"A Plague on All Your Houses,"

Or,

Speaking Truth to Power

Warden Cousland Addresses the Landsmeet, Dragon 9:31 (a speech, a note, and a later conversation)

"Shall we sacrifice everything good about our country to save it?" asked Arl Eamon, concluding his speech to the Landsmeet.

Loghain granted him some claps of ironic applause.

"A fine speech, Eamon," he scoffed. "But no one here is taken in by it. We all know you seek to put a puppet on the throne of Ferelden!"

The doors of the Landsmeet Chamber slammed open, eliciting excited talk and frightened squeaks from the nobles of Ferelden.

Loghain saw his nemesis approaching. Young Cousland, in company with that insult to Rowan's memory who so resembled Maric. They were in splendid armor, and followed by their shifty crew of foreigners and outlaws.

"And here we have the puppeteer! Tell me, Warden, how will the Orlesians take our freedom from us? What is the price of Fereldan honor?"

The bastard reddened, but Cormac Cousland returned Loghain's glare without flinching. He wasted no time with insults, but instead used his clear and powerful voice to silence the room. He at last had the opportunity to defend himself, his family, and the Grey Wardens, and would let no one else—especially such a questionable ally as Arl Eamon—speak for him. The moment was his.

"Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet! I stand before you as the last of my line: I, Cormac Cousland! I claim the right to speak before you, as my father, Teyrn Bryce, and my mother Teyrna Eleanor—whom some of you were once proud to call friends— are not here to speak for themselves. I claim to the right as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, to speak to you—a right given by King Maric himself. I claim the right speak as a child of Ferelden who was once a noble, until the night I found every man's hand turned against me. This man, Loghain Mac Tir, has made grave and baseless accusations against me. Am I to tremble meekly and submit to them, like a slave of old, or will I have a hearing?"

"You have no rights! Traitor!"

A clamor arose.

Cousland laughed. "That word comes easily to your lips, Loghain! Is everyone who dares oppose you... everyone who dares have a different opinion... everyone who will not grovel before you then a traitor? Time was that there were such things as fair trials in Ferelden, but now, I understand, we all live or die on the word of the self-declared ruler of Ferelden! What need, then, for a Landsmeet at all?"

A hush.

Wulffe rumbled, "Let the lad speak, Loghain! He's Bryce's son, for Maker's sake!"

He had allies. The Cousland boy had allies, and they were vocal in their support. Others simply wanted the excitement that such a spectacle promised. Loghain growled softly, marking the traitors for future retribution.

Cormac ascended into the speaker's gallery with a measured stride and stood looking down at the crowd with contempt.

"What are we doing here?" he asked. "Why are we not defending our country from the the greatest threat we have ever faced? For make no mistake, lords and ladies of the Landsmeet: we are not talking about foreigners who will dispossess us and enserf us, who wish to destroy our freedoms and our way of life: we are talking about mindless monsters who will kill every one us. Every man, woman, child. Every ox, ass, sheep, and goat, every bloody cat and dog. They will poison the land and lay it waste, and Ferelden as nation of Thedas will cease to exist."

"That's what I've been saying all along!" Wulffe shouted. "No one listens, lad! No one seems to care that the south has already fallen!"

"I care!" Cousland shouted back. "Though I grant that many seem oblivious. Instead, while the darkspawn rampage, we quarrel over privileges and precedence. Everyone of you should be in arms. Rather than gaming and wenching, your sons should be riding south. Rather than beggaring you at the market, your daughters should be preparing to fight for their lives. For that it is what it has come to."

Arl Bryland was hot with shame, knowing that last dart was directed at him — and his daughter Habren. Cormac and Habren had never got on, even as children, even when he and Bryce had considered a match between them. Bryland knew he should have spoken up when Howe was given all of Bryce's lands and titles. He should have asked questions. His only excuse was at first he was engrossed with defending South Reach against darkspawn attacks. After that, like so many others, he was afraid. If Howe could murder the Teyrn of Highever with impunity, then who was next? Rendon Howe, supposedly his old friend from the Rebellion, had stood in the foyer of his townhouse and smiled at him coldly, describing the fate of the 'traitorous Cousland whores,' and then asked how Habren liked Denerim. The threat could not have been more explicit had Rendon drawn his axe there and then.

