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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
- 79
- 80
- 81
Notes:

In case you want to take a look at the banners, here's the links. The Mac Eanraig banner I had to make up as Bioware gives no information.

Theirin:

http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Theirin_family

Cousland:

http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Cousland_family

Guerrin:

http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Guerrin

Grey Wardens:

http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Heraldry:_Grey_Wardens

Chapter Text
Our arrival at Denerim is a well planned choreography. Actually it's a whole show, costumes and music included.
With the reinforecment it's an armada of five ships approaching Denerim in V formation, with Bann Angus Mac Eanraig's Roaring Dragon at the front, the sails bearing the red, gold and white of the royal family, the mabari banner of the Theirins proudly blowing in the wind.
Then follows Agnes Mac Eanraig with Andraste's Glory, her sails blue and silver and the Cousland laurel wreaths high on her masts. Ronan's Soggy Mabari sports the colours of the Guerrins and he flys the flag of Redcliffe. Behind them Angus' daughter Juliana has her Storm Witch sail under the Griffon flag. The last one is Agnes' son Tracy, his Stingray presenting the blue and green of the Mac Eanraigs. Their banner is a fist holding a trident - malicious gossip has it that it's a dungfork instead.
It's certainly an impressive sight, majestic and grand...
"It's like flipping Loghain the bird," Rori says, sounding rather pleased. Even her strange on-and-off seasickness cannot rain on her parade today.
For her this is all about the beginning of the end of Rendon Howe.
I imagine how Loghain sits there high above the city in the palace of Denerim and has an open sight to the sea... and the armada sailing into the harbour of his capital.
That's almost worth all this.
Almost.
For me this is all about the beginning of the end of my life as just Alistair.
"Why can't we just enter the city like anybody else?" I ask sullenly while Bann Castor, Rori's old buddy, and Herren, grumpy as always and not at all pleased to find himself on board of a ship, help me with my brandnew Wade armour. Castor calls it a masterpiece of understatement, meaning Eamon forbade him to order an ornamental parade armour but forced him and Wade to think of something practical. Bless Eamon! In my opinion it's still too much gold and engravings.
"Because you are not anybody else," Castor patiently explains, hurrying to help Rori fasten the griffon brooch on her midnight blue cape. It's rimmed in silver embroidery and perfectly matches her equally coloured blouse with the silver ties and the tiny embroidered griffons. On her head she wears a silver laurel wreath. Castor calls this the perfect balance between her noble heritage and her mission. "And you do look gorgeous, darling," he adds.
That at least we can agree on.
"Is it really wise to make such a show with that much pomp?" I grumble, looking so sour I even beat Herren who is polishing my armour, wiping off the last fingerprints. I am so burnished from head to toe, even Shale thinks I'm pretty. Next she's going to stuff me into her bag where she has all her shiny things and her cuddly stone Herbert.
"Alistair, my dear royal friend, nobody has ever become king because of their humility," Zevran points out.
Not that I really want to become king. I mean, I know about my responsibility and that it's the only way to challenge Loghain and possibly defeat him. Still, I hope that I will get spared, somehow. It all seems so larger than life when I am just an insignificant fool.
"But what if I don't become king?"
"Then your shiny armour is the last thing you should be worrying about," the elf remarks cheerfully. "Usually heirs to the throne who don't win it, don't live long enough to regret their mistakes."
"How comforting. Now I indeed do feel better."
Next to Rori and me being dressed up, there's five ship loads of soldiers, mostly men in kilts, and a bagpipe and drums band - also in kilts. They make a hellish noise when we land, playing the rather popular tune of The Soldier and the Seawolf. I have to admit, it's a rather smart move, since it was Eleanor Mac Eanraig and Bryce Cousland who defended Denerim against the Orlesian attack when the Orlesians tried to reconquer the city from the sea. There's still a lot of people in Denerim who remember how the Seawolf's fleet formed a line of protection and defeated the Orlesians. And those who haven't been there have heard the tales and this song.
