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peopleofthedas2011-03-04 08:06 pm
Trouble & Strife: Chapter Forty Seven
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 Seven
Characters: today we have Alistair, Maddy, Philippe, Anders, Zevran, Leliana, Leonie, Oghren, Sigrun and Bhelen,
Rating: T
This chapter: Before our little gang leaves Orzammar, Bhelen has a final shock in store for Alistair.
-oOo-
“I have to congratulate you, King Alistair. You outplayed me, and I never thought to say that about a surfacer.”
“Er… thank you.”
There was no ire in King Bhelen’s face or voice, just warm admiration for a skilful opponent. Nevertheless, Alistair remained cautious. He knew, even if Bhelen didn’t, that he hadn’t out-manoeuvred the dwarven king at all, freely admitting to himself that he couldn’t do so in a million years. That accolade properly belonged to Zevran and Leliana, who had quietly confessed their ploy to their open-mouthed monarch after the announcement in the Assembly.
Alistair had spluttered indignantly into their grinning faces. He still couldn’t believe how audacious it had been, and that they had possessed the unmitigated gall to keep him in the dark. But the fact was, it had worked, they had got the lyrium contract and only later, when hours passed and no messages arrived, did Bhelen realise he’d been played.
Therefore a message from the dwarven king, asking Alistair to meet him down in the Mining quarter, had come as an uneasy surprise.
“Now that we are allies, King Alistair, with the fortunes of our houses tied to each other, there is something I want you to see.” Bhelen led the way through the somewhat gloomy quarter; the guards of both Kings formed up around the pair. “We’ll be entering a lyrium mine; you should cover your nose and mouth and touch nothing. I know how susceptible you surfacers are to lyrium.”
Even just walking through the quarter, Alistair could detect the zing of lyrium in the ever-present stone dust that stung their eyes and laid a fine film over every surface. Not enough to be a problem, but enough to make his Templar-sense tingle. The mining caste dwarves going about their business, with curious sidelong glances at the two monarchs, seemed unaffected and unconcerned, obviously accustomed to the hazy atmosphere and gritty air.
The entrance to the mine was heavily guarded by dwarves wearing the Aeducan colours. The overturning of the ancient lyrium contract had created havoc in the Assembly, heralding the death of several long-standing noble alliances and causing a vast shift in the loyalties of the major mining caste families. Gossip was rife, several violent arguments had broken out in the Commons, and at least two heads of noble houses had been assassinated. Everyone was jostling for position in the new order, seeking whatever scraps may fall from Bhelen’s suddenly abundant table.
The dwarven king hesitated at the entrance, turning to Alistair. “During our negotiations, you asked me what additional commodities the Chantry were providing in return for their lyrium. There was a reason you couldn’t find any information on it; the contract required that the sub-contract which laid out these payments should be kept separate from the rest. This was at the Chantry’s insistence.”
There was a subtle gleam in Bhelen’s hard blue eyes, difficult to decipher. “I’ve taken a grave risk, sealing this deal with a nation as small as yours, King Alistair, and I hope you are as able a politician as you appear. It is in my interests that you succeed, and I can offer you a distinct advantage against your Chantry. But I must warn you; from what I have seen of you, I don’t believe you’re going to like it.” Alistair had no idea what Bhelen was trying to convey, so he kept quiet until prompted. “Do you want to see what price they paid?”
“Um… yes. Yes, of course I do.” Any advantage against the Chantry was good, right? When Bhelen turned and entered the mine, Alistair wound a thick scarf over his nose and mouth and followed him.
-oOo-
Lamps down here were few and far between, the workers appearing accustomed to the gloom. Heavily muscled dwarves sweated in the hot airless passages, most wearing little other than a loincloth. Dust lay thick on their skin, the light occasionally catching on a sparkling speck. There was no digging here; workers were engaged in the endless monotonous dragging of heavy carts back up to the quarter. It felt to Alistair as though they had been walking for hours; the passages were too low for his comfort, his thighs burned from having to bear his weight at such an uncomfortable angle.
When they finally made it to the main dig site, the sense of space and air made him dizzy, even through the thick muffler covering most of his face. The two kings stood at the upper lip of a vast area, roughly circular and terraced.
Bhelen stood looking down over the floor of the mine, where people laboured in droves. “Now you see it. Under the terms of the contract, Orzammar has kept this secret for centuries, but we are no longer obligated to do so.” He turned to his companion, his eyes measuring Alistair’s reaction. “Do what you will with it to make our houses even stronger.”
