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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
- 77
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@discord_the_lunatic: Oh, such a nice review. With all the praise I begin to feel quite aloof ;). The great thing about the fandom is that the story, although well known, is always different depending on the personality of the Warden. So angry and serious sounds great. Too bad you keep that all to yourself. ;)

Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text
"Tis most peculiar..."
"Huh? Are you talking to me? Can't you pester someone else," I sigh. I am not in the brightest mood this morning as I already enjoyed one of Arl Eamon's lessons about how to behave kingly. He was all like: "Stop looking foolish!" And I was all like: "But that's what I look like!" Well, you get the impression.
And as if that wasn't unpleasant enough, I didn't get to perform my shaving ritual with Rori - or anything else we usually do in the morning - but had to do it all alone in a hurry... err... the shaving... not the other... things... before we left Redcliffe for the Storm Coast. Blast, I didn't even have breakfast! No cheese, no tea, nothing.
Under that circumstances nobody can blame me for not being my amiable adorable charming self, right?
And now Morrigan.
Hmph.
"I was wondering about Wynne and her condition," Morrigan continues as if I hadn't said anything at all.
"Then why do you bother me? She can certainly tell you more about herself than I can," I grumble. Wynne's spirit buddy certainly was the cherry on top of all the troubles of our seemingly endless journey from Brecilian Forest to Redcliffe.
Crossing through the Bannorn we encountered far more darkspawn than before, proving the Grand Oak right. It can't be much longer until the archdemon makes an appearance. Now one would believe the darkspawn was enough for anybody to deal with. But no! We probably killed more headhunters than darkspawn. Loghain is making quite an effort to get rid of Rori and me. Rumours have spread that I am not Maric's son at all but an usurper to be placed on the throne as an Orlesian puppet. It's all a huge conspiracy of the Grey Wardens, the Guerrins and the treacherous Couslands.
I thought it wiser to avoid the inns and taverns, the villages altogether and concentrate on what we are actually here for: The Blight. Sten was totally with me there. But Leliana, Zevran and Rori had it on their agenda to do anything they could to correct that image. And you cannot suffocate a rumour when sitting somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Rori was especially fierce about this. Her parents were heroes, defending Denerim against the Orlesian attack. To now find them disgraced as traitors doesn't sit well with their daughter. And that is quite an understatement.
Much to Oghren's delight we got into so many tavern brawls, every single one of us - with the exception of Shale and Barkley - soon was sporting one black eye... some even two. Rori looked like a racoon for days. Most of the times we just bought the opponents a drink or two afterwards and things got rather merry. Some villages, though, we should better avoid for some time.
And last but not least we all got almost killed by some darkspawn emissary's spell and Wynne did something that included very bright and splendid light like I had never seen before to heal us all in one go and... at once. I mean, I've been healed magically before and that raw power always left me both amazed and scared. But this... it was so much more... somewhat... creepy... but still it did not feel... dangerous or evil or hostile...
"Isn't she what you templars and Chantry folk would call an abomination? Shouldn't you kill her?" Morrigan inquires.
"I am not a templar. I am a Grey Warden. And Wynne is not an abomination..." Fact is, considering the rules of the Chantry, she absolutely is an abomination. Cullen, being the good and faithful templar he is, would have killed her the moment her condition became obvious. Although I try not to let it show, that spirit thing bothers me greatly, despite me being probably the worst templar ever.
I mean, this is Wynne. The sweet old granny mage! Still, my templar training tells me to watch her closely when my heart tells me no. I feel bad for being so suspicious over her. That spirit inside of her... I feel it is nothing evil... and I wonder if it really is no danger or if it is because this is Wynne. Would I react differently if it was Morrigan? I tell myself no, but at the same time I realize this is a big fat lie.
Maker, why does this all have to be so complicated?
Thankfully it is not I to make the decisions. Rori is too practical to make much of a fuss about this. As long as it helps our cause and is not something awfully evil, she seems to be fine with whatever is inside of Wynne. Okay, fine is an overstatement... she is wary but she has other things on her mind. Like the army we united and my political agenda and the whole thing with the Blight.
"And there I thought an abomination is someone possessed by a spirit or demon from the Fade. I must have been mistaken," Morrigan remarks dryly. "Or is it just you don't want to admit you are not the templar you pretend to be?"
