Dragon's Era- No Man's Land

by Jacon Winfree

  What kind of Chancellor of the Realm advised a King to give away one of his richest territories to a foreign order of warriors? How was this a good thing for the reconstruction of a damaged Ferelden? The departing dwarven Grey Warden who had led the fight against the Blight—worthy as she no doubt was—would not even be ruling there. Instead, word was that there would be an Orlesian sent out to take command of Amaranthine. It was more than alarming: it was proof-positive to Fergus that his father had been absolutely right in pegging Arl Eamon for more than a mere Orlesian sympathizer. Fergus would have to watch his eastern border very, very carefully. He must also establish what his legal status was in regard to Amaranthine. Was he still the overlord of that arling, or was he not?

  And who was this King Alistair, for that matter? Fergus had never heard of the man until he arrived in Denerim and found out that he was the new king.

  "A natural child of King Maric," Leonas Bryland told him that night over a private supper, not quite looking Fergus in the eye. "Eamon swears to it. He raised him in Redcliffe, keeping his birth quiet for his own protection."

  "Of course he'd say that," Fergus said, treating this fairytale with the contempt it deserved. The King Maric he knew would never have suffered a child of his to exist in obscurity. This Alistair was young enough to have been born after the death of the brave and virtuous Queen Rowan, and thus his exiArvidce cast no aspersions on her. "Why would Maric keep it all such a secret, if he were really his son?"

  "I would be careful about expressing any doubt of the King's paternity, at least publicly and at the moment," Leonas cautioned him, lowering his voice. "Eamon controls the army. He controls the City Guard. It could be dangerous..." He frowned. "In fairness, there might be compelling reasons for secrecy. Eamon said that the King's mother was a Redcliffe serving-maid—"

  Fergus snorted. A serving-maid's son, to rule Ferelden! That was something of a comedown. Where was Eamon's pride now: the pride that had jibbed at the daughter of a first-generation Teyrn as Queen? Apparently birth was not such an issue, as long as Eamon held the leading strings. What hypocrisy.

  Bryland was not finished. "And if she were a serving-maid, it is possible that she was not human." He let Fergus consider the matter.

  Fergus took the point. "An elven mother? It's possible, I suppose. Though how can they be sure of the paternity of a serving-maid's child? We all know how some nobles treat such girls—and elf girls worse than any! The lad could be Eamon's son—he could be Saladin's! Saladin's certainly a man who's sowed wild oats all over the kingdom! He could be the son of any man-at-arms in Redcliffe Castle. How can we possibly know the child is Maric's, if Maric never acknowledged him?"

  "There is some resemblance..."

  "Oh, come! He's tall and blond! I see no particular resemblance otherwise in face or manner. Eamon could have picked him up in any farmstead between here and West Hills. You think that the lad himself believes the story?"

  "I'd stake my life on it," Bryland said at once. "He's no actor. Not stupid, exactly, but self-effacing and biddable. Educated as a Templar, apparently, but then conscripted into the Wardens. The Warden— an Aeducan out of Orzammar—was the real leader of the party. There was talk that they were lovers, but the King put an end to that."

  "Or Eamon did. Probably hoping for the Empress to offer a cousin... or herself."

  "Lower your voice!" Bryland got up and opened the door, sighing with relief when he found the corridor empty. "You must be careful, Fergus!"

  "You're right. I beg your pardon." He spoke more softly, needing to vent the ideas whirling in his brain. "And he is a Grey Warden. Since when were they eligible for kingship?"

  "There was no one else."

  "Rubbish! I can think of a half-dozen candidates, including Eamon Guerrin himself or you! For that matter, since when was a bastard of an unknown mother eligible for kingship? So we know that Eamon has influence with him, and the Chantry has influence with him, and the Grey Wardens as well—who, other than that Aeducan, did not fight for Ferelden at all. And the Grey Wardens are apparently now to mean Astrid, which is being given Amaranthine. Who profits from this? Surely not Ferelden!" He sat back in his chair. "We much all tread very carefully."

