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peopleofthedas2011-01-27 08:48 pm
Trouble & Strife: Chapter Forty Two
Much love to
bellaknoti the Comma Fairy, who kindly tidies up my chapters. Link to the beginning, for anyone joining us for the first time: www.fanfiction.net/s/6144534/1/Trouble_S
Title: Trouble & Strife: Chapter Forty Two
Characters: today we have Alistair, Maddy, Anders, Teagan, Dagna, and a rousing chorus of Orzammarian dwarves and former mages of the Circle.
Rating: T
This chapter: Welcome to Orzammar, King Alistair...
-oOo-
Alistair woke with a start from a hideous nightmare and groaned, throwing his arm across his eyes. It had made perfect sense at the time, but now all he could remember was trying to swim in full plate across a lake of lyrium, in order to convince Bhelen he was fit to take it home with him. Everything that had led to such a ludicrous point was a fuzzy blur.
Maker’s breath, I’ll be glad when this is over. Today would be their last day on the road; in a few hours they would reach the gates of Orzammar. Down in those lava-lit depths he would have to negotiate with possibly the slyest mind in Thedas, while the darkspawn in the tunnels below him scratched and clawed at his blood and his brain.
If he could win the lyrium trade, it would change everything. In fact, it would change so much, he wasn’t even sure exactly what the consequences would be. The Chantry had held the charter so long… Would he be negotiating just for the local lyrium? Or would he be forced to negotiate for all of it, Thedas-wide? The latter made Alistair break out in a cold sweat; he had no idea how the Divine in Val Royeaux, or the monarchs of the other nations, would react to finding the entire lyrium trade in the hands of Ferelden, or even how he could afford to take it on without bankrupting his nation. But he might not have a choice; the dwarves took their charters very seriously indeed, but also held the details close to their chests. Until he reached the Shaperate, he would not have any opportunity to read the existing charter.
Maddy stirred, shifting in her sleep to face him. Dim light filtered through the pale fabric of the tent wall behind their bed, allowing him to see her face as a pale blur on the pillow. Dawn was breaking later and later every day; three weeks on the road had seen them through the remainder of Harvestmere. In a few days it would be Firstfall; up here in the mountains there had been snow already and the bed was piled with furs. The contrast between their current camping quarters, and the last time he was here, bemused Alistair. He and Mel had clung together fully dressed in a tiny tent, with both their sleeping pads stacked beneath them in an attempt to stop the creeping cold striking up from the ground, and their blankets and cloaks tucked tight around them.
Beneath the furs, Maddy’s skin was warm and soft as he slipped an arm around her thickening waist, making her murmur a little fretfully. The mound of her belly was still only slight, but there was no doubt that she was gaining weight. Thankfully, she was no longer nauseated by breakfast, and was eating well. The one good thing about visiting Orzammar was that the dwarves had a massive respect for pregnancy, it being comparatively rare among their folk, and would no doubt pamper the human Queen to death. This was not a huge advantage compared to all the bad things about visiting Orzammar; not least of which was likely to be Maddy’s reaction to the place, given Anders’ slip-up a few weeks back and the subsequent conversation.
She hadn’t been terribly happy with her husband. In fact, she’d been absolutely livid. She seemed to feel that, seeing as he took the time to tell her that they might not have children before he’d proposed marriage, he should also have added this little morsel to the list – he was almost certainly not going to live beyond fifty.
“Would it have made a difference?” he’d asked her.
“Of course not, mon mari,” she’d said. “That’s not the point.”
There had been nothing Alistair could do except weather the storm; letting her run the gamut of emotion from furious, through tearful and finally to resigned, before offering his tentative apologies. He remembered how angry he’d been when Duncan told him, and knew he was an idiot for leaving it to chance as to when she found out. Since then, however, any mention of Orzammar caused a rather curious expression to cross Maddy’s pointed little face. It was an expression that made her adoring, but suspicious, husband rather nervous. He knew all too well what she was like when she got a notion in her head, and felt that his unease was well-founded. Unfortunately, given the precarious nature of their truce on the subject, he didn’t feel equipped to investigate the matter, merely resolving to keep a close eye on her during their visit to the dwarven city.
-oOo-
“Atrast vala, King Alistair Theirin. Welcome to Orzammar.”
