Trouble & Strife: Chapter Forty Four

[scarylady]

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_Strife

Title: Trouble & Strife: Chapter Forty Four
Characters: today we have Alistair, Maddy, Bhelen and Rica. 
Rating: T
This chapter:  Two Kings are preparing to play Orzammar's favourite game: politics...

-oOo-

Alistair pattered down the steps of the Shaperate, his guards scrambling behind him to keep up with the pace he set. His head was swimming, the result of hours upon hours sat listening and absorbing while Shaper’s assistants read out complex contracts and excerpts from dwarven history. Unlike much of the lore of the noble houses, lost with the fall of Kal Sharok, the records of the lyrium trade remained intact. Orzammar, originally home of the Mining and Smith castes, protected its history zealously.

Therefore, it had been possible to find not only the final contracts drawn up between Kordillus Drakon - the first emperor of Orlais and founder of the Chantry - and Paragon Garal, but also extensive notes on the negotiations which led up to it.

The good news, which had caused the Ferelden King to breathe a sigh of relief, was that the lyrium contracts did not cover Tevinter.   The contracts with the Chantry were more than a thousand years old. Contracts with Tevinter preceded these by almost five hundred years and were still upheld today. The news that he wouldn’t be angering both the White and the Black Divines by brokering this deal was music to Alistair’s ears. He didn’t need any new and powerful enemies right now.

The less good news, which had all of his nerves wound as tight as Leliana’s lute strings, was that he would definitely have to bid for the entirety of the contract currently held by the Andrastian Chantry.   This meant that, if he was successful, Ferelden - the nation that most of Thedas perceived as ignorant barbarians – would control all available lyrium outside of the Imperium. Assuming he could afford it. The terms of the contract had proved… convoluted, and despite delving as far into the records as possible in the available time, Alistair had been unable to fully reference some of the clauses and payments.

On entering the Royal Palace he was met by Vartag, offering a stiff bow and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “King Alistair, I have a message from my king: he regrets that he will be unable to meet with you this morning as was planned. An urgent internal matter has arisen and he has been called to the Assembly to arbitrate.”

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. Sleep. He’d been up all night in the Shaperate, and this delay was a welcome one. He accepted the apologies of Bhelen’s advisor without hesitation and expressed satisfaction with an alternative arrangement; the meeting would now take place after the honour Provings.

Cool, crisp sheets and soft pillows beckoned. Hopefully a few hours sleep would allow the jumble of dwarven trade, law and history to settle into his head and make more sense.

-oOo-

Rica smoothed her dress nervously and offered the Ferelden Queen the most comfortable chair. The scowling elven woman in high-quality leathers moved to stand behind her mistress’ right shoulder. The Queen looked up, wrinkling her little nose affectionately, and the bodyguard rolled her eyes in scorn.

“May I offer you refreshment, Your Majesty?” Rica had been astonished when introduced to the Queen the previous evening.   She had been expecting a tall, haughty noblewoman who would look down her nose at Bhelen’s dust-town courtesan. Instead a freckle-faced girl not much taller than an elf had looked her over with wide green eyes and offered her hand without hesitation. “There is Orlesian chocolate, if you desire it; I had one of the surface traders procure it especially for your visit.”

The smile she received for this consideration was warm and genuine. “I would love to take chocolat with you, madame. I have not tasted it for quite some time. And please, call me Madeleina, or Maddy, if you prefer.”

While the servant carefully prepared the sweet foreign drink, Rica made shy attempts at conversation but received only bland replies. Only once the foaming cups were placed before them and the servant withdrew did Madeleina appear to relax, settling into her chair and indicating Rica’s swollen abdomen.

“This will be your second child, n’est-ce pas? You have a little boy?” 

Rica beamed with pride. “Yes, little Endrin. He’s two and a half years old, sturdy and strong like his father.” Even if she had not already been informed, Rica would have been able to tell that the surfacer queen was also pregnant; five months or so if she was any judge, the swell of her belly subtle under her gown. “And you, Madeleina? This is your first, I believe?”

The queen nodded, sipping her drink. “Yes, Alistair and I were only wed in late Justinian.” Possibly less than five months pregnant then, unless she had conceived immediately. A stab of envy shot through Rica; human women were so fertile. “It is a little frightening. In a few months I shall be a mother, I will have children to care for.”

“It’s true that you are having twins then?” Maddy confirmed it and Rica continued, “How wonderful. Here in Orzammar that is almost unknown.” The dwarven courtesan stroked her stomach with a proprietary air. “My dearest Bhelen is so fond of Endrin and takes the greatest care of me. Only this morning he sent one of the surface mages, an elven woman, to check my health.”

-oOo-

“It’s a girl.”

The dwarven king froze, the jut of his beard demonstrating the sudden clench of his jaw. “Is it certain? The mage can be sure?”

Vartag shrugged. “She seemed completely confident.” Yet another way in which the mages were going to prove invaluable. The nobles would be delighted to know which of their dust-town concubines, the noble-hunters, were carrying boys and should be protected. He couldn’t imagine what the surfacers were thinking, by ostracising such a precious resource.

Bhelen stroked his beard, pale blue eyes calculating. “Rica was raised to noble caste upon the birth of Endrin. Her daughter will be noble caste also.”