Rendon was dead now. Dead as Bryce. Dead as their youthful vows of friendship. Cormac had come to the Gnawed Noble to tell Bann Alfstanna that her brother Irminric was held prisoner in Howe's dungeons. His eyes had met Bryland's, and Bryland's had been struck dumb by the scornful look vouchsafed him by his young kinsman. What could he say? How could he excuse what must seem another betrayal by another fair-weather friend? Cormac had left without a greeting or a farewell.

The clear voice went on: "Loghain accuses me of dealing with the Orlesians, All I can say is that I have not, and that I have not left Ferelden soil, except for the times I visited Orzammar and the Deep Roads. Loghain himself sent an envoy to the dwarves, and it is not my fault if the dwarves found me more agreeable than such an envoy. Next time, Loghain, send a man who does not insult the dwarves to their faces on their own doorstep!"

The sally was greeted with some laughter. Loghain writhed inwardly, suspecting that it was all too true. Cousland then gave them some background on his activities for the past year.

"...Thus, while the civil war rages, I have been gathering armies to defend our country. Not foreign armies, as Loghain would tell you. My armies are Fereldan, though they are composed of those who you would not welcome to your salons or your tables. The mages, the Dalish elves, the dwarves. It is they who have risen to this crisis. It is at their side that I will face the Archdemon; not, it seems, at the side of the rich and privileged."

Loghain's face brightened with joy, and Eamon's fell into dismay. Young Cousland seemed determined to insult all his potential well-wishers. Young... naive... unused to politics. Did he have no idea how to play the game? Or was he too angry and full of disgust even to try? The latter thought crossed Eamon's mind, and he shuddered. His great plans were on the point of a knife, and Cousland seemed to care nothing for them. Alistair? He was listening to his friend with great complacency. Cousland had influence over him, Eamon knew; influence that Eamon was unsure how to counter. He was not objecting, not even displeased, as his friend put the crown at hazard. In fact, Alistair had been quite adamant against the idea of taking the throne... Eamon had dismissed that: the boy had been taught over the years that he should listen to his betters and do as he was told. Though, perhaps... he had also been taught never to put himself forward.

No... he wouldn't... surely not...

"Before I leave, however," said Cousland, "I wish to answer Loghain's accusations. That I am an agent of Orlais is so absurd, and so far beneath contempt that I dislike even to speak of it. How can one prove one's innocence against such an accusation? Loghain prefers to think me a traitor because I am in his way. Because I disagree. Because I was conscripted and forced in the the Grey Wardens the day of the battle of Ostagar, and Loghain decided to blame the Grey Wardens for that disaster. I think there is a great deal of blame to go around, and playing that game prevents us from dealing with the darkspawn threat like grown men. What can I say but this: if I were in the pay of the Orlesians, would I be reduced to Chantry board errands to feed my companions? Would I be scavenging armor and weapons? Would I be walking the length and breadth of our country to gather support? Think carefully about what I, as a Cousland, could actually have done, had I decided to sell my sword and allegiance to the Empress."

There was an uneasy murmur.

"Yes, I could claim the throne. I have the best legitimate claim by right of blood. Anora's only claim to the throne is that she was sitting on it, and her own father by his assumption of the Regency has declared her unfit to be Queen. Hear me! Do you the think the Empress would be put off by a mere thing like my Grey Warden recruitment, if she thought she could use me as a client King? I have been far more loyal than you deserve, for I see no one here who has kept faith with my family."

"But Cormac—" Bryland protested.

