Aedan Of Highever

by Milton Garby

  "And….What? What do you want me to do about it?" Siobahn asked blithely.

  "Your people's magic has been unaffected by the Circle's restrictions and the Chantry's dogma." Aedan answered earnestly. "In some ways the magic of your shamans is stronger than that of the Circle mages. And you know of methods that can heal a broken body and prolong a person's life, even if they're on the edge of death."

  Siobahn knew what her adopted brother was asking. "You understand what you're asking, Mo Dearthaire? There is a reason so many, even amongst the Avvar clans, such magic is scarcely used. Are you comfortable with partaking in such a taboo act?"

  "Siobahn…I'm a Reaver and a Grey Warden. I've imbibed the blood of dragons and darkspawn, and I've consumed the flesh of my most hated enemy. I don't care what others claim is taboo. I only care if the ends justify the means."

  "So be it." Siobahn confirmed. "The Kiss of The Lady will heal you." Siobahn closed the window shades, dimming the room in darkness. The young shaman began chanting in an ancient dialect that Aedan didn't understand, the very air around her was heavy with forboding darkness. Siobahn pulled an ancient but well hewn knife from her belt. The blade appeared to be dragonbone and was inscribed with ancient runes that shimmered dimly in the dark room. Siobahn undid her leather jerkin and slid out of her trousers, revealing her delicate skin, deep curves and small but ample breasts. She straddled Aedan's waist, her weight and warmth pressing down on him as she glided her hands down his injured chest, still chanting in her alien tongue. The shaman's soft hands felt like heaven against Aedan's burnt flesh.

  Siobahn gently grabbed Aedan's burned hand and gracefully slid the sharp blade across his wrist, opening his veins. Aedan's blood spilt like a river of crimson from the slit in his wrist. Her chanting stopped as she brought her slender arm to her ruby lips and bit deeply into her own wrist. A small stream of red spilled down Siobahn's chin and coated her mouth as she drank her own blood. Siobahn descended down on Aedan's body, her long legs wrapped around his waist and her soft breasts gliding on his chest as she brought the injured warrior into a heated, macabre kiss. Siobahn's wet tongue and warm blood flooded into Aedan's mouth and down his throat.

  Her tongue slid and danced along his as her bare nipples rubbed against his pectorals and wrapped her arms around his neck. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer to him. For the briefest of moments he thought he was kissing Morrigan. But that wasn't the truth. Siobahn didn't possess the passion or hunger that he desired, craved, from Morrigan. What Siobahn was doing wasn't out of lust or desire, she was merely assisting her adopted brother heal in the most effective way she knew how. Suddenly the searing pain of Aedan's burns left his body, and he could feel his strength returning. His once burnt, wet and crisp flesh was healing, and his muscles became strong and taught once more. The deeper there embrace became the faster his body healed.

  Siobahn finally separated her mouth from his, a thick rope of bloody saliva trailed from their lips. She rested her head on his fully recovered chest and smiled contently as she listened to his strong heartbeat.

  "That…was the first time I ever kissed a man and like it, Mo Deathaire." The Avvarian shaman giggled.

  "You could have told me the ritual was so…explicit." Aedan gasped as he tried to recover from their embrace. But after his last night with Morrigan he should have known that all bloodmagic was explicit in one form or another.

  "Hah! But this was so much more fun!" Sioban laughed. She bounced off the bed and quickly started gathering her clothes. "Now if you don't mind, this little therapy session's got my kitty purring. I'm going to find an attractive, lowland lass to scratch it."

  "I'd go to the Pearl then." Aedan called after her as she left the room. "Tell Sanga I sent you. And ask for the 'The Buried Dog Bone Special'! You'll be glad you did!"

  Alone in his room once more, Aedan hopped out of bed with renewed vigor and looked at himself in the mirror. All the burns, cuts and devastation he had suffered was gone, even his hair had grown back a little. With his body healed he can instantly set to work on protecting and rebuilding his nation. He can rest when he has the luxury of being dead. First he had a country to rebuild and people to punish.

