A Strong Sword, a Swift Horse and a Straight Ride to Glory.
Ostagar – Four Days After the Fall of Highever
Your Majesty, Your Highness, King, it still sounded strange to him as if he had just eaten some foreign food with an exotic taste that he wasn't quite sure if he liked or not. King Cailan looked at himself in the mirror and wondered who he really was. Five years had passed since his legendary father, King Maric Theirin died at sea and Cailan was given the Crown of Ferelden. On the day in which he knelt before the Revered Mother and she placed the jeweled circlet on his brow, it felt entirely too large for his head and it seemed to grow larger with each passing year.
"Thank Blessed Andraste for Anora," he sighed as minstrels played a heroic piece about the elven Grey Warden, Garehel, slaying the Archdemon Andoral. "I'd never be able to keep those tedious kingdom details straight, if not for her."
"Of course, Your Majesty," one valet said to him, properly submissive.
Cailan waved his hands about. "Things like trade agreements, castle maintenance and the budget, oh Maker, the budget! It's all so…budgetary," he said in frustration.
"Very budgetary, Your Highness, very budgetary."
"Anora handles all of those things, you see. I would be lost without her, you know. I do so adore her." The king truly did. "She's strong and smart and knows how to handle these things. I cannot wait to return to her, triumphant." He wanted nothing more than to ride through the gates of the palace at the head of a victorious army and to lay the horns of the Archdemon at her feet. He would stand in the shadow of his father's statue and proclaim to the people of Ferelden that they were saved. Maybe then, that shadow might not seem so long. Maybe then, Teyrn Loghain would look at him with respect, the same respect that he showed Maric. Cailan had dreamed of such a moment for so long that he could taste it now, joining the pantheon of heroes and standing in their ranks without shame.
He looked at the completed portrait of himself, superimposed over the Theirin heraldry. Until now, how could that painting possibly hang next to Maric's? Until now, Cailan had been called the 'boy-king' or the knight-errant, tilting at windmills. He'd heard some of the talk about how he worshipped the faded glory of the Grey Wardens and tales of forgotten and meaningless adventures. But now, he could emerge a true leader, a savior of Ferelden as his father was called.
"I will be proud to hang this painting next to my father's when we return and I will deserve to be called 'son' by Loghain."
He had tried everything he could think of to win the man's respect and to emerge from the shadow of King Maric. His father was bold, loud and brash, never afraid to stand up and yell. Cailan sought to emulate that, but it was not in his character and it often came off as callow and only seemed to result in shouting matches between he and Loghain.
"Loghain will see that I am right about this; this is a Blight. However, we will defeat the Darkspawn together and he will see me as worthy of being Maric's heir."
"You will succeed, My King."
Sometimes, Cailan was annoyed by the cloying sycophants that seemed to gather around him all of the time, but their flattery did make him feel better. Was this something that came with power? As much as he hated Loghain's contrariness, he respected the man for 'telling it to him straight,' as he would say. That was a rare thing in the Palace of Denerim.
"Hmmm, thank you. Say," he then said to the minstrels, "play me the one about the griffons, you know the tune, right?"
"Of course, Your Majesty, it's one of your favorites."
The harpist plucked out the first few resonant notes before Ser Elric Maraigne, one of his personal guard, opened the flap of the royal tent. "Your Highness, Duncan has returned."
Cailan bolted up, his heart flushed with excitement. "Duncan? Most excellent! Does he have the new recruits with him? I must go and see him right away."
"Ummm, he has a recruit with him. I am not aware of any others."
"Oh, hmmmm, that must be a mistake. I did meet two others a week ago, Jerry and Dave. They seemed an odd pair," he said as he held his arm out so that a valet could put his sable cloak over his shoulders. He strapped on his father's magnificent bastard sword, a hand and a half weapon that could be used one or two handed. This was the weapon that helped carry the day at River Dane and soon, Cailan would earn the right to wear it proudly. He strutted out of the tent, followed by a small entourage, and made his way to the campsite of the Grey Wardens. There may have been only two dozen of these legendary warriors in Ferelden, but each, he had read in the heroic tales, was worth a thousand men.