Cousland shouted him down. "Not one of you! Not one of you banns, sworn to the Couslands! Not one of you, my kinsmen! Not one of you who put my father's name forward to be your king! Instead that mad dog Rendon Howe murders my family and there is a great hush. First the rumors are of a band of renegade mercenaries. Then Howe is granted the teyrnir of Highever, and then he prattles of "treason!" and you allowed it. When no Cousland was in evidence to grant you favors and lend his support to your own interests, you could not be troubled to see justice done."

"It is no justice," Loghain snarled, "to kill a man in his own house!"

"That's exactly what I say!" Cousland shot back. "And my father, stabbed in the back in his own house as he sat over his wine with a friend, would have agreed with you! Though I don't recall you saying anything of the sort to Rendon Howe the day he came with you to confront me at Arl Eamon's estate! The man who murdered my family gloated about it to my face. You were there, and Arl Eamon was there, when I demanded my blood rights, and that base coward sneered and told me I 'had no rights!' What did you think would happen, with such provocation? Did you think I creep away and blubber like a baby? Would you?"

Loghain paused, and then said nothing.

Cousland raised his right hand. "With this hand I struck Rendon Howe dead. Nothing do I deny! The man who boasted of the murder of the Couslands fell to my sword. Yes, I killed him. I met him sword to axe, and once again I proved that a Cousland will always be a better man than a Howe. You might say it was vengeance, but I say not so!"

He sneered. "Vengeance requires a certain balance. I met Howe in honorable combat, outnumbered and face to face. I did not slip a dagger into the kidney of an unarmed and unsuspecting man! I did not send ruffians to kill every member of his family! Was Lady Delilah raped and slaughtered—targeted deliberately, as my sister-in-law was? Was Lord Thomas surprised in his bed and gutted? And it was worse than that! When I found Oriana as I fought my way through the family apartments, I found that they had stabbed that dangerous traitor, my six-year-old nephew, in front of her, and were holding up his lifeless little body to taunt her, as they tore at her like the vilest of beasts! Had I been there for vengeance, I could have made it bloody indeed. I slew a traitor and a danger to us all. I freed his prisoners, some of whom are dear to members of the Landsmeet! I uncovered his secret evil acts—the illegal murders, the kidnappings of nobles, the enslavement of the Alienage elves —of which I prefer to believe that our esteemed Loghain had no knowledge."

"The Warden speaks truly!" shouted Bann Sighard. "When I saw what Howe had done to my poor boy..."

"And my brother," said Bann Alfstanna, her voice choked with grief.

Cousland bowed to them in acknowledgement. He shot Loghain a malicious smile.

I know that you were in it, up to your neck...

Instead, he said what was far more important to him. "Howe was given to the fire with all decent rites. My family, as I understand it, is rotting in a Highever midden, along with all their soldiers and innocent, unarmed servants, for Howe wanted no witnesses to his crimes. That they lie there still with no more regard than you give dead cattle I call a shame upon all of you, their quondam friends, and also a shame upon the Chantry, which did not bestir themselves to offer prayers for the dead who had supported them so generously in life."

Flushing, the Grand Cleric opened her mouth... and then shut it. It was one thing to claim Chantry neutrality. It was another to behave neutrally, and she knew that the Revered Mother of Highever had feared Rendon Howe, and that her silence implied approval of his bloody deeds. Nonetheless, the Cousland boy should show more respect. It was unfortunate that he had surrounded himself with heretics and apostates and unbelievers. A sad thing. He could have claimed sanctuary from the Chantry, and could have survived, protected, had he taken vows as a Templar. Little chance of that, now...

Cousland's words burned on. "Howe murdered my family, not because his accusations against them had any truth to them, but because they were baseless. My father had already sent the Highever troops on to Ostagar. Nothing prevented Howe from arresting my father and presenting him to the King for justice, if he truly had evidence against him. But all Howe had to accuse my father with was his own burning envy, my father's diplomatic successes, and my mother's silk gown. He was not interested in proving treason: he was interested in stealing Highever. And many of you were complicit in this by your silence. Not a wise precedent, I must say, for he could have easily done the same to you, and would have, given time. He boasted to me of his plans for our esteemed Regent, once Loghain had eliminated the darkspawn for him. And his plans for our unmarried Queen? I will not offend your ears by repeating them, but the essence of it was that Howe's ambition knew no bounds."