Our rather noisy and flamboyant entry bestows us a crowd gathered at the pier. According to Eamon, this is a critical moment. We do not know for sure how they will react. We've been marked king-slayers and traitors after all. All this could blow up in our faces and still I am meant to mount a white horse and ride down the gangway right behind the musicians and a guard of honour.
"Err... Arl Eamon... you do recall my riding skills, don't you?" I mutter as I sit on the horse and ogle down that narrow piece of wood that leads from the ship to safely firm ground. "I mean, you've heard what Master Dennet said back then, right? May I point out that I haven't made much of an improvement?" My chances to fall off the horse and drown in the port basin are several times higher than actually becoming king.
And again nobody is listening to me. Angus slaps the back of the horse and it starts down the gangway with me clinging to it and hoping beyond hope that the animal knows what it's doing because I for sure do not.
Rori is right behind me on a another white horse. Followed by Eamon and Angus, also on horseback. There's another honour guard, more soldiers, more musicians... it's a whole Maker forsaken parade.
Eamon says I should appear majestic with an air of earnestness and grandeur. I almost laugh out loud at that. I am a born fool and so, sweating heavily in my silly armor, I find myself grinning like a retard and wave at the people lining both sides of the road. Most people wave back and cheer, some scrutinize us with stern glares. I try to read from their expressions if they can see through the mask, see the insignificant small man in that shiny armour that he wears like a pretty shell. It's like running the gauntlet and I feel like screaming inside.
"I cannot do that," I breathe when Rori appears next to me as soon as the streets widen. "It's such a farce!" She smiles reassuringly at me, takes my hand in hers and doesn't let go anymore, despite Eamon hissing at us from behind.
Maker, bless that girl!
Reminding me that I am not alone, Rori with her own radiance gives me strength and at least some confidence. And suddenly a spark leaps over and creates an excitement that enfolds the people like a wave. They chime in on the songs, chant Rori's and my name - and they bow or incline their heads in a display of respect.
It's amazing. Overwhelming. And so damn creepy.
I'm still more than relieved when we finally arrive at the Guerrin estate. Eamon is quite pleased with how Denerim reacted on us. "We tested the waters and it turned out far better than I expected," the Arl admits. "Denerim is the heart and soul of Ferelden. As stubborn as a mabari and as good to have on your side. If we defeat Loghain here, the rest of the nation will follow us."
"Nobody tried to murder us," Rori observes, sounding rather amazed.
"Not yet," Zevran says cheerfully, wrapping one arm around Rori's shoulder, the other around my waist. "I'm sure they won't leave you waiting for too long."
"You did well, Alistair," Eamon goes on, laying his hand on my shoulder in a gesture of pride. "There's more of your father in you than you want to believe."
I roll my eyes behind his back, causing Rori to giggle - until Eamon turns and silences her with a stern glare.
Don't get me wrong, his praise means much to me - usually. As a child I'd have done anything to make him proud of me. Today, however, I don't feel like I've done anything that deserves to be noticed. It's all about me being Maric's son. That's nothing I achieved. It's the ghost of the past they see in me. And it scares me... because the time will come, when I cannot hide anymore, when their onlook will focus on me. They will still compare me to Maric the Saviour - and how should I ever live up to the king who freed Ferelden from the Orlesian usurpers?
"I called in the Landsmeet. I struck the first," Eamon goes on as the Mac Eanraigs, Leliana, Zevran, Rori and I meet him in his study. Eamon rather would have left the bard and the elf out but Rori insists, they know how to play the political game. Especially Leliana has become her and my most important advisor.
"A gathering of some noble retards? That's what you call a strike?" Angus grunts and rams his throwing axe into the tabletop. It's a really fine table with the banners of all noble families of Ferelden engraved. The blade of Angus' axe splits right through that of the Mac Tirs. "Here, that's what I call a strike," he adds with deeply felt satisfaction.