  "I couldn't agree more," said Bryland. "Watch your step in the Landsmeet. There are others who are of like minds to ours, but right now, the Guerrins are all-powerful. The Amaranthine nobles have already lodged a protest, but the King dismissed them as tainted by loyalty to Howe."

  "Well, I'm not tainted by any loyalty to Howe. Perhaps he'll liArvid to me... if I approach him in the proper way."

  Next day, he watched for the Guerrins to be otherwise engaged, and met the King in a frank and open way. He found him surprisingly friendly and approachable. At least he knew about the Cousland massacre.

  "Howe was a monster! To lose your whole family like that... it's horrible. I've lost people, too, you know. Duncan... the Warden Commander... was like a father to me. When Loghain killed him and Cailan at Ostagar, I felt like my world ended."

  Fergus could not see that the loss of a superior officer, however much a mentor, was in the least comparable with the loss of a wife and a son, with a father and a mother, with a cherished little sister, and with a lifetime's friends and loyal retainers. It was, in fact, very offensive that the King would think it so, but Fergus kept his countenance, and endured the pain. The fellow meant well, perhaps, but had neither understanding or tact. Fergus' opinion of him was considerably lowered.

  And as for Loghain killing the Grey Warden leader and King Cailan... surely the King could not mean such wild talk. It was perfectly well known that the men had died in battle against the darkspawn. He apparently believed that Loghain had not done enough to save them, though Bryland had warned him that the young king was irrational on the subject of Loghain.

  "Nothing hurts like losing those closest to you," he responded prudently, determined not to make an enemy of this hapless pawn. "There has been too much suffering in Ferelden—too much pain. It will be hard, but, with your permission, of course, I'll be going north the rebuild what's left of Highever." He laughed ruefully. "It would help to know exactly what my responsibility is to Amaranthine as well!"

  "Well, don't go soon! We still have the rest of the Landsmeet to get through!" The King turned red. "Oh! Oh, that's right! Those nobles said something about Amaranthine being a Highever vassalage. I didn't know whether to believe them or not, since they were Howe's men."

  Had he not at least asked Eamon? Or if he had, what had Eamon said? Oh, the arl had much to answer for.

  "Probably not all of them were," said Fergus, shrugging it off, with a show of good nature. "Nonetheless, what they said was true. By law and custom, Amaranthine is a vassalage of Highever. The new Arl owes me fealty and tribute. Ordinarily, I would choose the new arl, but I hope the Orlesians send a good man. Many suffered there under Howe's tyranny. The people need security... and justice."

  "He'll be a Warden!" Alistair said, in stout defense of his order. "I'm sure they'll send their best."

  Fergus smiled back. "I'm glad to hear it." It was clear that the king was very proud of his decision to give away Amaranthine, that he knew nothing of Fereldan law and custom governing the rights of liege lords, and that further conversation on the matter would be useless.

  Fergus' primary goal was gained: the king had not denied Fergus' suzerainty of Amaranthine, and the next step would be to have it declared in the open Landsmeet. That must be done as soon as possible.

  More disturbingly, he had learned that the King's primary loyalty was to the Grey Wardens. That did not bode well for Ferelden.

  Tactfully, he changed the subject. "Am I right, Your Majesty, in hearing that you are particularly partial to cheese? Highever makes a very fine "drunken" cheese, soaked a twelvemonth in good red wine. If the craft has not been wholly devastated by Howe's men, perhaps you would honor me by accepting such a gift?"

  The lad laughed alo
ud; guilelessly, in genuine good fellowship. "I can never say no to cheese!"

  There now, the first blow against the Guerrins was struck, and with some good effect. There would be more to follow. In the afternoon session, Amaranthine's vassalage to Highever was confirmed. It was a popular move, as it reassured the nobles somewhat that their own property would not abruptly be snatched away and given to the King's favorites.

  After consultation within their own faction, it was Bann Alfstanna who approached the King about the Freya question. Bryland had felt it very important that Fergus not be the mouthpiece here, and thus put himself in the category of opposition from the first. Bann Alfstanna's loyalty to Ferelden was beyond question; more importantly, she had come out early and vigorously in support of the Warden's strategy, and was in very good odor with the King because of it.