The room exploded with speculation, shrill cries of "I knew it!" and questions about where the Queen was at the moment.

Cousland was not done. He made a gesture of dismissal, and raised his voice again.

"So much for Rendon Howe! He's dead and no more threat to any of us. The evil he did lives on. The man did his best to distract everyone from the danger of the darkspawn, and the lives lost in consequence are on his head. Enough of him. I make no apologies. I wish to speak now of Loghain's other accusations.

"As to the charge that Grey Wardens were traitors…well, I cannot speak for the men who died at Ostagar. I had been a Warden less than a day, and was not exactly high in their councils. However, I will point out that it's a damned silly plan to betray the king and the army, in order to be killed doing it. What possible benefit could it be to dead men, to betray the King? On the other hand, it's all too true that the world is full of fools."

"Who was responsible for Ostagar, then?" demanded Bann Frandarel.

Loghain stared hard at the young Warden.

Cousland answered promptly. "The darkspawn, of course!" He barked a laugh at the puzzled assembly. "What? You don't like that answer? Well, it's true. The darkspawn are responsible. Any of you who were actually there know that they swarmed out of the earth in vast numbers. It was impossible to guess at the army they could field, because it was impossible to effectively scout an army under the ground. Alistair and I were sent on a mission that was supposed to be perfectly safe; but the darkspawn had undermined the Tower of Ishal, andit was completely invested before we even arrived. The horde that boiled out of the ground to overwhelm the King's army was simply bigger than anyone could have expected. Pointing fingers will not alter that fact. They killed King Cailan, who insisted on fighting in the vanguard, contrary to Loghain's advice. They killed Duncan and the other Wardens. They want to kill everyone in this room if they can... except for some of the women. When we are more at leisure, sometime, I'll have to tell you in detail what darkspawn do to women prisoners. To the women here, I simply say, do not allow yourselves to be taken alive. They care nothing about your noble birth, or your beauty or wit or virtue or holy vows. You're nothing but egg sacs to them."

Anxious female voices rose, most of them determined to hear it all as soon as possible.

"However," said Cousland, "Ostagar is the past: let us consider our present situation, which is quite bad enough. It is true that the Orlesian Wardens had linked their assistance with the admission of Orlesian Imperial troops. That is outrageous and unacceptable, but it has nothing to do with me! We already know that Orlesians are not to be trusted. And the Grey Wardens in Weisshapt? Why have you not heard from them? Why have I not heard from them? What have they to gain by making themselves look weak and ineffective?"

"Are you saying that you haven't heard from the other Wardens?" demanded Bann Alstanna.

"Not a word," Cousland replied. "No. I tell a lie. In Howe's dungeons, as I was freeing the prisoners, I came across an Orlesian Warden named Riordan. He had come to Ferelden— alone— to open negotiations with Rendon Howe. Anything about that seem strange to you? It certainly did to me!"

Loghain could not help it. He had to ask. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that anyone who knew anything about Rendon Howe knew that he hated Wardens as much as he hated Orlesians. His own father abandoned his family to join the Wardens when Rendon was a boy, and Rendon never forgave him— or them — for it. Whenever he visited Highever, my brother and I were forbidden to play Wardens and Darkspawn, lest we upset him! Why would the Grey Wardens send their emissary to the man who hated them even more than Loghain does? Unless, of course, they meant to offend, and they meant to harden resistance to their offers, while they could claim Fereldan intransigence and bigotry?"

Loghain saw it at once, though his head was spinning. Rather than acting as a mouthpiece for the Grey Warden order, this young man seemed as suspicious of them as Loghain himself. "You are saying that they did not intend to negotiate in good faith."