I can't get rid of the impression that the sophistication Eleanor Cousland was known for has a lot to do with the choice of her husband.
"Angus," Eamon begins as if he was talking to a retard. "We already talked about that - several times. We do not have the strength to fight Loghain and his allies - not with a Blight taking place at the same time."
"Blasted darkspawn," Angus Mac Eanraig mumbles into his beard while pulling his axe from the now ruined table. "Sorry 'bout the table, Eamon. I'll cover the damage."
"The advantage for the moment is ours." Eamon chooses to ignore the huge kilt-wearing warrior. "Loghain has little choice but to oppose us directly. He will strike back at us. The only question that remains, is how soon?"
"And how?" Rori adds thoughtfully. "What possibilities does he have to discredit Alistair and the rest of us? He tried to mark us traitors. But how many will believe the story of the Orlesian threat when the darkspawn is knocking down their front doors? He will have to find another way to destroy us."
"Killing you sounds like the easiest way to get rid of the threat you are," Zevran points out.
"It also could cause the civil war to consume Ferelden even before the darkspawn does," Leliana comments. "If Loghain wants to unite the nobility of Ferelden, your deaths alone won't do the magic."
"You have to be careful in whatever you say or do," Eamon advises Rori and me. Then turns to the Mac Eanraigs. "You, too! The last thing we need is a tavern brawl in the Gnawed Noble because someone said something disrespectful about Eleanor..."
Angus and Ronan Mac Eanraig look like two boys who got their most favourite toys confiscated and now have to go to bed early and without a dessert.
"But..." Angus begins sullenly.
"No! That's exactly what Loghain is waiting for."
A knock at the door and the entry of an elven servant suffocate any further discussion, although it's quite clear Angus isn't yet finished.
"Lord Eamon, guests have arrived. King Loghain, Teyrn Howe and...," the servant begins timidly.
"TEYRN HOWE!" Angus roars, his face crimson with fury, and jumps from his chair so quickly that he knocks it over. I am actually surprised there's no smoke billowing from his ears. "I'm going to turn that thrice-cursed whorespawn into a pulp even his mother won't recognize anymore! TEYRN MY ASS!"
He's already out of the door, shouting obscenities at the top of his voice, when Eamon hurries after him, bellowing at his guards to stop the rampant bann. Agnes is at his heels, yelling at her twin to calm down and only for once make use of his brain. They all have their hands full, stopping Bann Mac Eanraig before the huge searaider can storm into Eamon's hall and turn Howe into something squishy.
"Err... I... will let the guests know, they will be shown to the hall... soon, yes?" the elven servant asks timidly, looking questioningly at me. I shrug and grin sheepishly, causing the poor servant some more despair. "Not helpful," he mutters as he hurries out of the room. "So not helpful!"
Rori and I are left back in the study.
Loghain is out there and I know that I will have to face him. There's no way around it. Whatever I thought this would feel like, I am at awe how strangely calm I am, like in battle when instinct and experience take over, leaving no room for thoughts.
Rori is far from being calm. She just stands there with her fists clenched at her sides, very silent, awfully pale and so terribly upset, she's shaking. Her eyes are wide and round and glittering with tears, she angrily tries to blink back. The man who has murdered her mother and father, her little nephew and sister-in-law, who has destroyed her home, he has come to meet her.
I very much doubt, it's a coincidence that Loghain has brought Howe here. The Mac Eanraigs aren't exactly known for their calm mannerism and deliberateness. The battle has begun. This is Mac Tir's counterstrike.
I catch Rori by her wrist when she unsheathes her dagger. She glares at me with a determined ferocity in her eyes and tries to pull free from my grasp. "Let go, Alistair!" she hisses, her voice raw and choked. "I will cut his black heart from his chest! I will..."
Of course I do not let go of her. She's not able to think straight. "Rori, please, that's what Loghain is hoping for. Can't you see, he brings Howe here to push you to perform a hasty action?" I beseech her. "He will use this against you, against me, marking our attempt to disempower him as an act of hateful revenge."
The tears stream down her face and she sobs. "I don't care," she wails. Her hand is trembling so badly, she can hardly hold the dagger.
"Rubbish!"