At first Alistair had no idea what he was talking about. Mines were a mystery to him, was there something about this one that he should recognise as remarkable? The layout reminded him of an enormous amphitheatre, an arena such as that where the dwarves held their Provings. Some of the terraces appeared to exist so that carts could circle up them to the exit. Others seemed to be the sites of earlier digs, the rock wall heavily bored and pocked, but now neglected. Most of the work was centred in the lowest tier, focussed on three separate areas where dwarves swung picks, rolled barrels of some form of explosive into position, or stood in groups gesticulating and shouting at each other.
Distance and angle made perspective difficult, and it was only as one of the barrels was properly positioned and the worker uncoiled from a crouch that comprehension flared in Alistair’s eyes.
The labourers weren’t dwarves.
Those who lugged heavy barrels, who swung picks and who filled the wheeled carts were almost all elves, interspersed with a few humans.
The surge of horror and rage was almost overwhelming. With a huge effort of self-will, Alistair kept his hand from his sword and forced his frozen lips to move. “Are you telling me that you keep slaves?”
It was impossible to keep the outrage from his voice, even through the muffling cloth, but Bhelen appeared unmoved. “How do you define slavery, King Alistair? Orzammar holds no-one against their will. I cannot say by what method the Divine acquires these people, but they have no desire to leave. No desires at all as far as I can tell.”
“They-” Alistair stared at the dwarven king in horror and then turned, determinedly setting off down the terraces. He didn’t know whether Bhelen followed him and he didn’t care. His whole focus was on the figures moving around the mine site. When he reached the final terrace, and set off down the steps cut into the rock, a group of dwarves moved to intercept him.
“What are you-”
“This is no place for-”
“Branka’s tits, what’s a surfacer doing-”
He swept them aside, elbowing through the group with the advantage of greater height and sheer obsessive determination. Alistair reached out, seizing the nearest elf by the shoulder and turning the slighter figure to face him. It was a male, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes, his mouth and nose uncovered, and with a fine film of dust on his pale skin. His upper body held unusual muscle mass, evidence of having worked here for some considerable time. In contact with this much lyrium he should be dead in a matter of days at most. But there was a good reason why he wasn’t, evidenced in the calm unquestioning eyes that turned up to Alistair’s.
“Comment puis-je vous aider?” The question was delivered in an uncaring monotone.
Only dwarven faces were scowling at him, only dwarven voices were raised in anger at his intrusion. All the others were smooth, unconcerned. They were Tranquil… they were all Tranquil.
-oOo-
“What?”
Alistair knocked back the remaining contents of his glass, winced, coughed, and immediately refilled it. “Tranquil… dozens, maybe hundreds, of them. It was one of the most horrible things I’ve ever seen in my life.” He took another swallow of the harsh spirit and added reflectively, “Which, considering some of the things I’ve seen, makes it prr-etty bad.”
All of his counsellors and advisors appeared shocked by the information - apart from Zevran who was wearing a smug air of ‘I told you so’ - but Anders in particular looked like someone had kicked him in the stomach. Alistair poured a second glass all the way to the brim and passed it to him. Drinking this early in the day was usually a pastime to be avoided, but this was an emergency.
Anders took the glass absently, still struggling to process what he’d heard. “Is this what that bastard Cullen has done with our Circle mages?”
Alistair shook his head emphatically and with great restraint put down his remaining half a glass. The spirit had settled the hollow, sick feeling in his stomach but now his head felt fuzzy and strange. “They were Orlesian, or at least all the ones I spoke to were. Seems that ten centuries of Divines have been making good use of all the apostates they catch.” He hesitated over the next part, anticipating outrage from several quarters. “They weren’t all ex-apostates though… I spoke to some of the elves; most of them came from the Val Royeaux alienage.”
“Maker’s breath.” The soft curse came from Teagan. Leliana’s expression was tragic, and Maddy reached for the bard’s hand. And Kallian… well, her scowl could hardly have been any blacker.
Philippe addressed Zevran, his light, sardonic tone in sharp contrast to the atmosphere. “You know, my dear one, it would perhaps be better if you were not right so very often.” He frowned over a tiny flaw in one polished nail, appearing absorbed by it. “Although I have never entered the place myself, I understand the Val Royeaux alienage to be a cesspit of the lowest order. More than one thousand elves packed into a space much smaller than your Denerim alienage. The chevaliers perceive it as a pestilential scab upon their fair city and complain incessantly; no doubt Celene is glad of anything which relieves the situation, n’est-ce pas?”