"I don't think they mean to negotiate at all. They sacrificed one of their own—the man himself, who is Fereldan-born, I believe was acting in good faith—anyway, they sacrificed him to give the appearance to the rest of Thedas that they were doing their duty, when their intentions were far more sinister.

"No, my lords and ladies! It won't do! Rather than fear foreign interference, I find more ominous the utter silence of the rest of Thedas, and above all the perfect silence of the First Warden. My movements have not exactly been secret, but from him I have heard not a word. Couriers from nobles, assassins from enemies, petitioners begging help: all these have found me easily enough, but no other Grey Warden in all Thedas, not even in this time of Blight. Ferelden has thousands of miles of coastline. It would be the easiest thing in the world to land a troop of Wardens on a deserted beach and send them to our aid. Yet the First Warden has not done so. Why?"

A breathless silence.

"Here is my analysis, and it is a grim one. The rest of the Grey Wardens have abandoned Ferelden to its fate. They wish to make an example of us. The Orlesian named Riordan told me as much, though he framed it in finer words. They know that only a Warden can slay an Archdemon, and yet they do not come. They know that only two junior Wardens survived Ostagar, and yet they do not come. It is the only Blight we've got: the first in four hundred years! What are they waiting for?

"You heard me say that only a Warden can kill an Archdemon. I assure you that it's true. It is a fact, known for ages by the Wardens, but not revealed to Alistair or me by Duncan, who did not believe in disclosing the deepest secrets of our order until a Warden had spent a year in service. He did not disclose them, even the night before the battle, when surely he must have known that anything could happen. Instead, the two of us blundered about in dismal ignorance, using our ancient treaties as best we could, until our researches led us to ancient codices in deserted castles, in the Deep Roads, and in the Shaperate of Orzammar. There is much we cannot tell you outright, for we am sworn to secrecy, and we honor our oaths, though others do not. Thus, I do not expect you to believe us. What we discovered was fairly shocking. However, I urge you all to take an independent, objective look at the history of the Blights, how they ended, and the subsequent careers of those who slew the Archdemons. Most especially, I urge to look very carefully at the history of the First Blight, and consider why it might be that the Tevinters, lords of the greatest armies the world has ever known, could not put paid to one dragon.

"The Grey Wardens were banished from Ferelden for over two hundred years, until King Maric readmitted them twenty years ago. I think it entirely possible that the First Warden has never even met a Fereldan. What the Grey Wardens of Weisshaupt believe about us is what they have heard from our neighbors in Orlais: that we are a rebellious province, a thinly settled land of savages, thus no loss to the civilized countries of Thedas. It may indeed seem to the First Warden that there is little to be gained by rescuing us against our will. However, if he were to stand back and let Ferelden be destroyed, what an object lesson that would be! What a spur to future tithes!

"Orlais has nothing at all to gain by helping us. Instead, I believe that they are smugly waiting on their borders. Waiting for the Archdemon to come and to give them everything they desire at no cost to themselves: glory to their own Wardens for overcoming the Blight, and an uninhabited land to the east, ripe for colonization."

The panic was beginning. Even Loghain was shaken.

"You're saying that we're doomed?" gasped Bann Ceorlic.

"No! I'm saying that the Blight cannot be stopped without slaying the Archdemon, and that only Alistair or I can do that. We're all you've got, because no other Wardens have come forward. Nor will they, unless we consent to an invasion of Orlesian chevaliers, which no sane Fereldan would agree to. I'm saying that we need to fight the darkspawn instead of one another. I'm saying that in the end, it doesn't much matter who rules Ferelden, if no Ferelden is left anyway. Alistair and I are Wardens, and thus neither of us can be King. Pick whichever ruler you want. I'm done with flattering and bribing people who don't have the sense to defend their own country and their own lives. The Archdemon is on the move. We are out of time."

