Trouble & Strife: Chapter Thirty Two

[scarylady]

Much love to bellaknoti the Comma Fairy Extraordinaire for correcting my punctuation.

Link to the beginning, for anyone joining us for the first time: www.fanfiction.net/s/6144534/1/Trouble_Strife

Title: Trouble & Strife: Chapter Thirty Two
Characters: today we have Alistair, Anders, Leliana and Zevran
Rating: T
Summary: The Blight ended over a year ago, Melissa Cousland is entombed at Weisshaupt, and King Alistair is now married.
In this chapter:  The Royal circus moves on to South Reach where they receive disturbing news from Denerim. 

 

 

-oOo-

The Dalish escorted them to the edge of the Brecilian Forest, assuring them that they would be honoured to receive a further visit from the Vhen’alas’Mamae anytime.   Having thanked their hosts, the King’s cavalcade headed north-west to South Reach, home of Teryn Bryland’s son, the recently elevated Arl Darrel Bryland. 

The size of their entourage and guard ensured a quiet trip; no bandits in their right mind attacked a full complement of guards wearing the King’s colours, however rich the pickings may appear. Arl Bryland greeted them cordially, and with far less ceremony than his father, immediately endearing him to both the King and Queen. This may have been due to his unmarried state; the gift of Gwaren, bestowed upon Bryland senior at the Royal wedding, and Darrel’s subsequent elevation to the Arldom, had been unexpected. The Arl was known to be hanging out for suitable wife, but in the meantime this was a bachelor establishment, and it showed. 

The Arl informed his liege that no formal celebrations had been arranged.   The local Banns knew that they may take potluck with their Arl whenever they pleased and, of course, the district was known for its excellent sport. Arl Bryland expressed the hope that his royal guests would treat his castle as their home during their stay. Alistair could cheerfully have hugged him for that.

A stack of messages awaited the King at South Reach. Messengers had, very sensibly, decided that risking Dalish arrows in order to locate him in the Forest was a foolish idea, and as South Reach was known to be the next stop on the itinerary, Eamon had directed all his correspondence there. As soon as he had washed the road dust from his person, Alistair put his feet up at the desk in the comfortable suite of rooms he and Maddy had been assigned and began to sift through them. Some of the news was distinctly troubling.

Skimming down a long report from Eamon on the current situation in Denerim, Alistair found one section enormously disturbing:

There is a great deal of bad feeling towards mages at the moment, and it seems likely to get worse instead of better. Grand Cleric Leanna has announced that a nest of hedge mages and maleficar has been uprooted in the capital. The Chantry has interrogated them and received their testimony of others who practice these heresies. Those convicted are to be burned at the stake in the central square in Denerim. Those prepared to turn in their fellows will be granted the mercy of having their throats cut before the fires are lit. I have those most learned in the law searching for any way we can prevent these executions, as they seem designed purely to inflame the populace against mages. Unfortunately, our legal minds all currently inform me that, although such public executions fell out of fashion centuries ago, Chantry Law upholds them, and that there is nothing in Ferelden Law to gainsay their right.

After a slight struggle with himself, Alistair prevented a number of curses from escaping, any of which would have alerted his wife to the situation. He really didn’t want Maddy troubled with this right now. Damn the Grand Cleric; she always seemed to find a way to operate just barely inside the law, where he couldn’t touch her.

Sifting through the various sheets and scrolls, he found another message from Eamon, obviously dashed off in a hurry, expressing shock upon the arrival of the Templar prisoners under Gwaren’s banner. He seemed to have difficulty believing that these sons of the Chantry had truly attempted to lay violent hands upon the King, and said that the Grand Cleric was already calling for their transfer into her custody. He finished by assuring Alistair that he would hold her off as long as possible, but that the relationship between Crown and Chantry was becoming increasingly difficult.

You don’t know the half of it. 

At some point, letting Eamon in on the Queen’s secret would have to be faced; the Chancellor couldn’t provide the best possible advice on dealing with the Chantry unless he was in full possession of the facts. Currently though, Alistair didn’t dare do so; even if Eamon upheld him, he would undoubtedly tell his wife, and there was no way to predict Isolde’s reaction, especially because Alistair had been instrumental in ensuring Connor was taken to the Circle for training.  Isolde may wish to see Maddy suffer the same fate, or she may try to use the Queen’s condition as a lever to get her son released. Either would be unacceptable; the situation had to be suppressed until Alistair could get a stranglehold on the Chantry or, at the very least, until Maddy’s pregnancy could be officially announced, ensuring her popularity with the populace. Anders wanted to see her pass the three month mark before they did this; both he and Keeper Lanaya had agreed that this was the time when the chance of miscarriage became a lot less likely.