  The Palace Tower….

  It had been a few weeks since the Archdemon was slain, and still Anora was being kept in this damned tower like a common criminal. During the darkspawn raid of the Palace District Anora was locked in this very tower. Never before had she prayed to the Maker so hard. Thankfully, the tower was high and far enough out of the way from the rest of the Palace that the darkspawn didn't even come near her. She saw the blast of light that erupted from the top of Fort Drakon, and saw darkspawn flood out of the city, heard the cheers down in the street crying that the Blight was over. And for the first time since her imprisonment felt like she could breathe a little easier.

  The now deposed queen was surprised that Alistair let her live, and even allowed her the opportunity to take the throne if he fell in battle. It was possibly the first, and very likely, only smart decision he made as king. This…setback would not stop her. She would retake her rightful place on Ferelden's throne. At the end of all this, Ferelden was going to need a strong, proven ruler to oversee its reconstruction, Alistair is incapable of that.

  Anora heard footsteps approaching her room down the stairway. She thought it was Erlina or her jailor come to give her rations or news of her being summoned. But to her surprise, and displeasure, it was Aedan. She had heard from Erlina that he had been terribly injured in his fight with the Archdemon, but he looked healthy enough to live a hundred years. His tattooed face was like stone: no emotion. But his eyes…his eyes were filled with taunting glee.

  "It is done, Anora." Aedan stated as if they both had been waiting for the long awaited answer to an agonizing question. "Alistair lives and he will rule on as king on his ancestor's throne."

  Anora glared at Aedan spitefully, but tried to maintain her composure. "Do you really think that what you've done will matter? You may have stopped the Blight, but Alistair will not be able to guide this country to a lasting peace. His lack of political fortitude will destroy this nation, and when another outside force comes to conquer us it will be your fault."

  Aedan's lips curled into a frightening, toothy grin and Anora thought it was the light flickering in the hall, but his eys seemed to glow red like burning coals. "Once again, Anora, you overestimate yourself and underestimate the strength and spirit of others." Aedan's tone was genuine, but threatening. "Maric, who was born in the wild, was able to rebuild this country after nearly a century of occupation, and Alistair shares that strength. You on the other hand?" Aedan's smile became more sinister. "Your father is dead, and even now the disgruntled and dispossessed people of Gwaren who he oppressed and ignored are razing your family's manor to the ground, looting and burning everything they can get."

  Anora felt her heart break a little. The thought of her childhood home and family possessions being desecrated by the angry populace was…disheartening. But she couldn't afford to be emotional. Not in front of him.

  "But do you honestly think that is enough to satisfy them?" Aedan asked balefully. "Your father has paid for his crimes, but the people will still want someone to blame for all the pain they have suffered, all the tragedy your father allowed, and visited on them. Now who do you think that will be?"

  This was one of the oldest and most effectively brutal method of political manipulations. But Anora would not be threatened. "Do you really think anyone would truly hold me responsible for what my father thought was best for this country? You're being absurd."

  "Am I? When a soldier or a servant commits a terrible act, that act is reflected upon their master. That is the truth. When the Orlesian chevaliers commited their crimes, our people hated the emperor for it because he gave those men the right to do it. And everything your father did, he did it with your authority. His crimes are your crimes. And our people want someone to pay for those c
rimes. You might be executed for your father's crimes, or you might be allowed to retain the teynir of Gwaren and live with a constant target on your back, surrounded by people who hate you. Either way, your future is not a bright one."

  "Why have you come here, Aedan?" Anora asked bitterly. "To gloat?"

  "No." He answered flatly. "But if I hate you, it's because you earned it. However, despite what you did, and everything you might have done to me for your own self-interests, you were still once my queen, and the woman my mother thought of as the daughter she never had. So, out of fond memory of that kiss we once shared, I decided to come and grant you a gift. One that can help you…escape from your terrible circumstances." Aedan slipped a long, thin box through the bars of the door and let it fall to the ground. "Whether you decide to use it or not is up to you. But personally, I think you should just save everyone the trouble."

