Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Spoilers for Origins only.
A/N: A triple-dog dare from Apollo Wings.
Sympathy For the Devil
"The Orlesians came marching up the river valley, with a thousand drums to set their pace. They carpeted the ground from horizon to horizon, so many were they. Their commander wore silverite plate, and it shone in the morning sun like a mirror.
"They saw no one as they marched ever onward, and when they reached the Twin Cliffs they were forced to narrow their formation to pass through in a long train. That was where we took them, my boy, where their numbers counted for nothing. We rose up from our hiding places in full voice, and the echoes of our Rebel Yell bounced off the cliff faces and back to our enemies at triple volume. It gave them pause, but they did not become frightened until he came rolling in like a thunderhead on his black charger. The roar he let out was louder by itself than all our shouts. Do you know who that was?"
"The Hero!" little Nathaniel said, enrapt.
"That's right: Loghain himself, with Her Majesty the Queen beside. They led the charge into the enemy ranks and I personally saw Loghain tear a swath through Emperor Florian's finest armored knights. 'On 'em, lads!' I heard him shout. 'Show them Ferelden's brand of hospitality!'"
The little boy, who sat on the middle of his bed, lashed about with an imaginary sword. "And then what happened, Papa?"
"Well, it was a long, difficult battle. There were so many Orlesians that no matter how many we killed it seemed there were always an equal number remaining. The river ran red with blood, and a great deal of it was Ferelden. The Queen herself was grievously injured and nearly perished. Loghain, too, was knocked about pretty severely, but do you know what makes him a Hero, Nathaniel?"
"He never gave up!"
"That's right. He never gave up, not though he was tired and wet and bloody and torn. His strength carried the rest of us through when we wanted to lay over and surrender. Not a man of us would dare it, for it was clear to us that Loghain would fight on with or without us, and if he won, which he was bound to do even if he was the last Ferelden on the field, he would track us down and slaughter us all for cowards. So we fought, tooth and claw and blood and bone. Eventually it became difficult even to tell friend from foe, so much blood covered everything and everyone. 'Aim for the accents!' was the call. It must have worked, for when the drums at last silenced their cadence for good and all and no steel clashed against steel we looked about us and saw that we'd killed every last damned Chevalier the Emperor had sent against us."
"Floriat Ferelden!" Nathaniel cried, with another flourish of imaginary sword.
"That's right! Long live Ferelden! And when the battle was over, Loghain took that shining silverite armor off the dead Orlesian commander and wore it himself, and he wears it to this day. And now, my boy, it's time for you to go to sleep."
"Aw. Tomorrow, will you tell me the story about the Blackmarsh again? Please, Papa?"
"We'll see. Now under that coverlet, my boy. It's late."
Nathaniel crawled under the blankets and his father stroked his unruly black hair back from his brow. "Good night, my lad. Pleasant dreams." He kissed his son gently and tucked him in securely, and then left the boy's rooms to sit in the drawing room and not talk to his haughty, scornful wife and not be called upon by old friends he no longer had.
A/N: The challenge was to make Arl Howe likeable. I'm not sure that's possible, but I gave it a shot. Someone, after all, probably knew Hitler as "A great guy, even if his politics are a bit extreme." And there is one obvious person who thought the world of Arl Rendon Howe, if only because he was sent away before he could learn the bitter truth about the man.