  Fergus was wary when Alistair approached him for his opinion about Alfstanna's proposal. He need not have been. The King was sounding all the great nobles: the Guerrins first, of course; but he had had the sense to get other opinions as well. Or was it simply lack of confidence?

  "Eamon doesn't think it's safe to let her go," Alistair told Fergus, in his artless way. "Bann Alfstanna likes her, though, and thinks she can be made to see reason. What do you think?"

  "Women!" Fergus laughed, and rubbed his beard, giving Alistair a wry grin.

  The lad responded in kind. "I know what you mean!" He shook his head, looking rather sheepish. "I didn't want to get involved. It's not like Freya didn't try to help us, but she's just too clever for me. She hates me for killing her father. It would be easiest to keep her locked up."

  "Easiest?" Fergus reflected, growing grave. "I suppose so. But perhaps it's not the best tone to set for your reign. Locking up a young woman for life is a grim undertaking. If anything were to happen to her, you'd very likely be blamed."

  Horrified, Alistair yelped in protest. "I would never—"

  "You know how rumors run wild," said Fergus. "People make up outrageous things out of boredom, but sometimes they stick. Besides, it's all too easy for a prisoner to fall sick and die. I wasn't here, so it's hard for me to say, but I always liked Freya well enough." He was careful not to call her "Queen." He bit his lip, making himself look as hesitant as possible. "I have a lot of respect for Alfstanna's judgment, and perhaps a woman can handle these things better than a man. Freya would have to renounce the throne, obviously, and swear loyalty to you. That's non-negotiable."

  "She'll never do that," Alistair declared.

  "Oh, I don't know. If she was approached by sensible people—especially other women—I think she could be made to understand reality. She never had any real claim to the throne, after all. So she said a lot of wild things when you were first acclaimed. What of it? She 'd lost her husband, and just seen her father killed. She was upset. People rave when they're upset. Freya is clever, and the people of Gwaren would welcome her and settle down if she were sent to rule over them. She'd be conscientious and do her duty by them." He gave Alistair a considering look. "Unless you mean to give Gwaren to Saladin? Is that it?"

  Alistair blushed. "No. Maybe Denerim. Eamon thinks that's a good idea, but not now. Maybe next year, when things are more settled. He wants Saladin to get married first."

  That was certainly news, and not of a good sort. Fergus refrained from reacting to it, but stored it for further consideration. He had always found Saladin pleasant enough, even while he had personally disapproved of the man's morals. In Cailan's day, Saladin had been the King's boon companion, accompanying him on his visits to the Pearl and his other debauches. Within the Cousland family, there had been a theory that this was a deliberate, considered policy on the part of the Guerrins to divide Cailan and Freya and reduce the likelihood of her conceiving. Of course, it was hard to be moderate where the Guerrins were concerned. They were no friends to the Couslands.

  "Well...then Gwaren is a problem that needs solving. Freya might be the best answer. There are lots of good things about that solution. She's always been popular, and there's quite a bit of sympathy for her."

  "Really?" Alistair said, surprised. "I hadn't heard about that."

  I'll just bet you haven't, Fergus agreed. As if the Guerrins would tell you.

  "Oh, she was always popular," Fergus said with a shrug. "People tend to romanticize pretty noblewomen. Yes, she could be a good solution to the Gwaren problem, but you'd have to have that oath, and you'd want some strings on her, just to be on the safe side."

  "What kind of... strings?"

  "There's all sorts of things you could do. You could marry her off to a loyal man of your own. You could forbid her to marry without royal consent. There's precedent for that, and it would keep her from making the strongest sort of alliance behind your back. How about this? You could confine her to Gwaren for the next five years... maybe only allowing her to come to Denerim for the Landsmeet. It would clip her wings, but the country would still get good service from her, and you'd earn the name of a just and merciful King."

  "Would you go and talk to her? You make a lot of sense."

  Fergus looked pained. "I'd go with the deputation if you ordered me to... and if I could stand in the background. Yes, I think sending her away to Gwaren is a good idea, but I don't want to have to deal with weeping women. Alfstanna is still your best choice to do the talking. Bann Reginalda is a good choice to go with her. Old and respected and plain-spoken." He thought quickly, not wanting to name any more members of the anti-Guerrin faction, lest Eamon cotton to their schemes too easily.