“Is there anything of interest from Eamon?” Maddy appeared from their bedchamber, untangling her wet curls with her fingers.

Alistair hastily turned, pinning a warm smile to his face. “Nothing worth worrying about. Come here and kiss me.”

-oOo-

 

The list Ser Bryant had given them, of Templars who were likely to be appalled by the current regime, contained a couple of names in South Reach and also one in Lothering, which was next on the itinerary. Lothering was too small to really merit a royal visit, but it lay directly on the path to Redcliffe, and visiting it would be good for local morale; it had been hit harder by the Blight than anywhere except West Hill and Ostagar, and neither the land nor the population had recovered.   Leliana carried a number of notes, written by the good Templar to each of these brethren, paving the way for her tentative enquiries.

“I take it you will not be coming to the Chantry with me, Anders? Do you have some other errand in town?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’ve got someone I need to see.” The mage appeared a touch distracted before focussing his gaze on her. “Meet me for a spot of lunch afterwards, my beauteous bard?

They parted at the Chantry gates, and Leliana watched the tall, loose-limbed mage stride off before she turned to enter the Chantry. She was going to have to do something about him at some point.

 

-oOo-

 

The shop that Anders entered appeared shabby, the sign peeling. Conversely, the inside was clean and warm, fragrant herbs lying in bunches next to the distinctive chopping boards with their bowl-shaped dip, the strange curved blades resting in protective sheaths. The proprietor had her back to him, carefully decanting dried chopped herbs into clean jars with knotted old hands.

Her voice was cracked, but firm, the accent strong. “I shall be with you in un momento, signore.”

Anders grinned affectionately, “That’s perfectly alright milady; I’ll just enjoy the view until then.”

She spun around, a tiny elderly woman with snapping black eyes and white hair. “Anders! Ragazzo mio, what are you doing here? And in such clothes, are you mad?”

He slid behind the counter and hugged her. “What’s wrong with my clothes, Rosetta? I’ll have you know these are my finest robes.”

She fingered the fabric a little wistfully. “Fine indeed, but so blatant, and that staff! You will be taken for sure, and I with you.”

“Oh.” Anders rubbed his chin ruefully. “Has it really been that long since I visited?” He drew himself up in a heroic pose, while she folded her arms and regarded him balefully. “Signora Rosetta, allow me to introduce myself; Grey Warden Anders, at your service.”

“Cuore sacro di Andraste, a Warden you say? Can it be?”

“For more than a year now.” Being a Warden represented freedom and family to Anders, not pride, but seeing the awe in her face he felt an unusual glow. This woman had saved his life once, taking him in, hiding and feeding him when he was on the verge of starvation, running from the Tower and the Templars. Her opinion meant a lot to him and her safety even more; which was why he was here. “Rosie, we need to talk.”

 

-oOo-

 

Alistair really didn’t want this talk and had, in fact, been avoiding it for several days. His excuse that there was little privacy on the road just wore out and therefore he found himself outside Zevran’s room, knocking on the door.

“Entrare.”

On entering the room he was greeted by the sight of the assassin poised by the window with his daggers in his hands. “Maker’s Breath, Zev, do you greet all the servants like that, too? I’m surprised you can get any of them to come in here.”

Zevran put his daggers back on the table and sat down. “One cannot be too careful.” He waved Alistair to a chair. “To what do I owe the honour of this visit, maestà?”

Alistair sighed, “Please don’t call me that, Zev. It’s bad enough from strangers; in your mouth it sounds like you’re sticking one of those knives in me.”

“My apologies, mio re.”

“Or that.” Alistair crossed his arms, already irritated. Why did this bloody Antivan have to be so annoying? “We have an Antivan ambassador at Court, you realise. I know what you’re calling me.”

Zevran’s unrepentant smirk and honeyed purr got his blood up even more. “My dear friend Alistair, what is it you wish of me?”

Barbed banter was not making this any easier. “I- I came to apologise.”

The smirk vanished, replaced with a disconcerting blankness. “Oh? And why would you do such a thing?”

Alistair set his jaw. Having started this, he had to go through with it. “I misjudged you. About Maddy. I didn’t know that you… and Philippe...   I’m sorry.” 

