AN: Thaks to everyone still following the story, and especially those who review or fav it. :) Extra big thanks to my friend and beta ShebasDawn, without whose encouragement and help I'd be completely lost. :)
Previously on Failed to Fail: When Airam & Co finally reached Denerim, he and Zevran wanted nothing more than a romantic dinner. But then they learned about Loghain's business with slavers, and once that was over, the Crows attacked. Taliesen, Zevran's ex-lover, died in that attack. Feeling guilty, Zevran decided he was unworthy to be loved. Confused and hurt, Airam accepted a dangerous mission to save Queen Anora from Howe's dungeons. But it turned out to be a trap, and he was imprisoned in Fort Drakon. Under Zevran's command, the others organized a daring rescue, but although they did it in record time, they didn't arrive in time to prevent Airam being tortured. They escaped to Isabela's ship, where Airam slowly recovered, and, despite still suffering from anxiety, agreed to go to the Landsmeet.
The Landsmeet
And finally, the big moment was here. The Landsmeet. The one event everything had revolved around for the past few months. Each and every one of the boring suppers with the nobles, the cleverly vague promises of future benefits for their allies, the intelligence collected on their opponents, was done with the Landsmeet in mind. The next couple of hours would prove how well they'd done - if they won, they would end the civil war; if they lost, they'd die. Easy, yes? No pressure at all.
Airam was a bundle of nerves. He tried to look calm and cool in front of the servants, but the way he squeezed Zevran's hand, the fact that he wouldn't let go for one moment, gave him up a bit. Fortunately, neither Eamon nor Erwin made any attempt to separate them and seat them in different carriages. Wise decision; if they did, Airam would probably refuse to go.
Theirs was to be 'the Warden Carriage', with Airam, himself, Faren, Riordan, and Rask, who'd refused to move an inch from his master since the boy woke up.
"Not fair," Alistair complained. "I'm a Warden, too! Warden above all, remember? Why do I have to be with her? What if she tries something to make me marry her?"
'Her' was Anora, the still-acting Queen of Ferelden, who was now strolling towards them, all dolled up and dignified, followed by her faithful lady-in-waiting, Erlina. If she'd heard Alistair's comment, she didn't let it show.
"Your Highness," she said to Alistair, holding out her hand.
"Your Majesty." Alistair bowed a little, taking her hand and kissing it.
Then she turned to Airam. "Warden Commander," she said, holding out her hand again. "I'm happy to meet you again."
"I'm afraid I can't say the same, Your Majesty," Airam snapped, crossing his arms. "You'll have to excuse my lack of manners. My hands are not healed yet. It takes some time for your nails to regrow after someone pulls them out, you know. Now. Shall we?"
Her eyes narrowed, but she refrained from commenting. Nor did she, Zevran was amused to see, acknowledge his existence in the slightest. Maybe she was still upset by the little chat they'd had two days ago?
He and Eamon played a good guy-bad guy game with her. Eamon reminded her that Alistair's victory would be best for her, too. After all, the Blight was still raging on, and Alistair was the Warden Second. Before the Archdemon was slain, he would not be able to take over the rule properly. The country would need a skilled ruler – her. With Eamon's support and protection, naturally. Her father already suspected her of treason – there was no guarantee her life would not be in danger. Cailan's name hung in mid-air, unspoken but almost palpable. Zevran needed much fewer and less flowery words to inform her about the gruesome turn her life would take should she try to betray the Warden Commander again.
Anora was no fool. She knew Eamon's offer was mostly formal and she'd be reduced to a figurehead – not that she'd been anything else since Loghain had nominated himself as 'regent', as if she was a mere little girl with pigtails and knobby knees. And she was equally aware that Zevran wouldn't hesitate to do all he promised and more should she cause any more problems for Airam. She graciously accepted Eamon's offer… and apparently decided to pretend Zevran didn't exist. Good.
He didn't hide his smirk as she turned to Alistair to take her to their coach. Eamon and Teagan were already waiting for them.