"Alistair," she cries. "I can't... I cannot... look into his face and... I cannot do that... meet him... face him..."
Maker! She's crying so hard, she can hardly breathe. I disarm her before I wrap her in an embrace, holding her until her sobbing stops. She sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve. Chuckling, I sacrifice yet another handkerchief for her.
Rori noisily blows her nose. "I've imagined this a thousand times," she admits meekly. "Where it would be, how it would be, what I would say, what it would feel like... and it's nothing like that. It hurts so much."
"Pup," I whisper into her ear and she stiffens. I never call her that. It's the endearment her family uses for her. For me, she's my kitten. It never felt right to me to address her like her family did. But now I do. Taking her face into my hands, I make her look at me."You are Rori Elissa Cousland, Lady of Highever, daughter of Teyrn Bryce and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. Show them the Couslands are made of sterner stuff. You can do this."
"I... I feel, like I'm going to be nauseous," Rori mutters, slumping down on a chair. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
"Oh... okay, that might not make for such an imposing impression. I mean, Howe for sure is enough to make one puke. And then Loghain in additon... but perhaps you could try a less drastic approach..."
Eamon appears at the door of his study. "Our arrival has made more of an impression than I thought possible if it has Loghain come running here so fast. Are you ready? We shouldn't let Loghain wait much longer." One look at Rori and he decides a few minutes won't hurt. "Wash your face, girl. That's exactly how Loghain and Howe want to see you. You don't want to give them satisfaction, do you?"
That works.
"Blast, no!" Rori hisses, visibly pulling herself together. She leaves the room, repeatedly muttering to herself under her breath: "I'm a Cousland. I can do this."
For her that's okay. I, however, don't feel much like giving myself a boost with my Theirin heritage. Right now it's more of a burden than it has ever been before.
"Alistair..." Rori whispers when five minutes later we are all more or less ready and assembled in the hall for a meet and greet with Loghain and Howe. My beloved fellow Grey Warden still looks a bit pale, but she regained her composure.
"I'm right here, Pup," I reassure her.
"We're all here," Zevran adds. "I - for example - are going to be over there in the shadows. Just in case you need someone to get instantly assassinated."
"Point out a head, I'll crush it," Shale rumbles, punching her fist at her palm.
"Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really," Morrigan complains.
"Let's just hope we'll be the last ones standing," I murmur.
"This - again - is not the archdemon," Sten sighs.
"But it's getting quite close," Rori teases the exasperated Qunari.
"Okay, my darlings, remember what I told you. Calm. Composed. Cunning. And we'll work it out somehow," Leliana says as if this was some stage project of the local amateur theatrical troupe. And I'm the nerd who always forgets his lines.
"No drinks?" Oghren grunts. "No wonder you all act as if you got a sodding stick up your arse. Some ale would release a lot of tension. I know what I'm talking about."
"Doubt you can drink Howe pretty," Angus mutters but accepts Oghren's flask anyway. He's the only one the dwarf shares with as they have become quite close drinking buddies within the few days travelling together.
"One at least can give it a try," Wynne chuckles. "He might not become prettier but at least the time wasted with him got a little merrier. Attention now, here they come."
Loghain doesn't show up with an honour guard in tow. It's only him, Howe and a female knight. Boy, regarding Loghain's expression, pissed off calls for a whole new definition. Someone ruined his day and it was us.
"Loghain," Eamon greets the self-announced king without showing him the respect his position calls for. None of us does. Rori holds her head up high. Angus has crossed his arms in front of his chest and glowers at Howe in a way that makes the treacherous bastard squirm. All that doesn't help much with Loghain's mood. "This is an... honour... that the regent would find time to greet me personally."
"How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land," Loghain remarks sarcastically.
"The Blight is why I am here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn," Eamon retorts.
"Ferelden has a strong leader," Loghain declares. "Its queen and I lead her armies."