"I am no templar and never wanted to be one, so there's no point in pretending." I stir my horse to trot faster, hoping beyond hope Morrigan will get the hint and leave me alone.
Well, keep dreaming. This just so is not my day!
"So I take it you did not enjoy your templar training?" the witch inquires when her horse appears next to mine.
"That's directed at me, I take it?" I groan as I reach out to secure Rori before she can drop off her horse. She has fallen asleep in her saddle again. The springtime lethargy has a tight grip on her and she's awfully tired lately. It's almost impossible to make her get up in the morning and she keeps dozing off while riding. I let go of Rori when Shale plucks her from her horse and carries her, cradling her like a baby.
"Do you see any others about who have failed at their religious instruction?"
"I didn't fail," I sulk. I mean, I probably would have failed. At least everybody thought I would. Most take their vows at the age of 18 and I was already 19. They kept me waiting for a reason and that reason was... everything I am. "I was recruited into the Grey Wardens."
And I am proud about that. Duncan chose me when I was the last anybody expected to be chosen by anybody or anything. There were other templars who did far better at the tournament. That I was allowed to fight at all and show my skills, was quite a surprise after the Knight-Commander had made it quite clear I was to watch and keep my mouth shut.
"And if you had not been recruited? What would have happened, instead?" Morrigan insists.
Well, if she really has to know...
"I would have turned into a drooling lunatic, slaughtered the grand cleric and run through the streets of Denerim in my small clothes, I guess."
Honestly, I don't think that's so far fetched. At least it gets close to what everybody thought about me at the Chantry. I felt so lost and unwanted there... and then Duncan kinda rescued me and suddenly my life had a meaning. And I found a home and what comes closest to a family for me. It still hurts to have lost Duncan and all the others - although Rori is here to comfort me. She is my family now, my home... my life.
And again I feel like I failed. Shouldn't the Grey Wardens be my life? But with all the king-business, that could be taken from me soon anyway. If I stay alive long enough, that is. The chances are slim. Really, why do I worry at all about the future?
"Your self-awareness does you credit."
"I thought you'd like that," I snort.
When we reach the Storm Coast a few days later, Rori leads us to a bay flanked by steep cliffs. It almost looks as if the land tries to embrace the sea. Only a narrow and steep hidden path leads down towards the small stripe of sand that hardly deserves to be called a beach.
We have to leave the horses with Master Dennet who will bring them back to Redcliffe - not without lecturing me first when I hand the reins of my mare to him. "You still ride as if you had a pole stuck in your shirt, boy..., your Highness," he grumbles. "At least you don't fall off your horse as often as your father. It has to run in the Theirin blood. Whenever Cailan sat on a horse, the mount wandered off to wherever it wanted."
Only when we are halfway down the path, the ships hiding in the bay become visible. Three proud Fereldan warships sailing under the banner of the Mac Eanraigs.
"My mother's family," Rori explains.
During the war against the Orlesian usurper, Bann Fearchar Mac Eanraig, the Storm Giant, and his fleet were what one could call the Fereldan navy. Actually they were more like pirates, searaiders that brought down Orlesian ships. His second daughter Eleanor, later Teyrna Cousland, was called the Seawolf. It is said that Orlesian sailors still wet their pants when they hear her name.
Eleanor had three siblings - and they are... rather unhappy about their sister's fate. At least that's how Arl Eamon put it. According the look on his face, that's the understatement of the year.
"Rori!" A large one-eyed warrior, as huge and broad as a bear - in a kilt - and with a beard that makes Oghren go green with envy, charges us when we reach the beach. He's quite fast for a man with a peg leg and he picks Rori up as if she was a doll and throws her into the air, catching her again easily. "Pup!" he roars.
"Un-uncle Angus!" Rori squeaks. She finds herself whirled around some more before Bann Angus Mac Eanraig smacks a very wet peck to her cheek and hands her over to his younger brother - without putting her down first.