Finally, they were going to the Landsmeet.
oOo
The trip was short and uneventful. No surprise there - the route had been carefully planned and was discreetly but heavily guarded by their noble allies and the Mage Collective. Nothing short of the Archdemon would be able to prevent them from arriving at the Landsmeet.
That did not mean their problems were over. The moment they arrived, they were approached by a grim lady with the lowest sex-appeal Zevran had ever seen, followed by a dozen guards. Rask immediately started to growl, but she ignored him.
"Your Majesty," she said with a courteous bow. "Allow me to escort you – the Lord Regent is expecting you."
"Yes, thank you, Ser Cauthrien," Anora replied curtly before turning to Eamon. "Lord Eamon, please accompany me."
"It would be my honour," Eamon replied as he stepped up beside her.
Cauthrien looked from Anora to Eamon and back, her brow furrowing into an ugly thick line.
"I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I have orders to bring you alone-"
"Preposterous," Anora snapped. "Remember your place, Ser Cauthrien. Now, let us go."
Cauthrien pursed her lips but wouldn't challenge a direct order from the Queen in public. She bowed, turned on her heel, and led the way. Zevran watched her stiff shoulders as she marched out of the room. The most loyal of Loghain's followers. When he'd been gathering intelligence about her, he'd suspected they were having an affair, but now that he'd met her in person, he doubted it. In fact, he doubted she'd ever had an affair with anyone. Made of cold steel, she was; a walking greatsword, without any place for heart or passion.
"We should go too," Fergus said at his side.
Zevran looked around; during their little talk with Cauthrien, the others had gone to take their seats in the Chamber of Peers. All that was left were the 'leaders of the opposition': Alistair, Fergus, and Airam. And him, a graciously overlooked bodyguard, because Airam flat out refused to be parted from him.
If they were to lose, Zevran's last task was to kill him. That was what Airam had asked of him, and he had promised, but he had no intention of keeping it. If they lost, he would kill each and every fool who voted against them, simple as that. And the others would join him. Well, maybe not Eamon. But there was no way Shwara would let Ferelden nobles hurt his family again.
Besides, he had other plans with Airam tonight. Fort Drakon or death would be most inconvenient obstacles.
Zevran gave Airam's hand one last squeeze, then he let go and stepped behind him, Fergus at his side.
The guards swung open the massive double doors, and the doorkeepers cried the names of Alistair Theirin and Airam Surana; they walked in briskly, heads held high, followed by such loud murmuring and whispering that his and Fergus' names were almost drowned out – no complaints there, at least from his side. Rask walked in behind them, unannounced but proud. Anywhere else in the world, the mabari would be unceremoniously thrown out… but this was Ferelden, Zevran reminded himself again, and Fereldans did things their way.
The chamber was bigger than he expected – eighty yards long at least, and a little more than half as wide, lavishly decorated, at least by Fereldan standards. Nowhere near Antivan or Orlesian standards, of course. Stained glass windows depicted Andraste, and what he'd guess was Caladin – Caladar? That Cala-something guy who was the first king of Ferelden. Leliana had told a few stories about him, but he saw no point in keeping in memory the names of long-dead guys.
Crimson upholstered seats rose up on the right and left. The right side was for Loghain's supporters, who, much to Eamon's indignation, dared to label themselves 'loyalists'. The left side was for Alistair's supporters, who called themselves 'Theirinists'. Zevran was pleased to see the rows on the left were more occupied. Also on each side were balconies for the Chantry, Templars, mages, rich merchants, and 'other honoured guests', and they were also filled with their supporters.
At the far end of the chamber was a platform covered in heavy carpet, with two tall thrones, plated with embossed gold. Gorgeous, he had to admit. But he'd bet they were painfully uncomfortable. Behind them was another door. At the bottom of the stairs was a crude-looking, low seat – was that wool peeking out of it? Zevran wrinkled his nose. Why in the Void would they want something like that here? Antivans wouldn't keep it in a stable! Orlesians wouldn't produce it in the first place.
Thankfully, their seats weren't like that. They were seated at a long table a few yards before it. Alistair and Airam sat at the head of the table, facing the throne, Zevran sat on Airam's left side, and Fergus on Alistair's right.