"But..." Arl Eamon protested. "Alistair! You're Maric's son! It's your duty—"

"I'm a Warden!" Alistair exploded, years of resentment bursting forth. "I grew up in your stables! I'm a serving-girl's son! I wasn't raised to be King. I wouldn't have the first idea how to do it. Cormac would be a better King than I ever could be, but he's a Warden, too! Wardens are what this country needs right now, or you're all going to die! I hate Loghain more than I can say, but Cormac made me see that it's more important to save the country than to seek revenge on one man. Yes, this is better: it's better to show him for what he is: a power-hungry old man, still fighting the last war, blind to everything else! We don't need him!" Red with anger, he faced Loghain. "We don't need you! If my father were alive, he'd say the same!"

Enraged, Loghain's hand immediately went to his sword. Cousland shouted for silence.

"We're not here to fight you, Loghain! I came here to give you the truth, if you can handle it! I came to tell you all what I thought of all of you — which is not much! I except Arl Wulffe, who has been trying to fight the darkspawn with precious little help from anyone else! I came to defend my family's good name, since our friends and relations couldn't be bothered. I came to tell you that while Orlais and Weisshaupt wait for us to die, like great swollen spiders by their webs, I will not be party to the death of Ferelden. Let Loghain sit on a throne, if that is what he craves most in life. As for the Wardens, we are going south to lead the army we've raised, and this very day. Let those who still love this country, join us."


Note: It is understandable why in canon the Warden PC does not address the Landsmeet him/herself, except to respond to questions and make a few remarks. In the one-size-fits-all scenario, it doesn't work, since only Cousland would conceivably have the standing to do so.

In this iteration, the Wardens' dream have shown them that the invasion is imminent. Cousland has talked sensibly and at length to Alistair as they made friends. I've always believed that Alistair will become what the PC Warden makes of him. Cousland didn't coddle Alistair with the pandering answers that one uses in canon to make Alistair "like" you. (Nor did he tell Alistair something so awful and stupidly facile as "Everyone is out for himself. You need to understand that") He didn't pass over the hysterical attacks on Loghain ("He killed his King! He killed Duncan!") without giving his own reasoned analysis of what had actually happened. Nor did he spare Cailan, whom he held largely responsible for the fiasco. The Chantry, also, interfered in the signaling protocol, which ended up being a single-point-of-failure boondoggle. That doesn't mean that Cousland thinks particularly well of Loghain. He doesn't. However, he really doesn't think well of any other Fereldan nobleman, either (except possibly Arl Wulffe), or even well of Fereldans in general. Remember that no Fereldan human non-magical ever offers to join with the Warden party. Various Fereldans whine and plead and demand that the Warden do things for them, but the party is composed of mages, foreigners (no matter what Leliana claims), and other species. It really doesn't speak well for Ferelden as a whole, and this Cousland is quite sensitive and perceptive. And he is very embittered by his family's murder, and the utter lack of response to it.

The events of Anora's rescue— in which she betrays him and he is captured by Ser Cauthrien, is beaten bloody (at the very least), and has to be rescued or fight his way out of Fort Drakon—have finally pushed him over the edge. When he escapes and returns to Eamon's, Anora gives a half-hearted apology (mostly blaming the Warden for blundering), and then speaks slightingly of his experience. At that moment, I find it impossible to believe that the Warden would ever make common cause with Anora at all, ever. I also find it unbelievable that she would be permitted to go to the Landsmeet and make trouble for them.

Cousland understands that Alistair does not react well to surprises. That is why he briefed Alistair very thoroughly about his ideas and plans before stepping into the Landsmeet Chamber. It took time for Alistair to get over his obsession with killing Loghain, but a good and intelligent friend—with a far stronger will—was able to make him see the situation his way.

As to the succession: if a Warden could be King — and Cousland does not agree with that idea at all, thinking it bad for the country and a terrible precedent — then Cormac Cousland would propose himself, since he has legitimate royal blood and far more experience in the art of ruling. Alistair genuinely did not want to be King, and Cousland agreed that Alistair was not brought up to it. I can see no reason why a Cousland would automatically defer to an illegitimate child with no education in ruling. Since no Cousland (as far as Cormac knows) is still available, he really doesn't care anymore. He's a bitterly angry and alienated young man. If Eamon won't support them unless Alistair agrees to be king, then Eamon, too, is another idiot who doesn't understand the danger they're all in, and Cousland refuses to pander to any of them any more.