  Aedan turned from the door and walked back down the stairs. What did he leave? An escape? Anora picked up the box and carefully opened the package. Sweet Bloody Maker! Anora gasped and threw the opened box in shock and horror as if there were a leper in it. The package hit the wall and Aedan's 'gift' fell to the floor. The gift of a long, well tied noose. Anora could hear Aedan's mocking laughter echo through the tower.

  The Blackhall of Denerim….

  It had been a three months since the Blight had officially ended. Around twelve weeks since the Archdemon had been slain. Eighty-four days since Teryn Loghain was convicted of treason and other terrible crimes and was unceremoniously executed on the spot before the Landsmeet. Ever since the execution Cauthrien half-expected that she would wind up in these halls. The Blackhall was the seat of Ferelden's archaic and harsh justice. Its foreboding, black granite walls withstood the might of the darkspawn horde. And the air was heavy, filled with the Fereldan chill biting the air and quiet as a tombstone except for the harried breathing of her fellow soldiers. Cauthrien looked at the faces of her men and, as they tried to hide it, she knew they were afraid. Cauthrien was afraid too, but she was more ashamed to be here than anything else.

  During the weeks since the Archdemon's death, Cauthrien and the remnants of Maric's shield had been patrolling the roads leading to Denerim, trying to lend assistance where they could. But after Loghain's treason had been confirmed the surrounding villages and citizens were more welcoming to the darkspawn than to them. And just last week when she and her men were making their way towards Amaranthine they were met by several sheriffs and a lot of their well-armed, and very angry deputies with a warrant for their arrest, signed by the signature of King Alistair. There was no point in running, no point in fighting. Cauthrien didn't want to be responsible for killing anymore of her countrymen, nor would she attempt to escape justice like a common criminal.

  They were disarmed and marched back to the capital. Fortunately, the people of the city were too busy with preparing to celebrate their nation's salvation to give them much mind. Only a handful of them took the time to throw rocks and the occasional horse-apple at them. Just one citizen, an elven woman, took the effort to spit in her face and curse her a slaver. The woman sobbed angrily that her son was sold to Tevinter and that she would never see her again. Cauthrien didn't fight back because she knew it was true. And here they were, chained, unarmed, and waiting for the blackhaller to come fill his seat and pass judgment on them.

  The tense silence was broken in the hall by the heavy footsteps of a powerful figure. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and armed with a devastating battle-axe strapped to his back. It figures he would be the one to punish them. Aedan Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden. Cauthrien had heard the stories flying through the country about how he stood down and slew the Archdemon in single combat. She even heard of the rumors that The Hero of Ferelden was invincible, that he could not be slain in battle. Merely rumors, but who could say they were untrue? After all, not even Loghain Mac Tir could kill this man.

  At the realization that the Hero of Ferelden would be their judge some of the men began to lose their nerve. They all remembered what he did to Howe. "Wh-where is the blackhaller?"

  "He decided to spend the day's celebration by staying home with his family, and fuck his wife." The Warden answered nonchalantly. "So, by the authority of the Landsmeet and King Alistair, your trial, and your fates, are left to me and my mercy."

  The former lieutenant felt a shiver run down her spine. What kind of mercy could a man like Aedan Cousland possess?

  Aedan stood before them, his intense gaze burning through them as he addressed their crimes. "Cauthrien and those of Maric's Shield unfortunate enough to still be alive, through your service to Loghain Mac Tir, former Teryn of Gwaren, you partook in several heinous crimes against the people of Ferelden. Your crimes are as listed: conspiracy to commit regicide, murder, the unlawful imprisonment and torture of Fereldan citizens, committing the foul crime of slavery, and abandoning your post in a time of war. Your crimes are beyond vile, and your guilt is clear. Have you anything to say in your defense?"

  Cauthrien swallowed as each crime listed felt like a nail slowly being driven in to her very soul. The worst part was, everything he said was completely true. "We….We were only obeying orders." It was the oldest excuse a soldier could make when charged with war crimes. But it was all she could say. "We believed we were acting in the best interests for Ferelden."