There was a tiny pause as king and advisor gazed at each other, blue eyes challenging black. Vartag’s fell first. “As you say, my King. But the nobles…”

“The nobles are fools. Orzammar needs more children if we are to survive and take back what is ours.” As far as the king was concerned the matter was closed. He turned to leave, his attention already fixed on the Assembly and the lies he must tell there.

-oOo-

 

Like all such tournaments, the Proving made Alistair itch to grab a sword and shield and participate. Beside him, Maddy had her hands clasped in her lap, knuckles white. Squeamish about bloodshed, made sick even by an afternoon’s hunting, this was an ordeal for her, but a necessary one.   This violent pageantry was being held in their honour, and they must appear to be pleased by it. 

Further along the line, Oghren was cheering and cursing with the rest, while Warden Commander Leonie…

For the first time since they had arrived, Alistair took a good look at the Commander. Dark bruises under her eyes stood out against pale skin, her cheeks were hollowed and her armour hung a little loose. He resolved to send Anders to see her; she was clearly unwell.

The final bout ended; one of the Silent Sisters applied a vicious slice that slid neatly across the join between chestplate and gorget, biting into her opponent’s shoulder, and disabling his sword arm. Maddy’s lip was gripped between her teeth and Alistair longed to comfort her. At least it was now over. An elven mage, the blonde woman… Yvonne? Yvette? …ran into the arena with the guards to assist the loser with his wounds. Orzammar seemed to have no concerns about using magic to their advantage, and the mage even received a little cheer of her own when the warrior stood and hefted his weapon again. She retreated to the participants’ entrance, blushing and smiling.

As the honoured guest, Alistair presented the prize for the Proving: a beautifully balanced blade humming with runes. The Silent Sister received both the weapon and his little speech with a deep, respectful bow, in place of thanks, and it was all over.

Maddy’s ordeal was over… and Alistair’s could begin.

-oOo-

Of those who gathered around the King’s conference table, only two represented Orzammar; Bhelen and his second, Vartag Gavorn. Alistair had expected representatives of the mining caste and noble caste to be present; the current contracts were between the Chantry and several noble houses, those who had strong links with the mining caste and represented their interests in the Assembly. House Aeducan was certainly mentioned in the contracts, but was by no means the major shareholder.

It was beginning to look like there was more going on here than Alistair had been aware of, and he sorely missed Eamon’s political savvy. Instead, he was supported by Teagan, Leliana and Zevran. He would make no agreements here without consulting his wife and his other advisors, but wanted to avoid any unwise outbursts from Anders, and had decided with Maddy that it was best to keep her in the background. She had a good head on her shoulders and a knack for finding solutions to tricky problems, but could perhaps find out more by appearing to be merely a baby-carrier.

The other addition at the table was Warden Commander Leonie, invited by Bhelen. Alistair had managed a quick conversation with her before the meeting; Bhelen’s letter to her stated that he wanted to gain the assistance of the Wardens to regain the thaigs.   She was cautiously amenable to this, provided it didn’t leave the surface unprotected. Leonie had checked with the First Warden, who basically said the same plus ‘what’s in it for the Wardens?’

Setting aside the matter of negotiating an advantage for the Wardens, Leonie was strongly behind Alistair’s bid and would help if she could. The destruction or indoctrination of mages was not in the interests of the Wardens; they were too valuable as recruits.  Added to which, a small army of mage-children were now swarming over the Vigil, causing innocent havoc; the situation with the Chantry must be resolved and soon. 

Introductions were made and polite nonsense exchanged. Alistair expressed his surprise at the shortage of dwarven participants, naming the three major houses that benefited from the existing contract. It would do no harm for Bhelen to know he had done some homework.

Bhelen’s smile remained urbane, eyelids drooping over a subtle gleam. “My allies know that everything I do is for the greater glory of Orzammar. They trust me in this regard.”

Internally Alistair snorted in derision. It was the kind of statement that would have slid straight over his head before he took the throne, but he had made too many similar speeches himself not to recognise its careful phrases. He’s pulling a fast one.   This put the two countries on equal ground in one sense, at least – each one was trying to grab at more power for the Crown before anyone else caught on to the situation.

Hoping that none of these thoughts were too visible, Alistair set his face in sober lines and shook his head mournfully. “I was appalled to find that such an abuse of lyrium was occurring in the Chantry. To mix it with a poison and worse still, to then sell it on the open market as pure! No doubt the mining caste and their sponsors were furious when you told them?”

Beneath his elaborately plaited beard, Bhelen’s mouth tightened. Guarded blue eyes gazed into unclouded hazel ones for a moment before an unexpected laugh broke from the dwarven king. “My friend and neighbour, I congratulate you on your grasp of dwarven politics. It certainly exceeds that of any of your predecessors in recent years. Within these walls at least, let us have no nonsense. You are overjoyed to have the opportunity to wrest control of the lyrium trade from the Chantry, while I am equally delighted to be able to prise it from the greedy grasp of the Assembly. Shall we move on from these obvious facts and discuss terms?”

Alistair grinned at him boyishly with a brisk, decided nod. From the stack before him, he pulled several closely written sheets of parchment.

The game was on.

-oOo-