A few moments after they sat down, the gossiping stopped and an old man that looked like a stuffed teddy bear walked in through the door behind the door, stepped up to the ugly wool seat, and pompously bid all present to rise and welcome the regalia and the monarch. Everyone did so, heads humbly bowed, right hands on their chests. Zevran followed their lead. A moment later, the door opened again and in walked two other elderly gentlemen, one carrying a two-hand sword and the other one carrying a… fur cap?
"Don't you dare laugh," Airam hissed, nudging him discreetly.
The elderly gentlemen placed the sword and the fur cap on the table, then stood, one on the each side of the thrones, heads held so high that if it rained they would drown.
And then, finally, Queen Anora, now wearing a crown – why not the fur cap, Zevran wondered – and a fur coat so long four little pages had to carry it. Behind her were Loghain, in full armour, and Eamon, both with awfully determined expressions, and several armed guards, including Ser Cauthrien. Anora and Loghain sat on the thrones, and Eamon took his place on Anora's right. Then Anora finally graciously allowed them to be seated.
"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, we meet here today at the request of Lord Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe, to discuss the recent threats our nation has been facing – the unrest in certain areas-"
"That isn't 'unrest', it's civil war!" someone in the merchant's balcony yelled. "And it's doing more harm than the bloody darkspawn!"
A loud murmur broke out, quieting only when Teddy Bear stood up from his wool seat and cleared his throat. "Sers, please! You are in the presence of the Queen! Remember your manners or I shall have you escorted from the chamber!"
"-as well as the Blight," Anora said, as if no interruption had occurred, and swept the chamber with a stern gaze. Zevran expected more protests, but the threat of being publicly escorted out like a snotty brat apparently worked. "I hereby declare this Landsmeet open. Arl Eamon, present your case."
oOo
The Landsmeet went more or less as Zevran expected. He couldn't help but be amused by this pale imitation of the Game. Naturally, he kept his face straight, although he did get a couple more nudges from Airam. 'For prevention', the crazy kid whispered back when he asked how he'd earned it.
But they were so funny in their pompousness, and yet always just one word away from a dwarven-type discussion as they presented their cases – first Eamon, then Fergus, then Bann Sighard, whose son was the survivor of Ostagar found in Howe's dungeons, and with a very interesting story to tell. Riordan, who told how he was arrested when he came to offer the help of the Orlesian Wardens during the Blight, his pitiful state more convincing than his story (he was an Orlesian, after all). And finally, Bann Alfstanna, the sister of the Templar who had attempted to arrest Jowan, only to be stopped and imprisoned by none other than the regent himself.
Ah, but that last one livened up things quite a bit! Banns jumped up on both sides, yelling insults and making threats – what a pity the Grand Cleric intervened and made them all hold their tongues and sit down. But, this case would be further investigated, she said in a cold voice, glaring down from her balcony at Loghain.
The man didn't care. So far, he hadn't reacted at all, his eyes fixed on Airam, who stared right back. Jowan was called forth, and he answered all questions put to him humbly but surprisingly firmly – Leliana had done a good job preparing him. The slave trade was brought up, documents presented, suspicions raised - "And once there are no elves in the alienages fit for Tevinters, what then? Are we supposed to believe the self-proclaimed regent will stop this profitable business, when there are so many villages with banns who have mysteriously disappeared since he's been in charge?" - and still there was no response from Loghain.
Then, someone brought up Ostagar. If only King Cailan hadn't rushed things, thinking only of his glory, none of this would have-
Airam's chair screeched across the floor as he stood up. "I take it you have been there, ser? Since you seem to know so much?" he asked, his voice as icy as the air around him.
The man – who hadn't been anywhere near a fight for at least thirty years – swallowed, looking around for support, but everyone's eyes were riveted on Airam, hanging on his every word.
