The world was blood pumping through her veins and throbbing in her ears, her throat tight and dry. The world was her heavy sword, getting heavier by the minute, by the strike. The world was the clang of metal on metal and the savage, angry grimace of her opponent.
He was a beast of a man, monstrous in concentration, with piercing icy blue eyes that never wavered from her even for a moment. There were flowers in Highever that color, Amerana thought wildly, dodging yet another merciless attack, but never had they been possessed of such rage. Not that she knew of many angry plants, although there had indeed been that incident in the Brecilian Forest... Loghain's next strike brought that train of thought to an abrupt halt.
Maker, what she wouldn't give to be back at Highever. Or even home at the Circle, where nothing seemed to happen for months at a time. Amerana would trade a lifetime of boredom for every second of this cold, shearing terror, intensifying every moment the fight wore on and her armor grew heavier. Fighting against such a man — and not just a man, a legend, towering high in her memory and painting the history of her nation in blood — only intensified her feelings of terror and a strange excitement.
Loghain was inexorably driving her back and back again, toward the dais, where a single misstep could cost her a twisted ankle and, subsequently, her death. He was heavier and stronger, a towering presence compared to her own fragile shape. Over his shoulder Amerana saw a glimpse of Alistair's horrified face and it seemed to give her a sudden burst of additional strength. A lucky strike and she hooked an ankle around Loghain's, as he was still parrying her blow, and pulled with all her might. He crashed to the stone floor.
She kept her features deceptively composed, though the effort was not inconsiderable. She had only barely dared to hope for such a victory at all, and now? The sight of her fallen opponent sent a thrill through her tired mind, fleeting as her triumph might be. "Do you yield, Loghain?"
His countenance was immobile for a moment, and then his face relaxed, his thin lips parting. "I didn't expect this," he rasped. "I underestimated you." His gaze swept the hall, the crowd of tense nobles and Amerana's grim companions. "There's a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield."
Maric! Despite everything, the comparison sent a frisson of excitement through Amerana. It was short-lived, however, as Anora tore through the crowd and knelt next to her father, her beautiful face twisted in near-agony. "Father!" Her blue eyes, so similar to his, sought Amerana's. "What will you do now, Warden?"
Amerana paused, uncertain. She hadn't thought much beyond the Landsmeet at all, and then the timeline in her head had narrowed further to simply the battle with Loghain. Now that she'd gained the victory, possibilities sprawled out before her, shrouded in ambiguity.
Before she could answer, however, Alistair strode forward like the spirit of angry justice personified. "There is only one option," he said coldly, not looking at anyone other than Amerana. "He will die for his crimes."
"No!" Anora gasped, her hands clutching her father's bloodied gauntlets. "No! You can't!" She looked at Amerana as well, her hands curling and uncurling in desperation. "There must be something else! Something..." Her lips twisted.
Loghain sighed and freed one hand, turning over awkwardly and, it seemed to Amerana, suppressing a wince. He kneed but did not rise, his raven locks tumbling down his shoulders in disarray as he bent his proud head. "Anora, hush," he muttered gently. In defeat he had all the grace and honor he had been missing for so long, Amerana thought fleetingly.
"I won't hush," Anora snapped back, her expression tortured. "Warden, you cannot allow my father to be killed!"
"There is another option." Riordan seemed to slide from the shadows like an Orlesian knife, cutting into their crowded midst. "The teyrn is a general of great renown. Let him be of use."
Amerana pushed a lock of hair, damp with perspiration, away from her delicate brows. "How do you mean?"
"Let him go through the Joining." Riordan's tongue seemed to caress every syllable. "Let us make him a Grey Warden."
"Absolutely not!" Alistair interjected hotly, but the idea had already begun to take root in Amerana's thoughts. There were only three Wardens as it was and the threat of an Archdemon hanging over them like a pendulum, surely it was the more prudent course of action not to discard out of hand resources they could ill afford to reject. And yet...
Amerana gazed down at Loghain, feeling her heart constrict. This man had consorted with Howe. Visions of that terrible night at Highever flickered through her thoughts like the darkest of nightmares. Screams echoed in her ears, each more heart-rending than the last, sounds of those she'd loved: her mother, her father... little Oren. There was no ignoring that if not for Loghain her family might be alive, that she would not be the last of the Couslands, a lone flame in a ceaselessly dark wasteland.
It had been cruel enough to be taken to the Circle Tower as a child upon the discovery of her magic, but at least she had had her family still, their love supporting her through the darkest hours, the templars' hate and mistrust and the other apprentices' envy. But now, with her family dead, there was nothing left at all. She was less than the other mages, those who had learned to only count on themselves. She, who had never once forgotten that she was a Cousland, was nothing.
Loghain's eyes met her, hooded, almost sarcastic, as if he knew her thoughts and laughed at them. Maybe Alistair was right. Maybe there was only one way out.
But the sight of Anora, sobbing noiselessly next to her father reminded Amerana too much of that fateful night, of the growing puddle of blood on the floor, of her own terror and pain and the determination in her mother's face.
No. This couldn't be the way.
"Riordan is right," she said slowly, watching Loghain's deepening frown.
Anora nodded frantically. "Yes! The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general." Her eyes slid to Alistair and grew noticeably cooler. "If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"
Alistair's lips twisted. "You have got to be kidding." He stalked closer, face contorted in rage. "This man murdered our brothers! He framed us for Cailan's death! And you'd make him a Grey Warden?" He glared, a scorching look, his eyes like summer lightning. "Never!"
Amerana had not expected his outrage to be so ferocious. It was like running into a wall of heat, consuming, painful. "Alistair, we can use him." Loghain made a quiet, sardonic noise, but when Amerana glanced at him his face gave nothing away. "Trust me..."
Alistair stared at her, his face a deep well of reproach. "I... no. I can't." His head dropped and for a moment she couldn't see his face, only the blond sheaf of his golden hair. "I want to trust you," he said, his voice wracked with an agony Amerana could only begin to guess at. "But I can't accept this man as a brother. Not ever. Ask anything else of me, not this."
Anything, as if he had not just invalidated the friendship, trust and — Amerana hurt to merely think of it — the budding love that had grown between them over the months. Anything, as if he could now offer her anything at all, having defied her in front of the entire country.
Burning with mortification and anger, she looked down and met Loghain's even gaze and slightly raised eyebrow.
"Well then," she said, jerking her head up as if burned. "My decision, having defeated the teyrn — defeated Loghain — is simple. Anora will remain queen and wed Alistair, who will take his father's throne."
"Hey," Alistair said, blinking. "Wait a minute! When did we decide this? Because I don't think—"
"Anything, your majesty?" Amerana asked low enough that her voice didn't carry and thought for a second that Loghain had chuckled quietly.
Alistair reared back as if slapped and Amerana turned to Riordan, who was watching the proceedings with a narrowed, unfathomable gaze. "Will it take long to prepare for the Joining?" she asked.
"No, sister," he replied, and the endearment slid over her skin like a touch she wanted to wash off.
"Very well," she replied, and turned to the curious faces of the nobles surrounding them. "The Maker will decide the former teyrn's fate!"