When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

A Matter of Trust

Alistair sighed in irritation, running a hand through his hair. He turned to look at the Grand Cleric. "Your Eminence, this charade is an insult to your intelligence. You and I both know that I'm not under some blood mage's thrall, and that I don't need my mind cleansed. It's all just a fantasy cooked up by my bitter and jealous wife." He glared at Dorothea, who crossed her arms and looked smugly back at him. "So why are you playing along? Let's cut to the chase and have you tell me what it is that she's promised you."

The Grand Cleric studied the King for a long moment. "Your 'bitter and jealous wife,' as it pleases you to call her, is a devout daughter of the Chantry. As Regent, she has pledged to triple Ferelden's tithes to the Chantry, and to seat Revered Mothers in the vacant Arlings."

Aghast, Alistair looked at Dorothea. "You can't do that! It's practically ceding the kingdom to Chantry authority!"

"Who better to run such a devout nation?" The Grand Cleric smiled like a sleek cat. "And you, Alistair? What have you to offer?"

"I killed Flemeth," he offered.

"I heard a rumor to that effect," the Grand Cleric said, looking bored. "But really, without a body, where's the proof? And, more to the point, what's a few Templars lost in the Wilds here and there? Money and power, Alistair. Those are the keys."

"Is that the way you want to play it?" The King's voice grew soft and silky. "Because we could always talk about the Chantry's lyrium trade."

"What about it?" The Grand Cleric eyed him warily.

"Well, you see," Alistair said, "I happen to be good friends with the King of Orzammar. Gorim Saelac. Quite a monarch—I assume you've heard of him?"

The Grand Cleric had certainly heard of Gorim. Since all lyrium came from the Deep Roads, Orzammar was the Chantry's only source for all the lyrium it needed. A new respect crept into her eyes. "And what is the purpose of bringing King Gorim into the conversation?"

"Gorim is very interested in expanding the lyrium trade. He feels that selling lyrium outside the Chantry's restrictions would be far more profitable for Orzammar—and you know how dwarves like their profits." He winked at the Grand Cleric. "Now, so far I've managed to talk him out of it, but if I weren't on the throne ..."

The Grand Cleric looked at him speculatively.

"Think of all those apostates—not to mention the Templars—lined up to buy lyrium, and nothing the Chantry could do about it," Alistair said.

At that moment, the doors of the Grand Cleric's office burst open, and Thora, Teagan, and Eamon charged in, with Isolde scurrying after them. Anders and Oghren took up positions just inside the door.

"What in the Maker's name is she doing here?" Dorothea screeched, getting hastily to her feet.

"Let him go at once!" Thora demanded imperiously of the Grand Cleric, ignoring Dorothea.

"Or what?" The Grand Cleric looked amused. "You'll kill me the way you killed Dirnley? Or will the 'Maker guide your hands'?"

Thora flinched, and the Grand Cleric came very close to an actual smile.

Alistair was shocked at how exhausted and drawn his love looked. She hadn't looked that way in the Fade, he thought. But of course, she wouldn't have. It was the Fade, after all. He was tired, himself, from the sleepless nights, but he was far more used to spending time in the Fade. Clearly it had drained something out of her. He stepped closer, wanting to offer her some of his strength, but she shook her head wordlessly.