"I was there. I was at the council the night before the fight. I was specifically invited there – by the King, I believed back then. But it wasn't him, was it?" He turned to Loghain. "It was you. You invited me, not because I was in any way impressive, but because I wasn't. Freshly Joined just a couple of hours earlier, I wasn't any threat, was I? Just a child wanting to play at war. Cailan would have a Warden guarding his brother as he wanted – he was no fool, he knew he might die, and so he kept the other Theirin out of the fight – and you could be certain that I wouldn't endanger your plan. You couldn't have known we were both being played by someone far more experienced in scheming..."
"Is that so," Loghain said dryly. "And who is this hidden player, if I may know?"
"A lady you met once, during the rebellion. Or so she claims. In the Korcari swamps?"
A fresh wave of murmurs, questions, demands for explanations and insults ensued, but Airam offered no explanation. Loghain didn't react either. To the casual observer, his expression didn't change, but he couldn't fool a Crow. He recognised who Airam was talking about, and it shook his calm and filled him with doubts. Good.
"Poor Cailan… Despite all the rows, he never suspected you, did he? He trusted you till the end. You were his general, and when you told him to invite this new Warden, he did. Don't wait for Eamon's men, so he didn't. Follow this strategy, and once again he obeyed… and here we are now."
He took a deep breath and looked around. "But what happened, happened. None of us can do anything about it. We need to focus on the situation at hand, and it's desperate. While you quarrel, people are dying out there, and the darkspawn army grows. It's only a matter of time until they decide to march on Denerim, and the city is not ready at all! We're talking about the Horde, people! Tens of thousands of monsters! You need to stop playing politics. Ferelden needs a king who is able to see beyond his personal grudges and interests, who will lead and protect all citizens regardless of their race or political affiliation, and who has a plan – and an army able to execute it. Enough of this chit-chat already! Call for the vote, Your Majesty! It's time to decide."
The left side broke into applause and stood up. The right side booed and whistled - but some remained quiet and thoughtful. Good sign, no? Everyone turned to Loghain, waiting with bated breath to see how he would react.
"I agree with the Warden. Enough of this! It is time to decide who shall lead this country - an Orlesian puppet without any real evidence that he is who he's claiming to be, or a legal ruler, the first of peers? The fate of Ferelden is in your hands, sers."
This time, the right side applauded - but again, some of them didn't join in. Anora looked at Airam, but he shook his head; there was nothing else to add.
Anora nodded. "Very well. You may sit down, Warden Commander. We shall proceed with the voting. Ser Tiptoft," she said, turning to Teddy Bear, "you shall be in charge of counting the votes. The question that is to be decided, is: Who shall lead Ferelden? I, with my father as regent, or Alistair Theirin? Bann Teagan shall call you by name and you shall say one name. Let the voting begin."
oOo
Anora had nerves of steel, Zevran would give her that. Not a muscle on her face moved as the vote proceeded and more and more men and women stood up, publicly proclaiming their loyalty to Alistair. The result was obvious long before Teddy Bear stood up, cleared his throat, and declared that the Landsmeet vote was one hundred twenty-six to seventy-two in favour of Alistair Theirin.
Airam was the first one to congratulate the new king, giving him a tight brotherly hug - not what decorum required, but this was Ferelden, after all. The Landsmeet was over and all the good sers wanted was to start the celebrations. The ex-regent would have none of it, however.
"Traitors!" He stood up, glaring at the nobles, who froze in their places - more out of curiosity than fear, though. "Where were you when the Orlesian Emperor flattened your fields and raped your wives?"
"Father-" Anora started, but Loghain was unstoppable.
"Some of you fought with me, back when you cared about this country, before you became old and fat, only caring about your position! None of you deserves a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this country the way I have! How dare you judge me? I sacrificed everything for this country! If you think I will now surrender it to the Warden and his puppet, you must be out of your minds!" He turned to Airam, his face twisting in hate. "I guess we both knew it would come to this. Let's end this, Warden. Just you and me."
"Believe me, there's nothing I wish more," Airam replied, his voice as icy as the air around him.
A quick sideways glance confirmed Zevran's worries - Airam's eyes were black bottomless pits. If he chose to fight, things could get ugly. Rask must have thought the same, because he stood before Airam, growling deeply at Loghain.
