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peopleofthedas2010-11-19 05:56 pm
Trouble & Strife: Chapter Thirty Three
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_S
Title: Trouble & Strife: Chapter Thirty Three
Characters: today we have Alistair, Maddy, Philippe, 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: Leliana has a revelation, Zevran receives a gift and more bad news comes from Denerim.
-oOo-
Nothing lived here. No earth, no seed, no sun, even the air was still and dead. Stone walls, blank and grey, in every direction. She turned corner after corner, feet pattering on cold stone desperately searching; the clank of metal behind her always getting closer. Bodies impeded her, robes rustling against her skin as she shoved past, avoiding meeting their empty eyes. She had to find them, had to get there in time, but somehow she couldn’t run any longer, couldn’t get to her feet, her legs buckling beneath her when she tried. So, she shuffled on her knees on the cold stone, pushing the forest of robes out of her way.
The crowd opened before her and there they were; the boy with deep green eyes and red-gold hair, the girl with hair and eyes as brown as a nut. They were beautiful and she cried out in joy and relief, tears streaming down her face.
Until they looked up and she saw into the depths of their eyes; they held no spark, no life, and no love. There was a bright blue rune, a complex arcane symbol, branded to their foreheads. It sunk into their skin and vanished, as cold metal gauntlets closed on her arms and bit into her flesh.
The grip on her arms was real. “Shhh, it’s alright. Shhh, come on Maddy; it’s just a dream.”
Warm voice, warm skin, warm bed. Her face was wet and her heart felt like it was breaking. Strong hands on her arms turned her over, pulled her against a wall of comfort. The dream was gone, but the emotion remained and she wailed against his chest as though it had really happened, as though her children were broken husks.
“It’s fine sweetheart, everything’s fine.” Lips on her forehead, pressed there as though to brand her themselves. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’ve got you.”
Oh, how she wished she could believe it.
-oOo-
Leliana bounced into the sitting room of the royal suite, a determined tilt to her chin and a sparkle in her eyes.
“Not dressed?” She tutted briskly. “Come on, my love, we’re going shopping. South Reach has quite nice shops; not like Val Royeaux of course, but nearly as good as Denerim.”
Alistair had grabbed the bard after breakfast, just before he was swept away by fawning nobles; Maddy was feeling low, could she distract her? Leliana felt sure she could rise to that challenge.
“Shopping?” Maddy made a face. “I have everything I need, and besides we’re leaving soon, aren’t we? Kalli is packing.”
After several days the advantages of South Reach had been largely exhausted; the nobles were as pleased with their King and Queen as was possible, the Templars had been combed for those with the values and standards that could prove useful, and Anders had spent a careful couple of days making tentative contact with the local Collective and apostate community. It was time to move on.
“But Maddy… dresses and ribbons and shooooes. We won’t be able to shop properly again until we reach Highever, which is months away.”
Maddy sighed, unimpressed. “Oh, all right.” She set off into the bedchamber to dress. “Where are we going next?” she asked over her shoulder as she went.
“Lothering. It’s not a large town, but it is… was a pretty one; I spent several years in the Chantry there and loved it.” Leliana followed her in and held up a dress, regarding it critically. “Not this one, the colour doesn’t suit you.” She handed the Queen a soft brown dress instead. “I’m a bit afraid of seeing it actually, I haven’t been back since the Blight and it was hit very, very hard.”
“You mean burnt? Destroyed?” Maddy’s voice was a little muffled as she tugged the dress over her head.
“All the land was b…” Leliana stopped, staring for a moment at her friend, still engulfed in fabric. She gathered her thoughts and continued. “They had no troops to defend them; Loghain called them all away, so the Darkspawn rolled over it, killed the townsfolk and tainted everything.” She picked up a comb and went to help with Maddy’s hair, her face thoughtful.
Shopping first, as promised. Later, once she was alone, she could take some time to think about the shocking, dangerous, but potentially amazing idea that had just occurred to her.
-oOo-
“Entrare.”