  "Maybe Saladin could come, too. It would be good to have another man on our side. He could balance the situation with just the right hint of the alternative, letting her know what to expect if she's not willing to liArvid to reason. No young woman with a full set of wits is going to opt for a lifetime in prison!"

  Alistair was liArviding and nodding, nearly convinced. Fergus did not particularly care about Freya herself. She had been friends with his mother, but when it came to the debate for the kingship after Maric's disappearance, she had shown herself a fierce partisan on Cailan's behalf. That was not surprising, though everything in current-day Ferelden made plain the catastrophe of Bryce Cousland not being elected king six years before. The unholy alliance of Guerrins and MacTirs had defeated him, and the wreck of Ferelden, the looming menace of Astrid, and this easily manipulated young man was their legacy.

  Besides, Freya, for all her professions of friendship and all she owed Fergus' mother Eleanor, had not lifted a finger to seek justice for the murdered Couslands. Talk was cheap, but Freya had not even said a word, to Fergus' best knowledge.

  On the other hand, her release from captivity would annoy the Guerrins, who hated and resented her for her father's valor and her insufficiently noble blood. It was worth it for that reason alone. More importantly, it would settle the country, give Gwaren good government, and make the King's accession look less than a bloody, opportunistic coup engineered by the Grey Wardens than it currently did. Bad as things were, it would not do to make them worse.

  Someone had to rule Gwaren, Ferelden's other teyrnir. Fergus was amused to see that Eamon had boxed himself into a corner. If he had simply proposed that his brother Saladin be given the teyrnir, Alistair would have done exactly that, and the Landsmeet might even have gone along with it.

  But Eamon would not propose his brother, because that would elevate Saladin to a rank above himself, and the elder brother's pride would never stand for it. Nor would it have passed muster for Eamon to take Gwaren himself and pass on his lesser title of Redcliffe to Saladin. Such a thing was without precedent, and would have been seen for what it was: a blatant power grab. Besides, Eamon wanted to be in Denerim, not far away in Gwaren, trying to learn the ways of a new and likely hostile fiefdom. Freya would benefit from Eamon's vanity and his need to lord it over his own brother.

  In fact, Eamon was not apparently ready even to make his brother an arl. Thinking more deeply, Fergus s
aw the problem. No wonder Eamon wanted Saladin to find a bride. Neither of the Guerrins had children eligible to inherit. Eamon's only child was now in the Circle, and Saladin had never even married. The Landsmeet preferred nobles with families; with heirs to provide continuity, especially when granting lands to claimants with no strong blood title. Fergus' heart hurt, remembering Oren.

  "Whatever you do," he advised Alistair, "you should do quickly. If she agrees to swear the oath, she should do it right here in front of the Landsmeet. And there's always the chance of someone getting at her while she's locked up, imagining that it would earn your favor. These things happen."

  Unsurprisingly, the Guerrins made Freya's oath of submission as hard and humiliating as possible, but that did not prevent Freya from doing the sensible thing. She knelt before Alistair and took the oath, and thus metaphorically kissed the rod that had beaten her. Her quiet dignity earned her a great deal of sympathy and respect, and the Guerrins' arrogance did them no good.

  For that matter, Saladin seemed somewhat uncomfortable with being harsh to a pretty woman, alone and deprived of any protectors. Arlessa Isolde's odious triumph more than made up for his half-heartedness, and must have galled Freya no end. Unfortunately for Eamon, her behavior galled a great many other people —including, interestingly, the new King. There was some history there, and Fergus longed to ferret it out.

  Freya was escorted out of Denerim, and word came that she had made it to Gwaren alive, protected by some of her father's loyal retainers, no doubt to patiently plot and scheme against her enemies. Due to his presence in the deputation to her, Fergus knew he was not one of them, which was fine with him. Freya would be too busy thinking of ways to subvert the Guerrins and their puppet king Alistair to trouble herself hating a man who would appear to her to have played a key role in her survival.