  "Are you a dog, Cauthrien?" Aedan asked hatefully. "No, of course not. Dogs bark and bite back when their masters do what they something they don't like. You're more like cattle, and you Lieutenant Cauthrien are the fat cow, who blindly follows the herders orders no matter how degrading if it means he can fend off the wolves for them." Aedan looked Cauthrien straight in the eyes, she could not match his gaze. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that these crimes you committed against our people was for their own good!? Every crime you and your men committed was against everything our nation stands for! Name me one thing you actually accomplished that outstrips your crimes." They said nothing. "I didn't think so."

  "Using the slavers was Arl Howe's brainchild." Cauthrien finally defended. "He was the one who brought the Tevinter slavers and allowed them to take elves from the Alienage."

  "And this is a fact? You didn't partake in the slavery."

  "No." Cauthrien answered defiantly.

  "But you knew slavery is illegal and abominable in this country, Cauthrien. Do you honestly believe they did this with the crown's consent? You knew what Howe and Loghain were doing was illegal, and you did nothing."

  "I was following my lord's orders." Cauthrien exhaled through her grinding jaw, her fists clenching in anger.

  "And you betrayed your country and your conscience in the process." Aedan spat. "Does that sound like an order you should follow? When your commander does something honorable you partake in that honor. And when he does something evil, his evil becomes yours. Being right and doing right are not the same thing."

  All of them remained silent. Had they succeeded every crime they committed could have been justified. Instead they failed and every life they destroyed was for nothing. Now had to pay the price. "Please, Lord Cousland." One of the men begged. "We only wanted to….hrrgkh!"

  Aedan's mailed fist smashed into the soldier's face like a battering ram. "Speak when spoken to, scum!" Aedan wiped the blood off his knuckles and turned his attention to Cauthrien, his eyes and face painted with hate. "Your fate lies in my hands." He reminded dangerously. "Abandoning your post at Ostagar alone warrants the death sentence. So tell me, Cauthrien, do you think that death is a fitting punishment for your crimes?"

  "Yes." Cauthrien answered bitterly as tried to keep a stiff upper lip.

  "Well, I don't!" Aedan boomed, his voice carrying out through the Blackhall. "Better soldiers, better people died fighting for this nation! And I don't want filth like you being counted amongst their number!"

  Cauthrien fought back the tears of shame and regret as she tried to remain stone faced before her judge.

  "You don't
deserve to be buried in the same land as those men. You don't even deserve to be called a Fereldan!" Aedan calmed down and regained his composure. "Death is too good for the likes of you. There is only one fitting enough for what you've done."

  Cauthrien and her men prepared themselves. Knowing Aedan Cousland, their punishment would be prolonged and extremely painful in the most unholy of methods. They could at least meet it with honor and dignity.

  "Cauthrien, and the members of Maric's Shield." This was the moment of truth. "I, Aedan Cousland, by the authority of the Landsmeet and in the name of King Alistair, hereby sentence you…to banishment. Exile. Under pain of excruciating death."

  A thousand mountains crushed Cauthrien's heart and broke her spirit. This was indeed a fate worse than death. This couldn't be happening. How…how could he even do such a thing? She would rather be executed.

  "You will never again set foot on our hallowed soil. You've lost the honor and privilege to live and die in this country. You are no longer a Fereldan, and are therefore no longer fit to live here." Aedan voice was as cold and hard as the Frostback Mountains.

  "Please. Please don't do this." Cauthrien begged for the first time in her life. "We deserve death, I don't deny that. But, please, don't send us into exile. Fereldan is all we know!"

  "Those elves you sold into slavery didn't want to leave this country, either." Aedan reminded spitefully. "What makes you more deserving to remain natives of this land than them?"

  "Where will we go?" Cauthrien asked desperately.

  "I don't know." Aedan answered without care. "Maybe Tevinter. You seem to have a grasp of the slave trade, perhaps they'll teach you how to master the craft. Or maybe…Orlais. I hear they make excellent use of honorless backstabbers who hide behind honor rather than live by it."