The royal party trailed through the Commons, trying not to gawk around them too much. The four who, at one time or another, had been here before - Alistair, Leliana, Anders and Zevran – were relatively blasé about the whole thing, but for the rest the inordinately high ceilings, the oppressive heat, the ornate architecture and the alien smells was causing sensory overload.
“Your servants arrived earlier, King Alistair, and have been installed in a guest wing of the Royal Palace awaiting your arrival.”
Alistair remembered their guide, Vartag Gavorn, as Bhelen’s right-hand man and, if memory served correctly, a dodgy, vicious little git. Bhelen himself was a thug cut from noble cloth, albeit a thug with a mind like a steel trap, and to this day Alistair had never understood why Melissa had chosen to back him. Or rather, what he’d really failed to understand was why, if she thought Bhelen would make a good king, she would also think that he could make a good king. Bhelen and Anora were as alike as two peas in a pod, in Alistair’s view.
After the crush and press of the Commons, held back by the Commons guards to allow their passage, the Diamond quarter felt almost as though fresh air blew through it. Almost. They passed quickly through the quarter to the Royal palace, and were speedily installed in a luxurious wing where Vartag assured them that they would enjoy total privacy. Alistair placed about as much value in that assurance as he would have in one from Celene, and instantly resolved to have Leliana and Zevran sweep the place even more thoroughly than usual for listening posts and viewpoints.
“King Bhelen is holding a feast in your honour this evening, King Alistair. Tomorrow, there will be a Grand Proving, where our finest warriors will demonstrate their skill at arms.”
“I look forward to it.” Alistair smiled down into eyes as black and cold as a snake’s, doing his best to appear harmless and stupid. Nothing difficult about the latter, Alistair. “In the meantime, I’d like to spend some time in the Shaperate, if I may? Perhaps the Shaper of Memories can help ensure that I don’t blunder badly in matters of etiquette.”
“Of course, King Alistair, you are free to move around as you wish. Although I’d keep well away from Dust Town if I were you, and of course straying outside the city limits is forbidden to anyone but an assigned patrol. For your own protection, you understand, although as a Grey Warden I don’t doubt your skill.”
“Oh, I have no desire to wander into the Deep Roads, I can assure you.”
Vartag bowed stiffly and made to depart, only to be waylaid by Anders. When the dwarf finally left, the mage returned to flop into a chair in the sitting room that adjoined several of the bedrooms. “The mages are housed in the old Aeducan estate, wherever that is.” Anders put down Pounce, who stalked off to sniff suspiciously at key points of their new environment. “He said that two of them are out with patrols at the moment, but if we want to see the rest, tell a guard and they’ll go collect them.”
“Out with patrols?” The last thing Alistair had expected was to find that the Circle mages were venturing into the Deep Roads.
“Apparently so.” Anders grinned cheerfully. “The Commander will be pleased. Any mages who have darkspawn experience will find themselves recruited in an eyeblink, if I know Leonie.”
“Is she here yet?”
“Do you know; I forgot to ask. I was far too interested in the hereabouts of our Circle renegades to think about it.” Anders winked. “Don’t tell the Commander I forgot about her; she’ll be heartbroken, I imagine.”
-oOo-
He drew a hard-edged shape in charcoal on a scrap of paper. “If you carve out a socket shaped like this, then it’s possible it will accept such a rune.” Torrin, not so long ago Senior Enchanter of the Circle, scratched his beard, frowning at the design. “Maybe the top line needs to be at a steeper angle… what do you think, Janar?”
The dwarven smith regarded it thoughtfully for a moment, and his lips quirked ruefully. “By all the sodding Ancestors, do you have any idea how difficult it will be to imbue that design into Volcanic Aurum? If I do this, you’d better be able to get the rune working, that’s all I can say.”
“I hope I can, too.” The mage’s face was alight with speculation and interest. “The theory is sound, but the delicacy required…” he shook his head, blown away by the possibilities, “…certainly without the specialised cutting tools you’ve made for me, I would stand no chance of success.”
“Hmm well, best get to it then, eh?” The burly smith clapped the taller man on the back. “No point standing looking at the pretty picture all day.”
Time passed, punctuated by the hammer and scrape of tools on metal, and the occasional flare of lyrium-enhanced magic. Throughout the Smith’s Quarter, they could hear the harsh music that formed the basis of the craft; the pummeling and shaping of raw materials into armour and weapons that existed in the mind of the artisan. Occasionally, there were the rumbling curses or full-throated roar of thwarted genius.