As Philippe’s auburn head and immaculately dressed body passed the door, Zevran released his loose hold upon the daggers by his chair. “Good morning, il mio principe. What do you wish of me?”
The brilliant blue eyes that fixed on him had been haunting his dreams of late. Disturbingly, not all of them were erotic dreams. “Must I want something from you, mon cher?” The lips that curved into a smile had played a prominent role too. “Other than the pleasure of your delightful company, of course.”
The assassin ensured that he at least appeared relaxed, but was feeling decidedly edgy as he invited Philippe to take a seat opposite him. Not that he had any objections in principle to such a handsome visitor, but since that moment on the battlements of Gwaren, he had been… not exactly avoiding the prince, but not seeking him out either. Their entertaining flirtation had become something else, and Zevran was not certain he knew what it was, or how to behave, any longer.
Philippe didn’t immediately take the proffered seat. Instead he came and perched on the table in front of Zevran’s chair and held out a package he was carrying. It was cylindrical, wrapped in coloured paper. “I’ve brought you a gift.”
“A gift? For me?” Zev took the package; a jar and quite heavy. “What is it?”
“Unwrap it and see.” The paper was thin and ripped easily. It was indeed a jar, ceramic and plain. The faint rattling sound as he moved it was familiar. It was tightly lidded, but easily opened with the tip of a dagger.
“Oh.” That smell, it was glorious. “Antivan coffee? Where did you find this?” Zevran breathed in the rich aroma; for weeks he’d been pulling faces at the ubiquitous Ferelden tea, but good coffee, real Antivan coffee, was a genuine rarity in this blighted country.
“Anders pointed me to a little herb and spice shop in town run by an Antivan lady.” Philippe had remained where he was, one leg swinging on the edge of the table, his eyes on Zevran’s face. “I trust it is to your taste?”
“It is marvellous, a superb gift. Thank you.” He was truly grateful, but now more uncomfortable than ever. “But, if I may ask, why have you brought me a gift?”
“Why?” The expression on the Orlesian’s face was highly disturbing; gentle amusement, intensity and a slight blush of unexpected shyness. “I believe it is customary to bring gifts, mon amour.”
Zevran’s hand on the jar trembled slightly, his heart hammering. He knew enough Orlesian to know what had just been said. He swallowed hard, unsure what to say next, how to diffuse this, to bring it back to a place he was comfortable. What came out, weakly, was not helpful. “Customary for what?”
The elegant leg slipped from the table, a hand reached for one of his and brought it to sculpted lips in the formal manner of the Orlesian court, the prince’s mouth barely brushing the back of his fingers before releasing it. “It is customary to offer gifts during a courtship, mon cher. I am glad that this one meets with your approval. Now, I’ll bid you au revoir.”
“A what?” His astonishing guest was already heading for the door. “Wait, you cannot mean this; a courtship? Why would you do such a thing?” Philippe turned back to him, a strange smile tugging at his mouth. Zevran stood, placing the jar on the table, and gestured to the large bed. “If you want me, il mio principe, you may take me now, there is no need for gifts.” He crossed the room to stand before the other man, feeling the beginnings of arousal at the prospect.
“Delectable though your body is, mon doux, I have set my sights rather higher.” The hand that moved to tuck a strand of blond hair behind a pointed ear was smooth and soft. The hand of a nobleman, who had never been required to work, never had to wield a weapon other than for sport… never had to kill. This whole situation was stupid, ridiculous, the prince was a fool, a madman. “I want it all; your body, your mind and your heart. And, as you have run from me ever since I expressed a hint of such an interest, it seems I must court you formally. If, one morning soon, I wake to hear that you have taken ship back to Antiva, then I will know that you have rejected my hand.” There was a slight tremble to the smiling mouth, vulnerability in the blue eyes, but the smooth voice remained calm and level. “Until then, I shall continue to hope.”
“Your hand?” He must really be mad. There was no other explanation. “What, do you think to woo me like some simpering maid? And then marry me, no doubt. Oh yes, what a sight that would be, eh? An Orlesian prince and an elven assassin. Which of us will wear the pretty dress?”