"Well, we've already seen where you lead them," Rori comments icily. "Away from the battlefield."
"Ah, the Grey Warden recruit." Loghain finally cares to take notice of the last of the Couslands. "I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathies of what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden."
"Don't act as if you don't know my name, Lord Loghain," Rori snorts, her eyes blazing with fury. Arms crossed in front of her chest, she so isn't impressed by the way Loghain has stepped closer to tower over her. Sorry, Loghain, but intimidation so doesn't work on Gingersnaps. "Your sympathies... come from a man who has spun a web of lies to keep his own treason a secret. The Grey Wardens were down there next to their king and they died defending him and Ferelden. You, however, are here, alive and still kicking and with the nerve to try and feed me this bullshit we both know isn't true."
"You should curb your tongue," Loghain growls. "This is my city and no safe place to speak treason for anyone."
"The truth doesn't suit you? Oh, I'm so terribly sorry," Rori retorts. She doesn't look sorry at all. "Tell me, Loghain, how are you going to stop me from saying out loud what you want to keep a secret? Are you going to have me murdered? You've failed several times already. I suggest, you reconsider your problem solving strategy."
Loghain, his jaws firmly set, has his fists clenched at his sides. For a short moment it seems as if he's going to lunge himself at Rori to throttle her. That very moment, she's as cool as a dog's snout. It's the female knight, however, who jumps forward, enraged by Rori's effrontery.
"How dare you talk to the Hero of the River Dane like that?" the dark haired woman spits in her face. Barkley at once is at Rori's side, growling at the knight.
Rori meanwhile doesn't even bother with acknowledging the woman said anything at all. She couldn't be there and it wouldn't make much of a difference. I've seen nobles act like that, mostly when dealing with elves, but never Rori. Now it suits her agenda, she is capable of going all out.
"Ser Cauthrien," Loghain says as calmly as one can say anything through gritted teeth. The woman immediately obeys and stands behind her master once more. That's when Rori tells Barkley to sit and the dog takes his place behind her, perfectly mirroring the knight's behaviour.
"There's talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon," Loghain chooses to change the topic.
Ha! I dare say, that means Rori scores.
"Some worry that you may not longer be fit to advise Ferelden," Loghain goes on, pacing until he comes to stand next to Eamon. Another attempt of appearing intimidating. Unfortunately for Loghain it doesn't work any better with the arl than it did with Rori. The only person appearing quite intimidated at the very moment is Howe. Angus scowls at him in a way that should be considered psychological warfare, having the Arl of Amarenthine sweat like the swine he is.
"Illness?" Eamon snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you in these sick events."
"How long you're been gone from court, Eamon," Loghain goes on, not even reacting at the accusation. "Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amarenthine and Teyrn of Highever?"
"And current Arl of Denerim after Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar," Howe smirks. "Truly, it is an embarrassement to riches."
"Highever rightfully belongs to the Couslands," Rori begins, losing some of her nonchalance now she has to address Howe personally. Behind her Angus is gritting his teeth so hard, one can hear them crunch.
"You have no rights," Howe cuts her short. "Your family surrendered them when I revealed them to be traitors to the king."
"My father and my mother were both heroes, faithful and loyal to their king," Rori snaps, at the same time holding out her arm to stop her uncle from charging Howe. "The traitor is you, Howe. You got it all nicely planned and it almost worked out. Almost. The Couslands are not yet defeated and I will not just stand there and watch you defile the honour of my family. I will recover what has been stolen from my family, Howe. And I will make you face justice. It won't be pretty."
"You are either very bold or very stupid to threaten the teyrn before witnesses," Ser Cauthrien speaks up once more.
"Neither is he a teyrn nor do I threaten him," Rori replies with the sweetest smile. "I am making a promise. And I have the intention to keep it."