Maddy frowned at her brother, her eyes dark and unhappy. “You think our sister knows of this?”
“Do you really think that the Chantry can move such… commodities over the border without the Empress’ knowledge, ma soeur?”
“How are they moving them?” Teagan asked. “Surely Bann Alfstanna wouldn’t let a slave ship land at Waking Sea. She’s the nearest port to Orzammar, albeit a small one.”
“You’re underestimating the size of Orzammar, Teagan.” Alistair had already thought of this, and asked Bhelen. “The Tranquil come in at the same exit that most of the lyrium has traditionally been sent out from. It’s on the other side of the Orlesian border.”
“What I would like to know is this.” In view of the terrifyingly sharp comprehension he’d so often demonstrated, the entire room turned to Zevran when he spoke. “If the Tranquil have been so very useful to Orzammar, why would our good king Bhelen be willing to sign a contract that excludes this so-lucrative advantage.”
“Because of the casteless.” Zevran raised enquiring eyebrows at Alistair, inviting further explanation. “I asked Bhelen the same thing. He said that the Tranquil cut costs to the mining caste, but that doesn’t help him to find work for the unemployed in Dust Town. He wants to slowly phase out the Tranquil, so that he can get the casteless into paid work.”
“Hmm, underpaid work, no doubt, but still likely to enrage the mining caste.” Zev shrugged, unconcerned. “However, that is his business and not ours, yes?” He offered Alistair a wide smile. “My dear friend Alistair, why is it that you are not jumping around the room in joy? The dwarven king has given you a magnificent gift, has he not?”
Alistair was beginning to wish he hadn’t drunk so much so quickly. He pressed both palms to his forehead and attempted to get his befuddled brain in order. “Run that by me again?”
“Zevran is right.” The mournful expression had faded from Leliana’s face, replaced with the dispassionate expression she only wore when in pure bard-mode. “If you tell this to the Landsmeet, it will bring discredit on the Divine. The poisoned lyrium would only cause disfavour towards the Grand Cleric. You now have far, far better grounds to break with the Chantry. That is what you wish, is it not?”
“Break with the Chantry?” Teagan’s tone could not have been more horrified if someone had suggested pissing on Andraste’s ashes. “Like Tevinter did? No, surely not, Alistair. Tell me that’s not what you are planning.”
“Oh, you’d rather see your nephew indoctrinated by crazed Templars,” began Anders, but Alistair cut him off.
“No, not like Tevinter.” All eyes were upon him now and he swallowed hard. The time had come for the really scary stuff to happen, and he quailed a little at what lay ahead. Maddy’s hand slipped into his, her support bolstering him. “Tevinter split over doctrine and set the Black Divine up in opposition to Val Royeaux. Ferelden doesn’t need all that nonsense, it’s not helpful and it would make us a target. No, what I want is for the Crown to have a say in the running of the Fereldan Chantry. I want us to be able to appoint our own Grand Cleric, not rely on the Divine to put the right person in charge. I want a say in how we treat our mages; they are still my subjects. I want the Fereldan Chantry to be accountable to Fereldan law, just like everyone else.”
“That’s a lot to ask the nobles to swallow, Alistair. Some of them are very devout; most have at least one family member in the Chantry.”
“All the more reason for them to support me. Maker’s breath, Teagan, you’ve seen some of what’s been happening! I have four Templars locked in Fort Drakon for treason; they attacked me without provocation. I have poisoned lyrium in Chantry-sealed vials to prove why they attacked me.” Alistair ticked things off on his fingers. “We have a Circle full of tranquil ex-mages, no-one has seen the First Enchanter in months, and the Grand Cleric is burning people alive in Denerim.”
“And Ferelden has now taken the lyrium trade away from the Chantry.” Maddy piped up for the first time, fierce in support of her husband. “They will be very angry, n’est ce-pas? We must move swiftly to finish this, before they can react. We cannot afford for this to get back to Val Royeaux before we have won. Even if the Divine does not react, Celene certainly will. For Ferelden to become so powerful a trade centre will make her furious.”
“Woah, I thought we’d be going back to the Circle, to stop Cullen.” Anders’ agitation showed as a slight corona of magic to Alistair, although possibly only to his Templar-trained senses. “Having found out what he’s done, we can’t leave the remaining mages in his custody.”
