Dragon Age and the Chant of Light belong to BioWare. Fair warning, this is not a happy tale. I recommend as companion reading the fine stories This Is Going To Hurt by Clariana, An Unkind Fate by Cadsuane, and The Last Days of Ferelden by Sandtigress. A bit of BioWare forum madness prompted us to each take a turn on this subject. -A.
When Eren Cousland looked up in the gallery and saw Eamon's face, she knew that she and Alistair were as good as dead.
The Landsmeet chamber had erupted into gasps and chatter as Loghain ordered the two Wardens to be taken out into the courtyard and executed. They were but one vote short in the final roll, even with Anora's support, and Loghain was wasting no time. He had then begun to address Eamon, but his daughter stepped quickly to his side and the two were conferring in harsh whispers.
Anora spoke next, hushing the chamber. "Eamon, you are granted clemency in view of the unfortunate events in your arling, for which the crown takes no responsibility but looks on with mercy. If you swear fealty to me as your queen and to my father as your general, we can put this bad blood behind us."
Smart, Eren thought, remembering why people said that Anora was not to be trifled with. Eamon was a powerful and popular man. It was better to have him alive with his neck in the yoke, speaking in support of Anora and her father, than to try to kill him.
The arl's head was bowed, but Eren could see the calculation in him. She couldn't really blame him. He had to consider Connor and Isolde, though these two were alive only because of the Wardens. As Loghain had reminded him in the Landsmeet session, Eamon knew from past conflicts that sometimes good people had to die for the sake of all. His gamble to put Alistair on the throne had failed and thus even though he may have some fondness for him, there was no future for the bastard prince in Ferelden, nor for a disgraced Cousland. If their blood must be the price for ending the civil war, so be it. Eren saw all of these thoughts in Eamon's face as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.
He lifted his eyes, gave her and Alistair one brief, sad glance before replying, "I accept, and do so swear."
The chamber erupted again, some with cheering and clapping. People were relieved that it was over, or soon would be. The murmuring turned more uncertain again when Loghain bellowed, "Take the Wardens!" After that, everything happened quickly.
As Loghain's soldiers moved in on them, Eren locked eyes with Alistair and wordlessly asked the question: Do we fight? They had been prepared to go down fighting no matter what, but that was when they thought they would have backing in the chamber. With just the two of them, what could they do? There would only be more bloodshed and the outcome would still be the same. In these few moments of recognizing defeat, it was already too late. Loghain's soldiers were on them and stripping them of arms, and then she found herself bustled roughly in a press of clanking armor towards the courtyard doors.
Before they reached them, however, panic and survival instinct kicked in and Eren resisted, turning back and shouting into the chamber, "Cousland and Theirin! We are the last! This could be any one of you!" The soldiers tried to shove her towards the door to silence her, but Eren was determined now, all the more as she heard the murmurs dying down. The nobles were listening. "Loghain is finishing what Howe started! If the Couslands can be killed, what house is safe?"
Nearby she heard people murmuring her family name. "Cousland" had always been a powerful symbol. Loghain had almost managed to make the people in the chamber forget who Eren was. The reminder that this was not some faceless Warden, but one of their own, sat sourly on the chamber. They still sometimes whispered "commoner" when Loghain's or Anora's name came up. Their dissenting murmurs were too little and too late, however. In indecision, the Landsmeet sealed the Wardens' fate.
Loghain shouted an order and the courtyard doors opened, the press of soldiers surging out with their prisoners in tow. Eren stumbled into the yard and blinked at the sudden onrush of sunlight. A clear, cold day, blue sky, perfect for the apple tarts and mulled wine that would be sold in the market later. The inner courts were in something of a festival mood, as well. Here some of the Landsmeet delegates' families had gathered to wait the outcome of the meeting. Finely dressed noblewomen and their children fell back in startlement at the abrupt intrusion of the armed men. Eren's eyes fell on a little girl about ten years old, red hair pulled back in an Orlesian-style braid, blue velvet dress crushed and wrinkled from play. The girl was holding on to her mother and staring at Eren with wide eyes.
Get her out of here, Eren pleaded, though she realized her throat was dry and no words came out. A memory came back to her from her own childhood, of her father Bryce and King Maric walking in the courtyard and discovering her up a tree, her own fine new Landsmeet dress torn from the branches. "That's my pup, alright," Bryce had admitted, more proud than embarrassed. Her heart ached with the memory. Father.... She had failed him, and this was the end, there would be no more second chances.
All was in confusion. No one had prepared an execution, but Loghain was directing them. Eren heard Riordan's voice. Turning to look behind, she saw that the senior Warden had also been seized, no doubt as an Orlesian spy. He was shouting for Loghain to hear him, but the regent would have none of it. She felt an overwhelming sadness as she realized they were the last. Their failure meant more than just their own end. The Blight would be on all these finely-dressed people, and all the smallfolk of the great city outside these courts, like a plague of locusts on a field. She had seen the archdemon and his horde in her dreams, and knew these people had no idea of what was coming.
