everyone's attention, he gave a slight nod as he straightened, his eyes skimming over each upturned face in clear imitation of his own father. "Evidence has been brought before this Landsmeet," he gave a slight wave toward Arl Eamon, who remained standing, quietly, beside the young Teyrn. "I say we put the matter to a vote."
"Yes," echoed Bann Alfstanna, her clear voice flowing over the heads of those gathered below. "A vote will put a halt to this foolishness and allow us to deal with the more important issue of the Blight."
Several voices echoed in agreement with the Bann and Loghain's eyes narrowed, leaving his daughter's face to scan over the faces of those gathered. Those who did not know the man intimately flinched at the seemingly piercing gaze he offered up to them. Those others who knew him – such as Anora and Adela – could only frown at the blankness that appeared in those blue orbs.
A frown settled upon Loghain's face as the gathered nobles began to vote. Voices rose, arguments ensued, however the majority of those gathered recognized the danger of the Blight and therefore offered their alliance to the Grey Wardens.
As the final noble – an exhausted and disheveled Arl Vaughn Kendall – gave his support to the Wardens, Loghain stood stock still, blue eyes unblinking as the Wardens garnered the support of the nobles who ruled Ferelden.
DA:O
As the nobles quarreled and bickered, voices rising in anger, consternation and frustration, the rogues slipped from shadow to shadow, certain that the one who pulled the strings to the Regent had to be nearby. It had surprised them, at first, that the one who called himself 'Chancellor' had not made an appearance. However, due to the nature of the current Landsmeet, and the need for the man to maintain perfect control over Loghain, it made sense. It would not due for the man to cut himself in full view of the nobles.
A delicate frown settled upon Leliana's pretty face as she slipped to the very back of the chamber, sidling passed unsuspecting knights and guards, blue eyes upon the exposed backs of the warriors who knew not that a skilled Bard and Crow Assassin crept in the shadows mere feet from their own position. The Orlesian's eyes skimmed the surrounding shadows, unable to pick out Zevran, but certain the elf was nearby.
Finally determining she needed a higher vantage point, the lithe bard slipped deeper into shadows, finding hand holds in the ancient stonework of the back wall of the chamber, and began to climb to the small balcony overhead. Slipping over the rail, she immediately fell back into the shadows offered by the heavy wall hangings above, pulling free her bow and notching an arrow, keen blue eyes scanning over the heads of the gathered nobles, seeking out a man who would look more like the deceased King Maric than the bastard prince who was their Second.
DA:O
Soft footfalls stilled, keen eyes peering into the dark depths of the shadows he traversed. A tilt of his blond head, pointed ear turned upwards, he paused, listening. A slight smirk crossed his handsome, tattooed features as he looked up, quickly picking the balcony his fellow rogue has positioned herself in. Certain he had the necessary backup should it be necessary, Zevran crouched slightly, pressing back to the wall, as he slid closer to the source of the soft sounds he was certain he had heard.
There, behind one of the many heavy wall hangings that were draped over the cold stone walls to help insulate against both heat and cold was a hidden alcove. Pressing closer, he held out one hand, gently brushing down the edge of the heavy material, making certain not a single telltale wave of his touch could be seen. However, he managed to disturb the material just enough to gather a clearer indication that there was, indeed, someone behind the curtain, a soft male voice whispering.
Preparing himself, realizing he was most likely about to face off against a powerful blood mage (albeit, one deep in the throes of spell casting) Zevran took a moment to gather himself. Then, both blades gripped in his hands, he gripped the heavy cloth and pulled it aside, tearing it down from its hooks to expose a young elven male, a servant by his attire, who raised startled green eyes to his own. Frowning, the elven assassin pointed at the youth, motioning for him to leave the area. With a tight nod, the young elf obliged, glancing back at the older elven male only briefly before hurrying back to the kitchens.
With a shake of his blond head, Zevran stepped from the alcove, eyes searching out the one his Warden was certain pulled the strings to the puppet Regent.