“This is exactly why I have to call a Landsmeet, Anders.” Alistair sympathised with the mage. He was, in fact, reminded of himself during the Blight, always wanting to pursue what seemed right rather than what was necessary. “What am I meant to do if I go to the Circle? Cullen would be perfectly within his rights to refuse to follow my orders. He answers only to the Grand Cleric, not to me. That has to change, and it can only do so through the Landsmeet.”
“Even though my own nephew is in the Circle Tower, I have to agree with Alistair. If this is the way forward for Ferelden, then it must be done properly and quickly.”
Teagan’s support made Alistair breathe a sigh of relief. If he couldn’t sway Teagan, who was sympathetic to the Crown, then he would have no chance with some of the other nobles… which brought him neatly to the next unpleasant piece of news.
“Maddy, I need Arl Wulff and Teyrn Fergus’ support and I don’t have time to go do the pretty with them. I have to run directly to Denerim, get Eamon to begin the setup of the lyrium trade and call a Landsmeet. When the Grand Cleric begins to react then I must be present to counter her, personally.” He took a deep breath. “So I need you to carry on to West Hill and Highever without me, heal some land – enough to seal their support, with a promise of more later – and bring Wulff and Fergus to Denerim for the vote.
He was expecting resistance, even an explosion, but her response was calm and determined. “Of course, mon mari. I understand.”
Alistair squeezed her hand gratefully. “Don’t overdo it; I want you in Denerim, well and healthy, before the Landsmeet. Take Kallian, Philippe and Zev, together with half our guard. I’ll take Leliana and Anders – and Teagan if he’ll come – and we’ll make the fastest possible time on the road.”
“I’d be honoured to attend you.” Teagan’s old-fashioned courtesy didn’t hide his genuine affection, or prevent his subsequent wicked grin. “I wouldn’t miss Eamon’s face when you explain this for all the tea in Seheron.”
-oOo-
“Your deeds are entered into the Shaperate, Warden Commander Leonie. All Orzammar honours you for them. Atrast nal tunsha.” The Shaper of Memories translated his own words for the sake of their guests. “May you always find your way in the dark.”
It was possibly the largest and most illustrious send-off a Grey Warden had received in centuries. The kings of two nations were present, together with their queen or consort. The Shaper, supported by two assistants, had reached the culmination of a long and solemn speech. In addition there were three Grey Wardens - Anders, Oghren and Sigrun – and Leliana, who had spent enough time at the Vigil over the last two years to have gained significant respect for Leonie.
The Warden Commander herself was as upright and unemotional as ever, only her black eyes appearing a tiny bit blank. Every Warden there, including the Ferelden King, looked a little worse for wear; they had made a pretty batch of it last night in Tapsters. For once Leonie had joined them, even unbending far enough to tell some filthy Orlesian jokes and to regale them with some unedifying tales of the exploits of various Wardens, including Duncan, whom she had known as a young man.
A unit of dwarves, including a red-haired human female wearing the livery of House Aeducan, waited for her by the barrier door. They had offered to escort the Warden through the nearby abandoned thaigs and hand her over to the Legion. The plan was to push the Legion camp as far forward as possible before she fell; no Warden could ask for more.
Leonie said a few polite words to the Shaper and to King Bhelen before turning her gaze upon Alistair. He took her hand, forearm to forearm as befitted a pair of warriors.
“The First Warden did Ferelden a great favour when he chose to send you to us, Commander. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“You will keep the little ones safe for me, monseigneur?”
Alistair nodded, swallowing down a surge of emotion. “I give you my word. Fight well, sister.” He felt Maddy’s grip tighten on his left arm. She had been trembling like a leaf against his side throughout the ceremony; he knew why, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do to comfort her. She bore up enough to murmur a farewell to Leonie, but the effort was visible.
Leonie turned to say a few words with Leliana, a soft murmur which did not carry but which made the bard’s cheeks turn pink. Leliana nodded, her eyes on the floor, and Leonie moved on with a satisfied expression.
“Kill a few extra fer me, Commander. I soddin’ salute you.”
Oghren did so, in the style of the dwarven military, and Leonie returned his salute crisply. “Behave yourself for the new Commander, Oghren. He’ll need your support.”
Next in line, Anders demonstrated a bravery that made the others blink and took Leonie’s face in his hands. “Fine old tradition, Commander. Surely you’ve heard of it?” He gave her a hearty buss on the lips before releasing her, provoking a coughing fit from Oghren but, most importantly, bringing a spark of life to Leonie’s eyes. A smile hovered around her mouth as she thanked him.