Zevran was hitting a fine streak of mockery, a soothing wall of protective nonsense that masked his fear and uncertainty, and, all the time, Philippe watched him with that strange disturbing smile. “A marriage is of minds and hearts, Zevran, not a Chantry ceremony. So yes, I hope to woo you, win you and marry you.” Again he lifted the assassin’s slim, calloused fingers and again he bowed, brushing his lips over them, every inch an Orlesian nobleman. “Adieu, mon coeur, I shall see you later, I hope. Enjoy your café.”
Following Philippe’s departure, Zevran remained where he was, staring after him, for some time. Anyone passing his room after this may have heard a stream of impassioned Antivan curses that went on even longer.
-oOo-
The first day on the road had been dull, lowering everyone’s spirits. It had rained almost as soon as they were safely away from the Arl’s embrace and - as no-one fancied another night of his boring stories of hunting and hounds - they decided to press on through it. Maddy, Philippe and Kallian were unused to riding in the wet, and were soon miserable. Zevran, with his general hatred of the vagaries of the Ferelden climate, also looked unhappy; far too unhappy, in fact, to put it down to the weather. Looking at his furious face, Alistair had wondered what on Thedas had put him in such a black mood. Leliana was bearing up well in the storm; she had always been an all-weather girl, he remembered. Alistair, himself, was merely resigned, and thankful not to be in full plate. Maker, he’d never forget the hours he’d spent cleaning rusty armour, until he couldn’t get the stench of armour polish off his fingers, ever.
Now, warm and dry, with the rain drumming on the roof of the tent, and a hot dinner inside him, Alistair was ready to finally agree with his wife about the advantages of travelling this way. He sat at his table, frowning over the map and tapping his finger on Lake Calenhad. Alistair deliberately hadn’t arranged a formal visit to the Circle Tower; the only way to find out what the hell was happening there would be to take them by surprise. Instead, he had sent a bland note, informing the First Enchanter when he would be arriving at Redcliffe, and that he hoped Irving would be able to attend him there. If he could get Irving alone, then he was sure he could get a truthful report on how serious the situation was.
“A messenger from Denerim, sire.” Alistair looked up and nodded to the guard holding back the tent flap, and the soaked messenger was ushered in. He knelt and proffered a package.
“Thank you. Go and get dry, and ask the servants for some supper and a place to sleep. If I have replies, I’ll have them ready for the morning.”
“Very good, Your Majesty.” He backed out of the tent, leaving Alistair to break open the package. Two letters; one bearing Eamon’s seal and one bearing the Grey Warden griffon. He opened the latter first; Eamon’s letters were usually long and depressing, while reports from Amaranthine were less frequent and more interesting as a rule.
To Alistair Theirin, King and Brother Warden,
Greetings,
Monseigneur, as you know, it is not my way to bother you with details of Grey Warden business. I recognise that, sadly, your royal duties keep you from us and will probably always do so. But on this occasion, I have witnessed an outrage that I must bring to your attention, as I feel it will anger you as much as it does me.
You will have heard of the mage burnings in Denerim? One of the apostates the Chantry captured was a young woman, Helsa, whom I had been considering for a Warden. In fact, the only reason she had not already been recruited was that she has a young family to care for, so making her a Warden would not be fair to the little ones.
When I heard that she was to die, I travelled immediately to Denerim to conscript her. When I presented myself at the Chantry however, I was told that I could not see Helsa, or any of the other prisoners. They were apparently considered too dangerous to be allowed in contact with anyone other than their Templar guards. This angered me, and I went to see your Arl Eamon, hoping that he would intervene. But he did not wish to upset the Chantry, and advised me instead to attend the executions, and exercise the Right of Conscription before the fires were lit.
This I did, and Grand Cleric Leanna informed me, with a smug smile I wanted to slap her for (pardon, Seigneur, but I am still heated when I write this), that none of the ‘heretics’ would be of use to the Wardens. When I asked her why, she directed a Templar to show me. They had removed their hands and their tongues! Each and every one of them had been maimed and silenced, so that they could not cast. Also so that they could not protest their treatment at the hands of the Chantry, do you not agree?