The assassin crossed one leg elegantly over the other. “I’m not sure I understand you. What is it that you believe you now know about Principe Philippe and me?” His expression was carefully neutral; Alistair had seen that face often enough to know something was going on here.

“Well, you know… I mean, Maddy said that you and he…” Alistair trailed off, suddenly realising that Maddy hadn’t said anything of the sort, that what she had actually said was that Philippe found Zevran interesting, and if that was the case then he might have just stuck his royal foot in it. “Not that you are-   Just that-   Oh Maker.” Nothing was going to make this any better. If he’d just dropped Philippe in the shit, Maddy was going to kill him. “Look, can I start over?” Alistair scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I apologise for thinking that you were hanging around Maddy, I was wrong. And, I really did not think that Maddy would… do anything, I just saw red because… well, because of Mel. I’m sorry.”

Zevran waved a dismissive hand. “Do not concern yourself, Alistair; it is not the first time I have been accused of attempting to sleep with someone’s wife, after all. Of course, usually, it is true, no?” The smirking mask was firmly back in place.

-oOo-

“It’s not safe here, Rosie.”

Signora Rosetta plonked a plate of her special double-baked biscuits on the table and shook her head at her young visitor. “It has never been safe here; for us it has never been safe anywhere. You know this better than most.”

Anders moodily dunked a biscuit. “Yes well, there’s not-safe as in ‘the Templars might drag me back to the Circle Tower’ and then there’s not-safe as in ‘the insane Grand Cleric is going to have me burnt alive’.” He shook his head in disbelief, still not able to take it in. “That’s the news that Alistair received from Denerim this morning; that mad bitch is burning mages. And, if they’re really, really good, and give her the name of someone else to burn as well, she’s kind enough to cut their throats first. It’s going to turn into an epidemic, Rosie.”

Black eyes regarded him calmly from across the table. “I am nearly eighty years old, Anders. I am fortunate to have lived so long as I have. And you, you now have security, safety; one of the famous Grey Wardens and on first name terms with the King. It is the others who should receive your concern; the young ones and the children, no? You have power, influence. You can help them.”

He stroked the staff which leaned against the table, frowning, “We’re trying, Rosie, but it’s difficult. Politics is so slow.”

Rosetta regarded him fondly. “You think I don’t know that? You never asked why I left Antiva, did you?” She poured more precious Antivan coffee from the pot on the table. “Politics there were… are… a mess. Kings come and go, nobles are bought and sold and only two institutions hold any real power; the banks and the Corvi.” He looked up questioningly and she translated, “The Crows.”

“Oh, them. Yes, we have one with us. Well, a former one.”

She raised her eyebrows, “A very fortunate person then; not many get to precede the word ‘Crow’ with the word ‘former’ and live. Back when the Circle and the Chantry clashed in Antiva, the Circle was hit hard; Antivans are, on the whole, very devout, and the Circle got little support. In the end it was the Corvi who stepped in and prevented the annihilation of mages; they considered them too valuable a resource to lose. Circumstances were mired in politics and, as you say, things were moving too slowly to save the mages. The Corvi supported the formation of a resistenza; to save them, to keep them safe, hidden, until the problem blew over.”

Anders looked at her, thunderstruck. “Are you saying I should head up a resistance movement? Andraste’s tits, Rosie, do you know how much trouble I got in with Alistair just for saving a few kiddies?”

She spread her hands and shrugged. “I don’t know the King; only you know if you can do this with his help or behind his back. Only you can say whether you are prepared to do it at all. But, only you have the freedom to do it, ragazzo mio. You are possibly the only mage in Ferelden right now who can move freely, and without fear of the Chantry.”

-oOo-

 

The two faces opposite Leliana were very different, one a little chubby and good tempered, and the other angular and a touch saturnine. They had one thing in common though; when they looked up from Ser Bryant’s note, both faces were unhappy.

“Are you saying that the Grand Cleric had the Knight Commander removed?” There was disbelief in Ser Lundy’s voice, and his good-humoured face was slack with it. Ser Vernon frowned at him, thoughtfully; gauntleted fingers tapping on the table between them.

Leliana shook her head. “This is not a thing we can know for certain. Ser Bryant’s testimony certainly suggests it, and we have seen evidence with our own eyes that some of the doses being sent out to your brethren are being tampered with.” She looked them over, carefully noting the little tells as to their reactions. “Have you heard nothing that troubles you? Nothing that makes you wonder if the work that is being done truly expresses the will of Andraste and the Maker?”

