The Best Made Plans

Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are owned by Bioware and not me, except for this incarnation of the Hero of Ferelden.

Nigel Cousland observed that his brother had lost none of his directness as Fergus met his gray eyes and asked, "Do you love your wife, little brother?"

Nigel merely shrugged slightly and picked at a piece of lint on the front of his spotless tunic, emblazoned with the Gray Warden insignia that marked him as Warden Commander of Ferelden. "What's love to do with anything? Marrying Anora was a merely a means to ending the civil war so we could focus on the Blight, besides sparing my friend Alistair from being forced to assume a crown everyone but Eamon knew he was ill-suited for. But I have grown...fond of her, more than I had ever thought possible. And that is at the heart of our dilemma."

Fergus nodded sympathetically. "Fair enough. Marriages between noble families are rarely made for love and most often made for money or political alliances, though we must still strive to make a success of them. It's strange, isn't it, to think that you yourself came very close to marrying Delilah Howe."

Nigel chuckled softly and shook his head. "Not that close, thank the Maker. Ah, Delilah...Actually, it was hate at first sight, I think. But she's not really so bad now that I've gotten to know her. She and Nat are nothing like their father. Still, I can't see myself married to her. She's perfectly happy living as a shopkeeper's wife in a flat over their store. I don't think our union would have been a success, unlike yours." Fergus's marriage had been tentatively arranged when he and his wife were children, but proceeded only with the approval of both of them once they came of age, and Nigel knew they had grown to care for one another deeply during their too-brief time together.

Fergus frowned as his brother strayed from the subject. "Do you love this other woman then? Is that it?" He observed that his brother didn't meet his eyes and instead looked across the room.

Nigel got up and crossed the room to look out the window across the city of Highever. He hated being in this room, where he was haunted by the image of his young nephew's blood and brains spilled out on the slate floor. It had been scrubbed clean by the elven servants of the Howe usurper, but he swore he could still see the stain. How could anyone attack a child? It was inhuman, something he expected of mindless darkspawn, but not of his own kind. More than two years later, he found it easier to talk about the horror of the battle of Ostegar than that night. He had described what happened in the broadest of terms to spare his brother as well as himself having to relive it. But Fergus was still coming to terms with becoming the Teyrn much sooner than he had ever expected, and he hadn't felt right taking over his parents' private apartments. So he settled back in to his own.

Nigel turned to look back at his brother, forcing a jaunty smile to chase away the dark thoughts. "Again, does it matter? Don't look at me like that. I'm not sure I even know what love is. Lust yes, but love...It is true I have been in love many times in my life, at least for a day or two. The first was that elven kitchen girl, Darlea."

Fergus poured them a glass of wine, always having been too caught up in his responsibility as the heir of Highever to have wasted much time chasing tavern wenches or dallying with the household staff. He handed his brother a goblet, part of a set sent from Dragon's Peak as a gift for his betrothal to Bann Alfstanna, whom he had fallen in love with as she helped him drive Howe's supporters from Highever. "I remember her. You were very young then, barely out of Nan's supervision. I'm surprised you even remember her name."

He took the goblet and sipped the sweet wine. "How could I forget? I was quite smitten with her until she left suddenly for Denerim wearing a new dress and carrying a bulging purse, leaving me quite heartbroken for a week or two. I suspect our parents had everything to do with it. Rumors were she had a bulging belly too when she was spotted there a few months later. No, I remember all my loves, unless we didn't bother with the formality of exchanging names."

Fergus considered the man his little brother had become. Before Howe's treachery, he was considered a rake, a fop who spent his time gambling and brawling in taverns, and surrounded himself with the dregs of Highever. He was too high born to join the Chantry or take up an occupation such as law, a superfluous son, unless he could be used to make a beneficial marriage alignment. But he was a Cousland despite his wild ways. Fergus knew his brother well enough to know he would have done his duty and married the Howe girl, except she objected. Fergus also knew the real reason the Howe girl had objected, though she had expressed it as a vague complaint that Nigel wore more paint and more colorful silks than any woman she knew. "When did you..."