“You have done well this year, Anders. Continue to assist the Crown, but do not forget you are a Grey Warden.”
Sigrun received a hug, the Commander demonstrating unexpected affection. Their conversation was delivered in an undertone and only the end of it was audible as Leonie disengaged.
“… non, I forbid it. You know that I need you here.” Under the blocky tattoos, Sigrun’s face was marred with a scowl, but she nodded acceptance.
Without another word or look, Warden Commander Leonie turned and strode over to where her escort waited. The barrier door opened, letting in the hot, stale, dusty air of the deeps to compete with the smells of Orzammar.
Alistair drew his sword and raised it high. “For the Grey Wardens!” he bellowed, and every weapon left its sheath to join his in the air.
“For the Grey Wardens!”
The resounding shout squared the Commander’s shoulders and she stepped through with the rest of the troop. The barrier door closed behind them, the mechanism whirring into place.
-oOo-
Later, back in their rooms, Maddy broached the subject with her husband. Their belongings were packed. They would be rejoining the rest of their entourage in the Frostbacks, but Alistair intended to leave for Denerim almost immediately, travelling light and moving fast.
“Mon mari, when you… I mean, when it’s that time… for you. Will it be like that?”
“I guess so.” He took her hand, rubbing his thumb over hers, as he often did. “I’ve never seen a Calling before. I imagine a lot of them are quieter, but I don’t suppose they’ll let me get away without some pomp and ceremony.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and expelled it shakily. “Then I think, perhaps I can bear it… knowing that you won’t be alone in the dark, but I want to come here with you, to… see you go.” She shook a tear from her cheek and smiled mistily as he drew her close.
“Maker willing, it’s years away, Maddy, but if you still feel the same way when the time comes then… I’d like that.”
Alistair rested his chin on her hair, breathing in her scent. It would be many weeks before she made it to Denerim to rejoin him. “Promise me you’ll be careful while I’m in the capital.”
He felt her nod. “I won’t take risks with our children, Alistair, I promise.”
“Not just the children, Maddy.” He pulled away enough to see her face, lifting her chin so she must look him in the eye. “I need you to come home safe. I can’t do this without you. Maker, I don’t know how I ever coped without you.” Her lip trembled and he brushed his thumb along it. Only now, with their first separation looming, did he realise just how much he’d come to rely upon her. She’d supported him in everything he did, always so proud of his achievements, even though most of the time they were down to her, or one of the others.
“I love you, you know that, right?” The expression on her face was so… so vulnerable. He wondered for the first time if she hadn’t known. “I love you, and I need you more than anything else in the world. Come home safe to me.” The sob that broke from her startled him, then her arms wound around his neck and her mouth was soft against his. They said their goodbyes without words, as couples so often do.
-oOo-
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"Ferelden doesn’t need all that nonsense, it’s not helpful and it would make us a target. No, what I want is for the Crown to have a say in the running of the Fereldan Chantry. I want us to be able to appoint our own Grand Cleric, not rely on the Divine to put the right person in charge. I want a say in how we treat our mages; they are still my subjects. I want the Fereldan Chantry to be accountable to Fereldan law, just like everyone else.”
Will the Ferelden Chantry offer you a choice between cake or death?
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We're all out of cake. I wasn't expecting such a rush...
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Alistair sympathised with the mage. He was, in fact, reminded of himself during the Blight, always wanting to pursue what seemed right rather than what was necessary.
This really leaped out at me. Alistair has grown up such a lot :D
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Of course, I'm wondering if Maddy will try and get into the Deep Roads the moment Alistair's back is turned. Worrying about that is almost enough to stop my heart from breaking for Anders. Almost.
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And Leonie going to her Calling? I cried. It's always seemed logical to me that Wardens going to their Calling would join forces with the Legion of the Dead. Even the Dead need companionship. No one should have to die without someone by their side. I know it happens all too often, but it shouldn't.
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And don't think I don't know that Loopy Leanna is planning to make apostates Tranquil before she executes them so that there's no chance of their being saved via conscription. She literally makes me physically ill, and I so can not wait for her to get her comeuppance.
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Nono, dear lady, nothing so civilised.
I don't know if you recall, but Leonie complained, back when Leanna had her little 'auto de fe' in Denerim, because she couldn't conscript the one she wanted - they had all had their hands and tongues removed.
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I still think the old besom needs to die, and quickly. Frankly, I think Cullen's death should be right behind hers. Your Cullen is seriously broken, and I'm sure his lyrium isn't being poisoned.
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