Ser Lundy flushed nervously, “Well, of course there have been rumours, but you must understand, my lady, the Chantry is a hotbed of gossip. If I believed everything I hear…” His laugh contained no humour. “Then I would have lost my faith years ago.”

“I know that well enough Ser, I was a lay sister for several years. But this is not Chantry gossip; this is fact. The field agents are being whipped into a frenzy. Children brought into the care of the Chantry and the Circle are being abused by those responsible for their care. I have seen this with my own eyes.”

Ser Vernon shifted uncomfortably; his heavy frown and grim air reminded Leliana of Nathaniel. She pushed the thought aside. “My lady, there have always been abuses. It’s highly regrettable and nothing I would uphold, but-“

She swept that aside; it was an age old response. “And is it also merely ‘highly regrettable’ that four Templars lie in Fort Drakon for openly attacking the King? You didn’t see them Ser, they were without reason, almost mindless in their hatred of the mages that accompanied His Majesty.”

“What?” Both Templars were regarding her with wide, horrified eyes. She bit down on her anger; it was merely unfortunate to beat children, but horrific to raise a hand against Alistair.

“Again, this I saw with my own eyes. King Alistair is furious and yet, despite their treasonous behaviour, the Grand Cleric calls for their release into her custody.” While they were still digesting this, she hit them with the next snippet.  “And now, we hear, an old, barbaric custom is being resurrected: apostates are being tortured and publically burned in Denerim.”

Ser Lundy squirmed and looked away.   “My lady, I owe my allegiance to the Chantry. I took vows to that effect. I do not agree with the… the changes that are occurring at the moment, but being a Templar is about upholding Andraste’s Law, not second-guessing the Grand Cleric’s interpretation of those laws. If I was asked to personally behave against my conscience… but that is not the case. I’m sorry. I will, of course, disclose nothing that would cause any further friction between Chantry and Crown; the mere idea of a rift between them… But I cannot help you.”

As it had been clear to Leliana for some minutes that she would receive no aid from him, she evinced no surprise. “Thank you for hearing me out, Sers.” She nodded to both of them and left the small room, passing into the Chantry vestibule. Once outside, she stopped at the Chantry gates, breathing the sweet summer air.

When she heard the expected step behind her, she turned, smiling. “Ser Vernon.”

“Lady Leliana.” His bow was stiff, precise. “What do you require from me?”

-oOo-

To Her Holiness the Divine

Representative of Holy Andraste in Thedas,

Greetings

The relations between Chantry and Crown here in Ferelden have always been extremely cordial, and it is with sorrow that we write to express to you our anger and dismay at the decay of these relations that is, at this moment, occurring within our borders.

We have waited with great patience. We remember what it was like to take up High Office, and the potential for blunders that was offered to us at that time. We had hoped to see that Grand Cleric Leanna would settle into her role, and become the staunch ally in the protection of Ferelden that her predecessor was.

Unfortunately, we find that the situation is deteriorating, rather than improving. The public execution of our subjects, without trial or reference to our Right of Justice, is abhorrent to us, and we shall do all in our power to prevent this usurpation of our authority.

We write to you, the final authority on the Will of Andraste, in the hope that you will support us in this, and consider appointing a Grand Cleric more in tune with the needs of the faithful in Ferelden. Nothing would please us more than to be able to preserve the fraternal relationship we have always enjoyed with our brothers and sisters in the Chantry.

We pray to the Maker and Andraste that this happy state of affairs may come to pass.

Alistair Theirin

By the Grace of the Maker, King of Ferelden

Written at South Reach, this eighth day of August, in the second year of our reign.

 

-oOo-

Eamon

I couldn’t care less whether Loopy Leanna has managed to stay inside the law or not, she is not doing this to Ferelden subjects. Enclosed is a copy of a letter I’ve sent to the Divine in Val Royeaux. Take the Palace guard and stop this atrocity, you have my full authority. I enclose also a list of Templars who might be found to be unhappy with the current regime. We’ll be seeing some of them ourselves, but I enclose letters of introduction for those based in Denerim and the surrounding area. I suggest you make tentative contact with them and, at the very least, ensure that they don’t accept poisoned lyrium, and go insane, before we need them.

Sorry Eamon but, unless the Divine sends us a sane GC, I’ve had enough. We need to make ready for the storm.

Alistair.

-oOo-