I wrote the first draft of this speech before I even began Victory at Ostagar or The Keening Blade, and based it on a playthrough I did as Cormac Cousland, who ultimately marries Anora. However, in fanfiction one can be more precise with one's characters. My written Cormac Cousland believes strongly that no Warden should be king, and furthermore, he would not marry Anora under any circumstances. He's really, really angry with her. He also does not think Anora a good queen nor that she has any claim to the throne at all. Here's a later conversation as the Landsmeet breaks up:


Truth to Power, continued

Cousland shoved through the crowd of well-wishers, not impressed by their promises. If any of them actually rallied their personal guards and militias, that would be different, but until he saw anything of the sort, it was all so much empty wind.

A tall figure confronted him; the last person with whom he had any desire to speak. Cousland laid his hand on Alistair's shoulder, and gave him a light push toward the door.

"Alistair," he said, "Go on and get the others ready to move out. We can't waste any more time on these people."

"Warden," snarled Loghain. "Where is my daughter?"

Alistair threw the man a filthy look, but obeyed his friend, and walked away, back radiating contempt.

"She's fine," Cormac replied, impatient to leave, and the sooner the better. Arl Eamon was spitting nails, which indicated that they would likely not be welcome at his estate any longer. The Landsmeet had broken up with nothing decided, except that someone had better do something about the darkspawn.

Loghain did not move. "What have you done with her?" He glared at the people passing by, and they hastily moved away, out of earshot, heading for the doors. Bann Ceorlic was gabbling instructions to his wife. Cormac suspected that they would be on a ship to the Free Marches "for their health" in a day or so. They were probably not the only ones. He turned back to Loghain.

"I haven't bloody done anything with her… or to her, for that matter. The last I saw of her, she and her bitch of an Orlesian maid were quite comfortably ensconced in the best guest room at Eamon's estate— where, I might add, she went of her own free will. She's locked in, but the steward can let her out now, for all I care. I'm not going back there."

"You kept her from the Landsmeet!"

"Yes," hissed Cousland. "I did. You speak for her in everything by your assumption of regency. A regency is legally founded on a presumption of incompetence. I can't believe you didn't know that. I can show you the precedents in the law codices. If she's incompetent, she has no business speaking at a Landsmeet."

"My daughter is a strong queen, and more competent than you'll ever be!"

"I beg to differ," Cousland said coldly. "And I'm the one who's been tramping the length and breadth of this country, so I know just how fucked up it is. Now saddle up with me or get out of my way."

Loghain grabbed him by the arm as he tried to pass. Cousland took a deep, furious breath, and lowered his voice.

"Listen to me: I bloody risked my life to rescue her when Howe imprisoned her, and she repaid me with betrayal and lies. The only reason I bothered to hunt that shit Howe down is because she appealed to me for help! And the only reason Howe locked her up is because she tried her tricks on him and they didn't work. Then she ran off to Eamon, to see if she could make common cause with him, because she's upset with you. Then, when I escaped Fort Drakon— where I ended up because she lost her nerve and told Ser Cauthrien that she was being kidnapped—she tried to make it all better by offering me an alliance and insulting me by telling me how 'particularly dear' my mother was to her. That was when I'd had enough. If she ever dares to mention my mother to me again, I swear I'll kill her. Go get her, and no doubt she'll make up whatever she thinks you want to hear. I never bloody laid a hand on her, though Maker knows somebody ought to."

He shook his arm free, and then gave his enemy a nasty smile. "And by the way, she proposed marriage to me. Offered to make me her king-consort if I'd help her get rid of you. She's your daughter. I understand that. You might forgive her everything: I don't. You need to know that she'd as soon knife you in the back as she would me."