Uncle Ronan's hair and beard are as red as Rori's... hair... Doubt she'd be as cute with a beard. He's almost as tall and broad as his older brother - and the way he hugs his niece, I'm afraid all I'll get back is some Rori-squish. When he finally releases her, he ruffles her hair until they stand on end. Once he's done, Rori gets pounced by her aunt. Agnes is even shorter than Rori. I can hardly believe the weathered grey haired bird of a woman to be Angus' twin. She has a nasty looking hook for a hand that she keeps waving around in front of Rori's face while she talks. And she talks a lot, pinching Rori's cheeks... with her good hand thankfully.
When Rori finally is returned to me, her hair is a touseled mess and her face flushed.
Only now are the Mac Eanraigs willing to greet the rest of us.
"That's him?" Angus drones when Eamon introduces me to the bann. He scrutinizes me in death silence and with his one eye squinted for what seems an eternity while I squirm and start stammering something about how it is a pleasure to meet him. His glare is so intense and fierce, I am tempted to hide behind Shale. Finally Angus grunts and spits out, almost hitting my boots.
Err...
Rori nudges my side and grins. "He likes you," she whispers proudly.
"Gal," Oghren murmurs, tugging at Rori's sleeve. He looks somewhat pale around the nose. "Ya don't wanna actually use that swimming nutshell, do ya?"
"Blast, yes, I do," Rori answers quite cheerfully as she climbs into one of the boats that carry us to the warships.
"So is it very strange for you, my friend, living in the world of the tall?" Zevran inquires, watching how Oghren wades through the knee-high water to reach the boat. Knee-high for me. The dwarf sinks in to the belly.
"Here I thought I was living in the world of the nosy and the stupid," Oghren grunts. "Bah, I already had a sodding bath this year. Had I known I was in for another so soon, I'd have skipped it."
"It just occurred to me," Zevran merrily goes on when he gives me a hand hauling the soppy dwarf into the boat. "Chairs are too high. Tables are out of reach. using the toilet facilities alone must be a lesson in humility."
"I'm not bloody two feet tall, you swishy nug-licker!" Oghren barks. He very carefully sits down, cursing under his breath when the boat see-saws. Once safely seated, he pulls his soaked boots of his feet.
"Merciful Andraste!" Rori croaks, holding her nose - and she is used to my socks. Admittedly, compared to Oghren's mine smell like a rose blossom.
"And then the light!" Zevran exclaims, motioning towards the sun peeking from behind the clouds. "After all that gloom of Orzammar and the Deep Roads, it's a wonder you don't wander about squinting in pain."
"It is bright, I'll give you that." The dwarf clutches both sides of the boat when Angus and I row it back to the bann's ship, the Roaring Dragon.
"And... oh! Not to have a roof over your head!" Zevran leisurely leans back, dangling one arm over the side of the boat. "Once the ship carries us away from the shore, there won't be anything solid beneath your feet anymore. You must constantly fear that you'll fall up into that vast, endlessly open sky. Or drown in the deep cold water."
The way he describes it, even I begin to feel uneasy...
"Uh..." Oghren uncomfortably shifts on his seat. He takes a sip from his flask. Then another. And a third. In the end he downs the whole stuff in one go.
The elf either doesn't notice the dwarf is sweating by now or he doesn't care. "One day you live within the surety of a mountain, and then gone! Nothing but vacuum, nothing to stop you from being sucked up into the void, nothing to..."
"Stop!" Axe ready, Oghren jumps from his place so abruplty, he makes the boat careen. "One more word and I chop you down where you sit!"
"You are a brave, brave little soldier, my friend." Zevran smiles reassuringly at him and pats his shoulder. Then he motions to the side of the huge warship. "Now, can you climb that rope-ladder to get aboard or should I carry you?"
"You knife-eared pipe-cleaner, you couldn't carry me on your best day," Oghren grunts while he ogles Rori's hindquarters as she climbs the ladder with dexterous grace. That sight has even Zevran shut up for a moment. And it for sure brightens Oghren's mood. "Hehe, aye..." Then Rori pulls herself over the railing and disappears from sight.
"Mmmm," the elf ponders, scrutinizing the dwarf as he returns to their conversation. "Perhaps if you left behind the spirits, all the weapons, and lost about two feet of beard..."
Oghren shoves the elf aside, almost sending him over board, and reaches for the ladder... that dangles about two feet above his head... "Don't say a sodding word!"