The abrupt entry into the workroom of a third figure caused both men to look up from their work, one indifferently and one with a smile. “Patrols are back, I see,” grunted Janar and returned to his work.
Torrin carefully placed the beautifully smooth and sharp rune-scalpel back in its case before turning his full attention to the newcomer. When he stood and held out his arms, Petra slipped into them like an impossible miracle. “Is all well?” he asked, his anxiety smoothing away only once she had nodded. On one of the first patrols they had lost one of their number, Mackis, through a stupid error; the dwarves had no idea how to protect a mage in combat and, at that point, the mages had no combat sense. He had been overrun by hurlocks while trying to lay down a paralysis rune. After this, the Aeducan Deep Roads Commander had wasted no time in providing some strict tactical controls to protect their precious new resource.
“Have you heard?” she asked. “It’s the talk of the commons; King Alistair is here, with some of the Blight heroes and a Grey Warden. The Queen and her brother too, I hear.”
“Oh.” Torrin chewed the edge of his moustache, glancing to where his workbench contained a litter of papers, lyrium and half-completed runes.
Petra appeared to have no difficulty interpreting this monosyllable. She hugged him, a little clumsy in her mixture of robes and bits of armour. “Don’t worry, love. We’re not going back. He can’t make us.” She showed her teeth in a fierce grin, her expression unlike anything he had ever seen her wear back in the confines in the Circle. “I will not let them touch you.”
-oOo-
Rather than summon the mages to the palace, Anders and Alistair decided to go over informally to see them, sending a runner ahead to give some warning. Teagan, still very worried about Connor’s fate, asked to accompany them, so in the end all three men went, taking with them a couple of King’s Own and a dwarven guide.
The Aeducan estate turned out to be semi-inhabited, and their guide explained the set-up with disarming dwarven bluntness. The King lived in the palace with his concubine Rica, and their son, Endrin. Family members, both the Aeducans, and Rica’s Brosca relatives, were split between the two residences, depending on their position in the King’s favour. Rica’s mother had been relegated to the Aeducan estate not long ago, their outspoken guide told them, which pleased the guard, as her drinking wasn’t a problem, but her running around the palace drunk and half-clothed in the middle of the night pissed everyone off.
This delightful anecdote surprised a snort from one of the King’s Own, and thus it was with smiles on all their faces that they first entered the portion of the estate given over to the mages. Their relaxed manner was met with a beam of relief from the pretty dwarven girl who came to meet them.
“Hi! Oh, I mean, um, greetings, Your Majesty.” She looked doubtfully from Teagan to Alistair, who obligingly stepped forward to shake her hand. She grinned up at him. “I’m Dagna. Hey, I know you, don’t I? I’m sure I’ve seen you before.” Her frankness and open face were extremely engaging, and all three men warmed to it immediately.
“It’s possible; I was in Orzammar during the Blight.” Alistair released her hand, a slight crease between his eyes. “Dagna? So, you’re the dwarf that Cullen says helped the mages to escape?” His brow cleared and he snapped his fingers. “I remember; Melissa & Wynne got you into the Circle in the first place.”
“You were with the Warden?” Dagna cocked her head, regarding him, and then shook it. “If you say so; in all honesty, there were a lot of tall folks in metal. I know your face, though.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just from the coins.”
Anders sputtered, finally unable to hold back a laugh that had been bubbling up during this conversation. Alistair turned, grinning. “Dagna, this is Warden Anders,” he paused while the mage took her hand and kissed it with a quite unnecessary flourish, “and this is Arl Teagan of Redcliffe.” The Arl’s courtly manners were considerably less florid than Anders’, but both of them contrasted somewhat oddly with the King’s homely handshake. “Dagna, before we go in to speak to the others, can you tell us what’s actually happening at the Circle?”
She led them to a room with chairs and sofas and offered them seats. The guide withdrew, leaving the King’s Own to guard the door of the sitting room. “Well, I don’t know what it’s like now; but it was pretty bad before I left.” The merry twinkle in her eyes had faded, leaving them serious. “It started after the First Enchanter vanished; we heard he was ill, but no-one saw him, or no-one who’d tell us anything, anyway.” She paused; all three men had their attention fixed on her. “A few days later, there was a commotion in the night. Next morning, Gita, Fernum and Vera were all missing. Rumours were flying around, and then there was an official statement - that their weakness had allowed a demon to break through and they had been made Tranquil for everyone’s protection.”