He saw Duncan standing in front of a large fire, warming his hands as a rather bawdy tune was being sung by a man with an Antivan accent in front of a small crowd of Wardens.
"With glossy lips and bodice ripped, she flung me on the bed…. Oh, Andraste's knickerweasels, Your Highness!"
Cailan chuckled nervously as the Wardens all stood up and bowed. He wasn't quite sure how to handle the rough manners of some of them and he certainly knew that each of them was a fighter, far beyond his talents. Soon, he would earn their respect too. They would fight, side by side, like the heroic tales portrayed.
"Ho, Duncan, I heard you returned from the recruitment journey. I was beginning to think that you might miss all of the fun."
"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty." He seemed subdued, quiet.
Cailan knew that this was the time to bolster everyone's spirits. Maric would have done that. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan by my side in battle after all. It will be glorious!" he proclaimed, seeing images of Darkspawn fleeing and being hacked down and he, holding his sword up before cheering soldiers. Then, he caught himself and smiled. "I heard that you may have new recruits? Have you Grey Wardens for me to meet?"
An expression flashed across Duncan's face, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed, but Cailan wasn't sure how to read it. The Warden Commander crossed his arms in front of his chest and bowed low before the king. "Your Highness, I regret that I have only one recruit from this journey."
" One? I thought that there would twenty. What happened?"
"It was my failing. Many were unsuitable, but many were…slain before I could complete the Right of Conscription. I apologize."
Cailan felt a deep sense of disappointment. "Since my father allowed the Wardens to return, I had hoped to grow the Order. Is it too late to find any more recruits?"
"I'm afraid it is, Your Highness. The Darkspawn will move soon, I sense it."
It was times like this that Maric would show confidence. "Then we shall defeat the Blight all the sooner. Come now, where is this new recruit. I should like to meet him."
" Her, Your Highness. She is Teyrn Cousland's daughter."
"Bryce's daughter? It seems that the whole family will be here, I think. Fergus departed to launch an attack on gaps in the Darkspawn line and Bryce should ride in with the rest of his army at any time."
Duncan sighed. "I'm afraid the Teyrn will not be coming."
"What? What is the matter?" Cailan took a sharp breath in, wondering if some sort of treachery had revealed itself, but it would not be what he expected. A tall, young woman emerged from the tent, her black hair neatly coiffed and braided with just enough makeup to bring out her natural beauty. He could see the family lineage in her face with Eleanor Cousland's elegance and Bryce's piercing eyes.
"I will let Alice Cousland tell you," Duncan said.
The young lady was dressed in a simple robe, bearing the Griffon Argent on a field of Azure, the livery of the Grey Wardens. He thought she was as striking as Anora, but darker and there was something…sinister about her that he couldn't quite place. It was as if there were an archdemon coiled within her, waiting to strike. She made a curt bow, her body stiff and her jaw tensed like a wolf trap. "Your Majesty. I am honored to meet you again," she said in a puppet-like monotone.
Yes, there was something familiar about her, but she was smaller and gangly the last time he saw her. It had been a few years since the Couslands had come to Denerim to pay homage to the king. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure what to say or how to read her odd tone and manner and he drew upon his father for guidance in dealing with this situation. Be confident. Project your kingly know how.
He puffed up his chest and threw his chin back as he brushed his long blond hair back. "Lady Alice Cousland, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens would benefit greatly from your presence," he said, his voice only wavering slightly.
"Thank you. I beg Your Majesty's indulgence on explaining the matter of my father, but I regret to inform you that he and my mother were betrayed and murdered by Arl Rendon Howe."
Cailan was genuinely shocked and his eyes grew large. "What?" he asked and then looked at Duncan.
"It is true, Your Majesty," Duncan said with a grim nod of his head. "I was in Highever, hoping to recruit both the Lady Alice and Ser Gilmore when Arl Howe launched a surprise attack and seized the castle."
Another unpleasant surprise. "Highever has fallen?"