It makes my blood boil, seigneur. Why were these executions permitted? Your Arl was out in force with the Palace guard, but only to keep order; the Chantry burned five people, two of them still alive and the mob were incited to bloodlust against mages…
There was more, but at this point Alistair stopped reading, cursing fluently, and reached for the other letter. What did Eamon think he was doing? He’d been given full authority to stop those executions, in fact, although Alistair couldn’t remember exactly what he had written, he was pretty sure he had ordered them to be stopped.
Eamon’s letter was somewhat enlightening.
The situation in Denerim that day was untenable. They had the fires completely ringed by Templars and the common folk were so stirred by the Grand Cleric’s speeches about the dangers of magic that they were a hairsbreadth from rioting. The Palace Guard and the City Guard did their best to keep order without causing the deaths of too many citizens, but I assure you that, if I had done as you asked and forced them to stop the executions, then the combined forces of the Templars and the mob would have been too much for us. Nothing would have been achieved by handing the Chantry a victory of that magnitude.
I’m sorry Alistair; if I had foreseen what it would be like, I would have taken an army. We shall have to see what response you now get from the Divine. I agree that we must prepare for the storm, but we must also take care not to trigger an Exalted March.
Alistair sat back, rubbed his hands through his hair and groaned. Damn it, his letter to the Divine would now look like mere bluster. There had to be a better way to manage this situation. He called to the door guard, who pulled back the flap in response.
“Get Anders in here, would you?”
As the guard went to do his bidding, his place was taken by Leliana, who tripped in, soaking wet, and carrying a small pot. “Maker, have you been swimming? You’re drenched.” Alistair left his seat and fished in a nearby trunk for a cloth.
“I went out riding. Is Maddy here?” She took the cloth gratefully and wiped her streaming face.
“She’s laid on the bed reading, just go through.” The wet bard ducked through the curtain into the sleeping area, and he heard Maddy exclaiming and offering her a dry robe to wear.
“You summoned me, O Mighty Ruler?”
Alistair spun round, not currently inclined to match Anders banter or his grin. Instead he thrust both letters at the mage. “Read these. Leonie’s first.”
There was a short delay while Anders perused them. They could hear the indistinct murmur of voices from behind the curtain as the girls chatted quietly. By halfway through Leonie’s letter, the grin had entirely vanished from the mage’s face. By the end, a faint coruscation of magic shimmered around his shaking hands. “What the fuck happened? Eamon was meant to stop it.”
“Read the other one”
Even though the note from Eamon was short, Anders sat looking at it for a long while. When he finally looked up, sadness had overtaken fury in his eyes. “She’s got the common people behind her; turned them all into mage-haters.” He shrugged dispiritedly. “I suppose it wasn’t a very big step for most of them.”
“I’m sorry, Anders. If I’d been there, I could have turned the mob. However much authority I give Eamon, he’s not the King.” Alistair’s voice was soft, apologetic. “I should have ridden to Denerim, intervened personally. This is my fault.”
“It’s not your-” Anders stopped dead and both men turned to face the same direction, drawn by the taste of Maddy’s magic on their tongues. “Is she…?”
“Seems like it.”
There was a hoot of triumph from the curtained-off area and Leliana appeared, bearing her pot and beaming with mischievous glee. “Gentlemen, I have a proposition for you.”
-oOo-
Maddy curled in her chair watching everyone’s faces. The argument had been raging for hours. Philippe and Zevran had now been added to the mix and had inserted their six-coppers-worth too.
Leliana was earnest, positive that her plan could work, that it could turn everything around, and that it was right. Up to a point Zevran supported her, but had less faith in the suggestion that this could also keep Maddy safe from the Chantry. Philippe had been quiet, listening and absorbing, his eyes coming back to his sister’s face over and over. Anders looked torn in half; the mage in him believed it was a terrible plan, but the Warden said it had to happen. Kallian kept her mouth shut; she leant on the back of Maddy’s chair, providing the same solid support she had ever since the revelation at the logging camp. She was proving to be an enormous comfort to the beleaguered Queen.