Alistair cocked an enquiring look at Anders, who shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know any of them well, but Vera was a strong mage, as I recall. I doubt any of them would screw up that badly.” The look he gave Alistair spoke volumes. “I know that at least two of them were Libertarians, though. They were some of the few to survive Uldred’s messy end.”
“Uh-huh. “ Dagna nodded confirmation. “They were all Libertarians, although I didn’t make that connection at first.”
“Hang on, though. These are Harrowed mages.” Anders looked like all his worst nightmares just came true. “You can’t make a Harrowed mage Tranquil; it’s against the rules! If it wasn’t, I swear Irving would have done it to me years ago.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I spent so much time looking in the library for that rule… and all the time, more people were going missing.” Dagna looked sad; a small forlorn figure, forced to take too much upon her shoulders. “I should have given it up earlier, but I was sure it existed. In the end I decided it must be a tradition, rather than a rule, because I couldn’t find it.”
“More people were going missing?” Alistair focussed on the one important sentence in the middle of Dagna’s tumbled words.
A shade of defensiveness, of guilt, crossed her face. “You’ve gotta understand that nothing happened quickly. Days would pass and then one person would be missing. Most of the mages couldn’t keep up with what was happening. People were regularly moved into different rooms; it meant that empty beds didn’t set off alarms in people’s heads. You never saw everyone together, the new rotas saw to that. Eating rotas, library rotas, teaching rotas, no-one was given a chance to put it all together until it was too late.”
Alistair said, “Put what together?” at almost the exact same time that Anders said, ominously, “How many are left?” They exchanged worried glances before turning back to Dagna.
The dwarven girl’s gaze flickered between their equally forbidding expressions and she swallowed nervously. “When we left… I’m pretty sure there were no Libertarians left at all. It’s harder to say with the Equitarians, not everyone has a declared loyalty, and most of the undeclared ones are Equitarian I guess, it’s a default position for a mage, I think.” Under their waiting stares, she faltered, “I… don’t know, really I don’t. You don’t know what it was like; the Loyalists watched everyone so closely. I had freedoms no-one else did, but even so I had to guess at a lot of people’s loyalties. I took a real chance getting out those I did; if any of them had turned out to be a hidden Loyalist, the Templars would have been waiting in the storerooms for us.” Her gaze was haunted. “A lot of mages were made Tranquil, not many remained; that’s all I know for sure.”
“And the children?” Teagan burst in on the conversation impatiently, “What about the children?”
“The apprentices?” Dagna twisted her stubby fingers, agitated. “A lot of the older ones were declared unsuitable for Harrowing, some we heard had failed their Harrowings. They were made Tranquil. The rest learnt to comply with the new regime. They, and all the younger ones, were put into a new schedule, to ‘teach them discipline’. First bell rings really early in the morning; they have prayers every few hours, meditations, lessons in history and philosophy. The trusted Loyalists were the only ones conducting lessons at the end; it was all about control and restraint. I heard a rumour, a conversation between Templars, that when they were older, the suitable ones would be taught ‘holy command’, whatever that means.”
“It sounds just like the monastery, apart from the lack of weapons practice.” Alistair scrubbed his hair with his hand, an unconscious gesture he used when thinking. “Holy command? That’s what they used to call our lessons in Templar abilities, back when I was in training. Can mages even do that?”
“Why not?” Only a hint of Anders’ usual bitterness was visible, swamped under muffling despair at the tale he had just absorbed. “I always said it was magic, for all the Chantry wraps it up in clean linen. Why they’d teach it to mages – ones who will be just as indoctrinated as the Templars – that’s the real question, isn’t it?”
-oOo-
no subject
Oh boy, it's sure to get ugly now. Maddy's a Scarlett O'Hara of sorts, always thinking and scheming, except her ideas are not mean-spirited. Such exciting twists and turns you have created.
A question: Does it ever say in-game how hot is in in Orzammar, or do we assume it is so because of the lava?
no subject
I feel like I can't breath when the air is too hot, so it's a big deal to me.
Dust town would be different imo, a little like the way an old tomb smells and feels, but with lots of added filth. Colder too, but still stuffy to a surfacer.