"You recall what her mother did with the Orlesian enemies she captured to make them talk, don't you, Howe?" Angus coos softly and the Arl of Amarenthine doesn't look as cocksure anymore as a few moments ago. "In case she doesn't get you, you thrice-cursed whorespawn, then the Mac Eanraigs will." Ser Cauthrien opens her mouth again but Angus is faster. "Loghain, please, explain to your boot licker what a blood feud is. It's a good old Fereldan tradition after all. We will wipe out the name Howe and if it's the last thing we do."
"Enough Cauthrien!" Loghain stops the knight from any further action or remark. "This is not the time or place. I had hope to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now if we are to endure this crisis."
"If not for you tearing the nation apart with your actions, we wouldn't be standing here now," Rori points out, but Loghain chooses to ignore her, marking her as insignificant.
"Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored," he addresses solely Eamon now. "But you see her work destroyed. You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight. You're selfish ambitious to the throne."
Rori just rolls her eyes, reluctantly waving Shale off when the golem asks if it's time to crush some heads.
"I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can. But not I," Eamon says, sounding more sad than angered. How he can stay calm, is beyond me. Rori for sure isn't calm anymore. She's just too busy keeping her uncle from breaking Howe's neck to give it a try herself.
All this toing and froing and I haven't been acknowledged once. That's just fine for me. Stay out of the line of fire while I try to figure out how I feel, now that I am face to face with the man who is responsible for Duncan's and my brothers' - one by blood, several in arms - deaths. There's anger inside of me, but more consternation at how stuck up this man is in his own beliefs. It's as if he is living in his own little Loghain-World and there's nothing we can say or do to change his mind. It leaves me speechless to see so much fanatism at work, such an overestimation of his capabilities.
"Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline," Eamon insists. "Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight."
"Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure." And they all lived happily ever after. Really, it's going to be a stroll in the park. Just end the Blight, slay the archdemon. Nothing big. Slaying darkspawn is my most favourite pastime anyway.
"So that is him? The royal bastard?" Loghain scrutinizes me. Oh, now it's my turn to be intimidated?
"Well, you're admitting the royal part, that's a start," I murmur.
"The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down," Loghain snarls in my face. "Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing that I would not do for my homeland."
"What? That's all you got? I've heard worse from Morrigan," I mumble.
"There's something you forget, though, Loghain," Rori calls after him when Loghain just turns to march off. "We are no wimpy Orlesians. We are Fereldans, body, heart and soul. This is our homeland as much as yours. And we will defend it with our lives."
Loghain doesn't turn back at this challenge and stops Ser Cauthrien from getting herself involved in yet another catfight. He strides towards the door that is being held open for him by a cheerfully grining elf.
"Teyrn Loghain, right? Or is it king now? Regent? You know who I am, yes?" Zevran pleasantly asks, having Loghain stop in his path. He frowns, clearly annoyed that an elf would dare to address him in such a respectless manner - or address him at all.
"You don't seem familiar...," Loghain says coolly, trying to get past the obnoxious elf who keeps standing in the way.
"Well, let me help you remember," Zevran offers. "I was one of the Crows you hired to kill the Grey Wardens."
"How dare you...," Ser Cauthrien barks, jumping forward to shove Zevran aside. The elf is too fast for her, pirouetting past her and getting into Loghain's back so quickly that Cauthrien stumbles over her own feet in a panicked attempt to protect her master.
Zevran holds up his hands in defense, showing he is unarmed and means no harm. "I just wanted to report that I failed my mission," he explains. Then he sighs heavily, puts both hands over his heart and pulls a face of utter distress. "I'm terribly broken up over it."
Thus said he wraps one arm around Rori's shoulder and smacks a kiss to her cheek, the other around my waist - he's luckily too short for kissing me - and grins brazenly.
That look on Loghain's and Howe's faces... priceless!
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In good times and in bad

Notes:

Chapter Text