There were tears in Eren's eyes as she looked at Alistair. They had paused while soldiers tried to clear an area in the center of the courtyard. Both Wardens mouthed words to each other.
"I'm sorry," Eren said, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
"I love you." Alistair's square jaw was set, his eyes feverish.
"And I you."
"We tried. We gave it our best shot."
Eren nodded, the knowledge of just how hard they had tried a dim comfort in light of their failure now. She had been prepared to give everything, not just for the Blight but to secure the country's leadership as well. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that Anora could have gotten wind of her plan to assert herself as Alistair's consort. The joining of Cousland and Theirin might be enough to act as counterweight to Loghain's popularity. If she had learned of this plan, the queen might have secretly arranged for them to lose the vote. Duncan probably would have said it was a foolish plan anyway, distracting them from their true duty to end the Blight. It didn't really matter now. Eren remembered her mother's words to her father as Howe's soldiers closed in, the last words she had heard Eleanor Cousland say: "We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children now." I'm so sorry, mum. I'm so sorry.
Rough hands grabbed at them, stripping their armor down to doublet and hose. A captain who had been drafted as executioner stood waiting with his greatsword gleaming in the winter sunlight, looking none too happy with his appointment. As the soldiers began to push her forward, Eren slipped her guards long enough to reach Alistair for a last embrace. Alistair's guards pitied them enough to let his arms free as well, and the two Wardens kissed, tears mingling in their mouths. The seconds drew out and in them Eren saw flashes of her whole life, but especially of the year previous.
She had thought Alistair a bit of a buffoon in Ostagar, but gradually her heart had turned to him. He became a steadying force, her conscience, and the best reason she had to smile. It was an unexpected gift to remember what happiness was, even if only in stolen moments. Letting herself love a man as honorable as her father had brought her out of the pit of bitterness from her family's death and her conscription. Even knowing how difficult their road would be, Eren had kept a small hope that they might actually survive the Blight and have a life by each other's side until the taint claimed them. Neither wanted a throne, but even that might be bearable if they could make the home that Alistair had always wanted and that she had always taken for granted.
Now, about to face his death as well as her own, the bottom of her stomach fell out. Eren could face her own end, but not his, not like this. Releasing him, she turned, searching for Loghain in the crowd. She couldn't see him but called out anyway. "Loghain! He is Maric's son! Maric's son! He'll leave Ferelden, just let him go. Look at him!" Alistair hissed no at her, but Eren ignored it and continued shouting for Loghain to look at who he was about to kill. It was pure desperation, but she thought that if Loghain let himself see Alistair, really see him, but one time, he would recognize his old friend in him. Maybe there was something of that friendship still alive in him, even after Ostagar, perhaps even because of regret over Cailan. Maybe there was still something of the old Loghain. All such hope was dashed when she heard the Hero of River Dane's voice behind her, ordering his men to finish it.
The soldiers complied, leading the two Wardens toward the cleared space. Their hands were tied and then someone pushed Eren to her knees. "Oh Maker," she whispered hoarsely, all other thoughts pushed back but the simple, primal fear of what was about to happen. Howe's attempt to extinguish her family was only the first time in the past year of war and turmoil that she had faced death, but it had always been with a sword in her hand and the frenzy of battle adrenaline in her, not on her knees in a leering crowd with Alistair about to die beside her.
As though hearing Eren's prayer, the Grand Cleric pushed herself through the crowd of soldiers and held up her hand, saying, "Allow me to administer the rites to these doomed souls." The soldiers stepped back just as surely as if a general had ordered them.
Eren's eyes were pressed closed and she was shaking with fear, barely hearing the priestess' words. Gradually they reached through to her, however, and became a steadying hand. She opened her eyes again and looked up at the revered mother. It was not the Grand Cleric's face she saw but Mother Mallol's, kind and unruffled as always, both comforting Eren and chiding for lack of faith as Mallol had done countless times before.
The one who repents, who has faith,
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,
She shall know true peace.
"I repent, Mother," Eren whispered. Maker knew that there was enough blood on her own hands; whether shed justly or unjustly, it had been shed all the same.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.
"I'm not afraid," Eren replied softly. She found that it was true. Opening her eyes, she saw that Alistair's head was bowed and his mouth moving in quiet whispers of his own. She repeated it more loudly this time, so he could hear her. "I'm not afraid."
Alistair lifted his head and met her gaze. There were still tears on both their cheeks, but the two lovers smiled at one another. "Nor I. If I couldn't live with you, then I would not want to go on anyway. I will see you at the Maker's side, my love."
"I love you. I..." Eren saw the shadow of the headsman looming over Alistair and turned her gaze away quickly. Eyes pressed closed, she was whispering something else she remembered of the Chant and barely heard the strike of the sword, the gasps of onlookers, or the wet thud of her beloved's head falling to the pavement.
Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written.
Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.