"Sit," Airam said softly. The mabari gave him a disapproving look but obeyed. Airam just raised his bandaged hands. "Unfortunately, I can't fight," he said loudly. "You should know why - you presided over the whole… 'session', I believe you called it? But, if it is all right to appoint a proxy, we can still decide it your way."
Loghain laughed. "Sure, why not! Send your puppet king to fight for you, I don't care!"
"It would be my pleasure," Alistair said eagerly, but Airam put a hand on his arm.
"No, Your Majesty," he said firmly.
Alistair looked like he wanted to protest, and Airam tightened his grip. "You promised," he hissed. Alistair took a deep breath and nodded.
"Fine," he muttered.
Rask barked, looking at him expectantly. "That would be fun to watch, but no," Airam said, amused. "Zevran Arainai. Do you agree to be my proxy in this fight?"
Zevran bowed. "It would be my honour, Warden Commander." He unsheathed his daggers, waiting for the pages to move the table and chairs away so they would have more space. The mabari watched their every move with suspicious irritation. "I'm relying on you," Zevran told him softly, scratching him behind his ears. "If I lose by any chance, don't hesitate to tear his throat out."
Once everything was ready, they both stepped into the middle, facing each other. Loghain unsheathed his sword and unslung his shield.
"Before we start, Ser Loghain, I owe you an apology," Zevran said cheerfully as they circled around each other, waiting for their opponent's first move.
Loghain frowned. "What for?"
"You may not remember me, but I am the Antivan Crow you hired to eliminate the last two Fereldan Grey Wardens. And I believe you paid a hefty sum in advance, no? Although I have not received a single copper of it, I assure you. Anyway, I must regretfully inform you that I have failed my mission."
"You don't say," Loghain retorted.
"Yes. I am terribly torn over it," Zevran assured him in the same cheerful tone. The audience roared in laughter. The knuckles on Loghain's hands whitened. Ah, civilians. Always so easy to taunt.
Logain roared, rushing forward in what he probably thought would be a decisive and crushing attack. Thirty years ago, it might have been. But not now. Not against a Crow. Zevran had no problem stepping aside and quickly stabbing him from behind - he knew where to look for the chinks in the armour, after all. And this armour was not even real, just ceremonial. Even better.
They continued this pathetic dance for a while. Loghain charged, Zevran sidestepped, stabbed, always aiming for a tendon. Normally, Zevran would have pitied the man and ended it quickly; he'd never cared to play with his victims and humiliate them. But this was the man who hurt Airam. Who ordered, and then calmly observed, the whole torture session. This little public humiliation could not pay for that.
Too soon, the man collapsed to his knees, struggling not to fall on his face. "You've won," he croaked. "I yield."
"Finish him!" Alistair burst out.
"No!" Anora and Cauthrien screamed at the same time. Anora jumped up and sprinted to them, Cauthrien right behind her. They both stepped in front of the man. Cauthrien started to unsheath her sword, but Anora put her hand over Cauthrien's, shaking her head. "That's enough, Ser Cauthrien. It's over."
Cauthrien didn't seem convinced, but she obeyed, and Anora turned to Airam again. "Don't do it, Warden," she begged. "There is another option! My father is a general of renown. Let him be of use! Let him join the Wardens!"
"Over my dead body," Alistair snapped. "Come on. End this. Kill him for everything he's done! Right here and now!"
"No," Airam snapped. "I do not slaughter fathers in front of their children, Alistar."
Alistair had the decency to look embarrassed. "I - didn't mean it like that…" he muttered meekly.
"And no," Airam turned to Anora. "Make him a general in my army? So he could betray me at the first opportunity? Surely you must be kidding?"
"Then what do you suggest?" she asked.
Airam looked around. "This Landsmeet was called to decide the future of Ferelden!" he called out. "This is neither the place nor the time to judge this man. Let him wait in prison until the Blight is over and the country is no longer in danger. Then he can face a proper trial!"
Everyone agreed, obviously happy they would not have to watch a gross beheading.
"I'll not let you become a martyr," Airam said softly, so only Loghain and those around them could hear. "Don't think I'm letting you off easy."