With much effort, a lot of swearing, grunting and panting, Zev and I manage to lift Oghren high enough for him to reach the ladder. The sight of watching the dwarf climb is not even half as thrilling as watching Rori. Actually it's not thrilling at all... nope... quite the contrary.
Then it's time for Bann Angus to get back onto his ship and Zevran nudges me and says: "Alistair, my dear friend, what do Fereldans wear under their kilts?"
"Err... I don't know. Never wore one..."
"Alas," Zevran exclaims merrily. "it seems we are going to find out."
Expectantly the elf tilts his head back, following Bann Angus' ascent. And against better knowledge, I - fool that I am - watch, too...
"Andraste's flaming sword!"
"Only if she used a longsword with a rather prominent thick cross-guard..."
"ZEVRAN!!! So not listening... lalalala..."
Ow! Argh! My eyes! No, no, no! Ewww... Maker! Suddenly the archdemon doesn't seem that horrible a beast anymore... not after I've seen that!
"Alas, as I thought. At least that rumour is true," Zevran chuckles.
"You knew it!" He knew it!
"Ah, Alistair, my friend, not that scornful glare again! I didn't know it. Not at all. I've heard about it, like I heard about Fereldans and their dogs. I swear, had I known, truly known, I would have warned... Alas, no, I probably wouldn't have."
Oh, that blasted elf!
I climb on board and find Rori in a conversation with her uncle. She has to tell the story about her parents' death again. It still tears her apart inside. Considering Angus' expression, Howe and Loghain are lucky, he hasn't yet gotten hold of them. It's going to be a hard task for Eamon to persuade the Mac Eanraigs to stay peaceful at the Landsmeet. They demand red meat.
Did I mention that Fereldan nobility has a long and fierce tradition of blood feuds?
"We've been hiding ever since we heard about what happened to Ellie and Bryce," Angus drones. Whenever he says something, he says it loud. "It's like back in the old days when the Orlesians hunted us. They could not find or catch us and Loghain isn't any better at it. I can't believe he turns against his own people. Thought better of him, but, by Andraste's holy knickers, I've been mistaken." He spits out twice at the mentioning of Loghain's name, then adds with grim satisfaction: "Howe has tried to lure us into a trap - but he's not that smart, that treacherous two-faced bastard. A rat has more honour than this son of a bitch."
Uncle Angus gives his niece a bear hug that lifts her off the ground, then ruffles her hair - that she has just combed back with her fingers into not looking like she touched something on Dagna's work desk.
"You are the daughter of the infamous Seawolf," Bann Angus goes on as he shows us around on his ship. "Show these bastards what you got in you, Pup. I know, you are going to make her and me proud."
He is so very sure about this. I wish Eamon only was half as optimistic about me becoming king. It would make things a whole lot easier. At least I like to tell myself that.
Two hours later the pride of the Mac Eanraigs and Couslands, the last hope of Ferelden, the daughter of the infamous Seawolf who has ruled the Waking Sea and brought down her first Orlesian warship at the age of 15, is clutching the railing while she vomits forcefully into the ocean. I have my arm wrapped around her waist to save her from falling over board.
"I am dying," Rori croaks in between her fits of seasickness. Even the dwarf is doing better than her. I feel so sorry for her. Even more so since her uncle, after overcoming his first shock and indignance, teases her mercilessly. He has the whole crew laughing at her and it's so not fair when she's so miserable.
"Pup, you're worse a landlubber than your father," Angus grunts when Rori, her face ashen, finally collapses on the deck. He holds out a hand to help her back to her feet, but she ignores him, clinging to me instead. She can hardly stand alone, but that doesn't stop her from kicking her smirking uncle's manhood.
Perhaps calling her a disgrace and not worth to be her mother's daughter wasn't that funny a joke after all...

Notes:

When I read Eleanor Cousland's background story in The World of Thedas Vol. 2, I just couldn't resist. I mean, it somehow makes sense for her family to appear. They would not just sit back and pick their noses and wait until it's all over, right?
Eleanor's siblings are not mentioned by name. It is only said her father had four children and Eleanor was his second daughter. So it is only given that she has an older sister.
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In good times and in bad

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Chapter Text

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