Alice's eyes said it all. He could literally feel the heat of her fury. "Yes," she said slowly and with great effort as if trying to contain a blaze. "I have Duncan to thank for my life. My father was preparing to ride to the king's summons when Howe betrayed us and attacked us in our sleep. I would humbly beg His Majesty for justice in this matter."
"I can firmly vouch for and attest to this matter," Duncan said.
This time, it was Cailan who was outraged. In the heroic tales that he loved and held dear, justice and mercy were always the morals of the story where the villain got the fate that he deserved. He refused to accept that, in his kingdom, the wicked might sometimes prosper. He felt a hot energy surge through his limbs and he smacked his fist into an open palm. "You shall have justice, good lady," he said with all noble intent, but he knew enough to know that justice could not be swift this day. "However, we must deal with the Darkspawn first. You have my word that once I defeat them, I will swing my army north and we will deal with Arl Howe."
Alice let out a sigh and pursed her lips, but then nodded. "Thank you, Your Majesty. If it means that you will bring Howe to the headsman's axe sooner, I will fight the Darkspawn for you as if my life is already forfeit."
"Oh," he said with a nervous chuckle, "there is no need to go that far. I have heard about your prowess with the blade and I know you shall serve the Wardens long and well."
"I would like to speak with my brother, Fergus, if I may. I need to tell him of the news," she said, appearing to avoid the compliment.
"I'm afraid that he both arrived and departed yesterday. Teyrn Loghain had a mission for him of vital importance to our cause. His action will help greatly in our victory," the king said, hoping to soften the girl's tragedy and give her some hope. With the exception of the unfortunate issue with King Arland, the Couslands had been one of the Crown's closest allies. The fact that Cailan's father had forged such strong bonds with both the Couslands and the Grey Wardens gave him immense pride and he sought with all of his royal heart to further that.
"Can I get a message to him? Is it possible to go myself?"
Duncan put his hand on Alice's shoulder and held her down with a gentle grip. "You are needed here for another vital mission. Perhaps the king might dispatch a messenger?"
Cailan brightened. He wanted to do something for her. Despite her stonelike front, he thought he could see something forlorn and desperate in her like the darkest void. "Of course," he said and then waved a man over. "Ser Elric, please see to it that Loghain sends a messenger to Fergus Cousland."
"Yes, Your Highness," Elric said with a bow that spoke of dignity, experience and honor. His blue satin doublet bore intricate stitched patterns and shimmered in the light of the sun. He also bore the livery of the King's Personal Guard, woven on a fitted tabard – two wolves, rampant on a per cross field, Or and Argent.
Cailan gestured to the knight. "This is Ser Elric Maraigne, one of my most trusted men. He will make sure your brother receives word of what happened. Once this is over, Alice, I will accept Fergus' oaths of fealty and install him as the true Teyrn of Highever."
It almost looked like a smile might break out across her lips, but it vanished like snow falling on a hot brazier. She bowed to both the king and Ser Elric. "Thank you, Your Highness. I do not wish to take up any more of your time. We have a battle to prepare for."
"Indeed we do," he said and walked over to Duncan, placing his hand on the Warden's silverite pauldron that covered his shoulder. "Imagine, the King of Ferelden, riding into battle with the fabled Grey Wardens," he added as a shiver ran down his spine. "There are not enough Darkspawn in Thedas that could defeat the Wardens. It will be the stuff of legends."
A look came over Duncan, the same look that Loghain gave him these days. "My King, perhaps it best that you lead the army from a…safer vantage point."
Oh, here it was again - that thing about his not having an heir and the nonsense of possible wars of succession. This was not about possibilities, it was about honor. "Duncan, I appeal to you as a soldier to spare me the humiliation of seeing my army march to meet the enemy and I not share its dangers." He looked back at Alice – there was no way that he would have this girl fight his battles while he sat on a stool from afar and sent messages of encouragement.
Duncan paused for a moment before nodding.
Cailan appreciated the man's concern, but it was time for Cailan to truly be king. How proud Anora and Loghain would be of him. He took a deep breath before continuing. "But, alas, I must go. Loghain and I have more preparations to make before the coming fight. Duncan, Alice, all this king can ask for is a strong sword, a swift horse and a straight ride to glory."