Loghain's faint, answering smile was bleak. "Anora, " he said. "is a politician, first and foremost."

"She's a bloody wretched politician in this crisis. And the last thing we need now is more politics. Enough of all this woman-talk! You need to get rid of that viper of a maid, who's no doubt funneling intelligence to Celene, keep Anora under guard in the Palace where she can't hatch more plots, and lead what's left of the army south to the falls of the Drakon. I'm going on ahead. The Blight Wound is northwest of Ostagar, and that's where I'm going to scout. The Archdemon's ready to march. I've got some Dalish who can act as couriers."

Loghain glared after him. "And if I don't come?"

Cousland shrugged. "Then you'd better hope I can stop them in the south with what I have. If I don't, then you're all dead, or you'd better find some cushy place abroad for your daughter, because the Archdemon will want her for a Broodmother." Impatiently, he added, "If you really want a pissing contest with me, can you at least wait until the Blight it over? By then, it may not matter, anyway."

"Perhaps not," said Loghain, considering it. "But if both of us are still alive, you and I will face each other."

"If we're both alive." Cousland shrugged, not thinking it likely, and thus not worth worrying about. He strode out of the Landsmeet, into a thin, cold rain that fell like needles. His friends were waiting for him. He smiled. At the moment, they seemed the only people in Thedas worth fighting for.

Out of the shadows of the pillars, Riordan appeared. "My friend," he said, "that did not go at all as I anticipated."

"Too bad," Cousland replied. "You can join us, or you can go home and tell the Orlesians that we're not prepared to lie down and die. What'll it be?"

The older Warden shifted his pack, already prepared, into a more comfortable position. "There is no choice to be made. I shall Join you."


Note: Loghain and Anora base Anora's claim to the throne on marriage, which is weak, though not without precedent in our own world; and on ability, which would be very modern and forward-thinking of them if it were true. The game keeps saying that Anora is a good and capable queen, but the facts of the game do not support that. Ferelden is a mess, the economy is in the tank, and the rule of law has completely broken down (except in the Alienages, where it has clearly never existed anyway). And the collapse does not take place over time, but is immediate, which suggests that things were bad even before the Blight. Even in her own capital, most of Denerim is a "no go" zone, ruled by bandits, and that certainly cannot be blamed on the extraordinary circumstances of the Blight. Fereldan has no foreign alliances of any kind, and when faced by a genuine crisis, including the loss of her husband, Anora, as I see it, completely lost it and largely abdicated all power to "Daddy." That demonstrates a remarkable lack of spine and less than stellar devotion to duty and the public weal.

She thought better of that stupid decision months later, but the fact is that in the great test of her life, Anora proved that she was only good at casual-level court politics. Her failure with Howe and her subsequent imprisonment make clear that she was not ready to play with the big boys. She lies and backstabs in a rather incompetent way, and then, after the Warden rescues her from Howe, she tells Ser Cauthrien that the Warden kidnapped her. That makes her either a faithless ally or an outright coward, and either makes her useless. In my opinion, if that situation arises, the Warden would never ally with her at all, nor would she be allowed to attend the Landsmeet and speak against them. And that the succession would be narrowed down to either Alistair and Anora is also unlikely, since there were no doubt many other descendants of Calenhad in the Landsmeet. I can't believe that those individuals would step aside in favor of an unacknowledged bastard or a king's wife without a drop of noble blood.

And yes, Loghain claiming the Regency is tantamount to declaring Anora unfit to rule. If she is a competent Queen, why does she need a Regent? Loghain, obviously, did not trust her to handle things. Who needs regents? Children and drooling mad old Kings. If a woman of full years needs a regent, it says that there's something wrong with her. Loghain cuts the legs out from under Anora's claim himself.

Next up: "Dregs in the Vial," or, "Why There Were Only Two Dozen Wardens in Ferelden." Before Ostagar, Dragon 9:30.