Alistair was having none of it.
“Absolutely not! Exposing Maddy in this manner is the last thing we want to do. I have to keep a lid on her abilities at least until we can remove the maniacs from the Chantry.”
“Unfortunately, il mio re, Leliana is right about this much at least. This plan will go a long way to achieving that goal as, if it is done correctly and subtly, we will be able to sway the common folk in droves. Also the nobles, as they think with their purses, no?”
“And what about Maddy’s safety?” Alistair’s mouth was set in stubborn lines. “If the Templars come for her, I’ll go to war, I swear it.”
Leliana’s voice was persuasive, soothing, working hard to convince him. “Don’t you see Alistair; she’s bound to be exposed sooner or later; you heard what happened at Gwaren. We can’t hide her forever. This way it’s under our control; we can show her in the best possible light, and, if they do come for her after this, the common folk and the nobles will both join you at war.”
“That’s assuming your plan works, Leliana.” Anders’ face was sombre. “If they just see her as a mage, they could hand her over to the Chantry themselves.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Oui, mon frère, and mine also.” Philippe stretched, his eyes again returning to his sister. “Ma chérie, you have said nothing, and yet your opinion is perhaps the most important.”
Maddy clasped her hands together nervously, looking around at their waiting faces. “There’s something that not all of you know. It… makes this more difficult.” She glanced at Alistair and he nodded encouragingly. He was right, it was time. “I’m pregnant.”
There was a squeal from Leliana, who then looked round at the unsurprised faces. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?” she asked, affronted.
Alistair blinked at her, surprised, “We only told Philippe; he is her brother, after all.”
“I knew because I’m her healer.”
“And Zevran apparently eavesdrops.” Alistair folded his arms and gave the assassin a challenging glare.
Leliana looked at Kalli, the only one left. “What?” The elf squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m her maid; she hasn’t bled in two months.”
“Anyway,” said Maddy, trying to get the conversation back on track, “what this means is that I have to put my babies first. I can’t risk the Chantry taking them away. I-I’m terrified of that.” Despite her best efforts her voice trembled.
“Maker, Maddy, they won’t. The whole country would rise up against them if they tried to claim the heirs to the throne.”
“Alistair is right, ma chérie; this you need have no fear of. Is this why you have black circles under your eyes?” Philippe frowned direfully at his brother-in-law. “Alistair, you should have told her it was not so.”
“He-ey, I have been telling her. She doesn’t believe me.”
“Truly, they will really be safe? Whatever happens?” Maddy anxiously scanned every face; they were all smiling or nodding, even the cynical Zevran appeared undisturbed on this point. It felt like an enormous weight rolling off her shoulders; her own safety meant nothing in comparison. “Then I’ll do it. I’m sick of hiding, of being afraid. I think Leliana is right, I was given a gift, just as the Dalish said.” She squared her shoulders. “I should use it to help people.”
Looking into her husband’s anxious eyes, she really, really hoped she’d made the right decision.
-oOo-
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The Chantry... ugh, they give me the heebie jeebies. I really hope they're going to get what's coming to them.
You're formatting's gone a little bit weird at the end of the chapter.
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I thought I hated the Chantry before. And I can't help thinking that if Eamon had acted sooner and had taken Alistair seriously, they might have been able to head this off.
Maddy is so incredibly brave. I hope this doesn't backfire. I'm going to be very curious to see I've guessed correctly on the nature of the plan.
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I don't think Maddy's feeling too brave right now, poor lamb.
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I love how Zevran is all like, "No. You don't understand. I'm kind of easy. No pressie required." XD
Also, I don't know if I'm just feeling particularly bloodthirsty at the moment, but my first thought about the Chantry's torture was that they should have gouged out their eyes out too. If you're going to be all crazy and murderous, commit to it. I mean go big or go home.
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Grand Cleric Leanna wants to know if you'd like a job?
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Also I'm not wearing those stupid Chantry robes... they're mauve! Now, that would be torture.
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