Nigel knew what his brother was thinking, and he took another drink before he answered. "Only about six months before our life went to the void, and that's the truth. During a night of drunken carousing, Ser Gilmore and I happened upon a couple of pretty girls, and I got us a room at The Mermaid. When I woke up, the girls were long gone, and I had vague memories of what we had done once they left. Or rather, what he did, though I can't say that I minded, or that I didn't reciprocate."

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "I never would have guessed Ser Gilmore was that way..."

Nigel chuckled. "I tell you brother, it's always the ones you would least expect who are that way. I suspect half the templars I've come across are. Gil kept insisting he wasn't that way until the day he died, though a mug or two of ale was all it took for him to lose his inhibitions, and he always took the initiative. And before you ask, I didn't love him either. I do love sex. I admit I'll bed anyone given the opportunity, but like my friend Zevran, given a choice I prefer a woman's soft curves."

He took a drink and looked across the room, thoughts of Zevran threatening to bring back his melancholy. If he had ever truly loved anyone, it was the elven assassin, and he stroked the earring Zevran had given him absently. Zeveran had taught him so much. Sometimes he thought he should be at Zevran's side in Antiva, where he had gone to take the fight to The Crows. But the Maker had chosen that their paths diverge. He forced thoughts of the handsome elf from his mind.

He frowned and met his brother's eyes. "Anyway, that's not the reason. Our failure to produce an heir isn't because I like the occasional man or from our lack of trying. I've plowed that field many times since our wedding, admittedly because I wanted to get her with an heir so I could be free to pursue my own interests. It's not my fault it's a barren plain that I've wasted my seed on. Nor is it due to my darkspawn taint, as some have suggested. I made the biggest gossips in the Landsmeet privy to the fact that I have bastards already. Maker's breath, it has only been a little over two years since we were married!"

He scowled and drained his goblet before he went on. "Unfortunately, after five years with Cailan and two with me, it's becoming obvious that my lovely queen is barren, and she's not getting any younger. I know for a fact that Arl Eamon was trying to persuade Cailan to divorce her before Ostegar for that very reason. My sources also tell me that some troublemakers in the Landsmeet claim it's a sign from the Maker that we aren't meant to be on the throne."

"And that Alistair Therin should be recalled from the Wardens in Orlais, whether he wants to come or not. Yes, I've overheard the talk, though no one is foolish enough to say it directly to my face." Fergus sympathized with his brother, forced to exist in the maelstrom of court life. At least he could avoid that, except for when the Landsmeet gathered. "Do you think Eamon wants the throne for himself?"

Nigel shook his head emphatically. "No, nor does Teagan, yet Eamon is one of the most vocal proponents of bringing Alistair back. The only reason he's not more vocal is because he also prudent enough to see this could mean plunging Ferelden back into civil war, when she's still recovering from the Blight. He loves Ferelden too much to let that happen. Fortunately, for what it's worth, I'm still the Hero of Ferelden, though we both know that fame is a fickle whore."

Fergus rubbed his beard, just beginning to show threads of gray. "Was this planned, little brother? Or was it merely happenstance and you're taking advantage?"

Nigel grinned at him. "You know me too well, Fergus. As I said, I was lonely at Vigil Keep, more so than I had ever thought it would be. I was cast into a shark-pit of Howe supporters. I couldn't even take my Mabari along as I had agreed to loan him out for breeding pups in the royal kennels. If I could have started something with Nat Howe, things might have been different, but he's definitely not that way. I even missed Anora more than I thought possible...and you've seen yourself how much the girl resembles her."

"Yes, she does. Is it possible they're related?"

"They may be distant cousins, but we haven't verified it. She served as my yeoman, delivering me messages whenever I returned to the Keep, and organizing my paperwork. I found that she was much more efficient than my seneschal. During a late night of work, I had supper brought in along with a bottle of good Orlesian wine, and one thing led to another...But I swear it was only the one time. And then the day I was preparing to return to Denerim after doing what I could for the survivors in Amaranthine, she took me aside. I guessed what was coming from the look on her face. She wanted to get rid of it. She's certainly ambitious enough to be Loghain's relation."

Fergus grunted and refilled his goblet. "And your first thought was what, to set her up here for me to raise your bastard instead? Not that I mind, but I still fail to see how this helps your predicament."