Anora glared at him but was wise enough not to say anything.
"Take him to Fort Drakon!" Alistair ordered. Two guards ran forward and grabbed Loghain, one on each side, pulling him up.
"Her, too," Airam said, pointing at Cauthrien. "I've heard the fort was restaffed recently," he quipped. "Maybe the new crew has more humane ways of having fun than the old one did."
She spat in his direction. "I should've killed you."
Airam just shrugged, watching without a word as the guards led both of them away.
"Your Majesty?" Teddy Bear asked warily. "What are your orders?"
Alistair cleared his throat. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden!" he called out. "You have expressed your trust in me and I will do my best not to fail you. Our country is facing grave danger. I will not hide behind the safe castle walls while my people die! Until the Blight is over, I will be out there, leading the Fereldan army and putting my own life on the line. Not because of glory, but because I would be ashamed to look in the mirror for the rest of my life if I didn't."
Zevran smiled inwardly. Not bad for the Chantry Boy. Not bad at all. He was confident and convincing, and he had them, he had them all. Even those who had supported Loghain just a moment ago were cheering and calling his name.
"But even during the war, the country must be run and managed," Alistair continued. "Plus, there is the issue that, as of yet, I do not have an heir. And I do not want Ferelden to fall into another fight over the throne, should something happen. Therefore, should you agree, I propose to appoint Anora Theirin as temporary governor of the country, with Arl Eamon Guerrin as her main counselor."
That shocked them into silence. They stared at him and Anora, then at Eamon, some of them already asking what this was all about if Anora was to rule anyway. Arl Eamon was the first to speak.
"I do believe you've found the most practical solution, Your Majesty," he said, as if it hadn't been his idea. "Do you not agree this proves we made a good choice?" he asked the nobles. "That we chose a ruler who thinks about the country first and foremost? This, my lords and ladies, is exactly the kind of ruler we need!"
Maybe they agreed, maybe they just wanted to be done with the Landsmeet and have afternoon tea and cookies. Whatever the reason, they relaxed, clapping and cheering again.
The Landsmeet was over.
And now for the most difficult part. Zevran's throat was suddenly narrow and dry.
oOo
"We did it," Airam breathed, slumping on the bed; they were staying in the palace now, and Airam had gotten one of the best chambers for the most prestigious guests. Zevran officially had a chamber of his own, but he didn't bother to go there.
He sat next to Airam and pulled him into a tight hug. "You did it," he said, kissing him on the head. "You were amazing."
Airam leaned into the hug. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."
"There's something I would like you to have," Zevran said, as nonchalantly as he could. He reached into his pocket and took out a little package. "As a token of affection."
Airam fumbled with it for a moment, then handed it back with an embarrassed smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to unwrap it for me."
Zevran did so, avoiding Airam's eyes as he pressed the tiny thing into Airam's palm.
Airam's eyes widened as he recognised it. "But, Zev…" he said, as he picked up the earring. "This is the earring you took from the merchant prince. The special one. I can't take something that means so much to you."
"I give it willingly, no? This earring, this was the start of my life as a Crow. But now, I want it to be much more special… to be the start of my life… with you."
Airam pulled away a bit. He looked Zevran in the eye, serious now. "That sounds like a proposal," he said softly, his voice full of hope.
Zevran swallowed. "Only if you want it. I-"
Airam launched himself on him, pressing their lips together. "Yes," he breathed, when he broke the kiss. "Yes! But…" he frowned and Zevran's heart stopped for a moment. "My ears are not pierced," Airam continued. "And I want you to have a matching earring, so we can wear it together."
"That can be arranged." Zevran laughed in relief. "First thing tomorrow, yes? For tonight, I have other plans. I still owe you a romantic date, no? Without Crows and traitorous queens, I promise."
"I don't know, Zev." Airam said, a roguish gleam in his eyes. "Sounds too normal for us. Almost boring."
"Tsk, still underestimating me, I see." He got up and bowed. "Challenge accepted. Prepare yourself for the best date anyone has ever had. On my Antivan honor."
And there was no way he would lose that challenge.