Nigel made a face at his brother. "This wouldn't be an issue if we were like the dwarven nobles. Beautiful, shapely women line the streets in Orzammar wearing fine silk and lace gowns that cost enough to feed a casteless family for a year, vying for the nobles' attention. They think nothing of making such a woman a concubine in the house of whatever noble she was lucky enough to seduce, once she produces a male child. But then with the constant loss of clan members through darkspawn attacks and political intrigue, they have to do something to boost their numbers."

Fergus shook his head. To him, the dwarven society his brother was so fond of sounded barbaric. "But we're not. Indeed, Alfstanna told me that's the biggest objection among the banns to Alistair Therin taking the throne. There are plenty of noble bastards in Ferelden, but few feel they should be acknowledged, let alone sitting on the throne. This isn't Antiva or Nevarra. What is it you plan then? This involves more than keeping your bastard out of sight of the queen. I know you well enough to tell when you're scheming, little brother."

Nigel walked back across the room, and leaned in close. "Hear me out. And for the love of Andraste, this must go no further than this room. But if everything goes according to plan, all these problems will be solved."

Fergus arched an eyebrow. "Very well, though I suspect I'm not going to like what you're going to tell me."

Nigel replied tersely, "On the contrary, I think you'll agree this is the only way. The hardest part was persuading Anora to go along with it and extricating her from the swarm of sycophants that hover around her constantly."

He looked fierce and determined. For a second Fergus got a glimpse of the hidden side of his brother, the steely resolve that let him slay the archdemon. And as he studied him, he could see the plot take shape. He asked incredulously, "Anora ...You're not planning to...You mean to tell me Anora knows? Do you really think you pull this off?"

Nigel nodded. "She's desperate for a child, and I'm desperate to give her one. I had broached the subject of adoption, but she argued that an adopted heir wouldn't be acceptable to the Landsmeet, no matter how competent he or she was. Anora would make a wonderful mother. She seems like the ice queen on the surface, but she's very kind and generous with the children of the staff. Do you know she's even provided for schooling the children of Alistair's bitch of a half-sister?"

Fergus frowned, conscious he was being pulled in to this plot whether he wanted to go along or not. "You haven't answered my question again. Does Anora know what you're planning?"

Nigel smiled tightly, knowing his brother was in. "We mused about the possibility one night while we lay in bed together right after my return from Amaranthine. I planted the seed of the idea, but in truth my lovely wife watered and nurtured it, so that now she thinks it was her idea all along. Her personal maid is absolutely devoted to her, so we can count on her silence. Anora's on a royal progress through the Bannorn now, making her way here for your wedding. Once she arrives, we can make the announcement and add that she's been confined to bed. That will be a good excuse to send everyone packing after the wedding. The poor dear will need quiet and rest."

Fergus frowned. "I don't know if I could keep this from Alfstanna."

Nigel chuckled. "You don't think you can distract your bride, or that she won't be busy assuming the duties of the Teyrna of Highever? She won't be a problem. The only problem I'm still working out is the timing, as Anora will need to be further along than she can possibly be. But that will give us an excuse to keep the courtiers away, using the excuse that the child was born early. We can insist that it's for the child's safely until he or she is old enough to travel. We would have to impose on your hospitality for several months, but it will work."

Fergus sighed. "Can't you see that you're involving more that me, the girl, and the maid in this scheme? The more who know, the more who could betray your confidence. You're setting yourself up for blackmail, brother."

Nigel nodded as he poured another drink. "Don't worry. I can deal with a blackmailer."

Indeed, because of his continued secret excursions in his guise of the Dark Wolf, Nigel had gathered more than enough information to blackmail most of the nobility. "The girl isn't a problem. She will be taken care of for life, and her child will be the heir to the throne. The only other ones who will know are those we are certain we can trust. Fortunately, Anora is much beloved by her staff and her people. It will be seen as a miracle. People will want to believe the Maker provided for her. This will work. It has to work, not only for her sake, but most of all, for the sake of the future of our beloved Ferelden."

For Nigel had found his true love after all, despite its mud and smell of wet dog. He loved Ferelden with all his heart, and he would do anything to keep her safe.