A Harsh Mistress
"Amnesty. Amnesty for all the apostates who fought in the rebellion," Maric said, holding the decree from the Grand Cleric as if were a fragile flower. "That's surprising."
Loghain leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow quirked. "What does she want in return?"
"Me," Marin answered quietly. "She wants me to turn myself in to the Circle of Magi of Ferelden."
The three of them were in the throne room. Rowan was settling her brothers at Redcliffe. It was the only reason Loghain had consented to attend the meeting at the palace. They all knew it but none of them spoke of it.
"Well that won't happen. You're the court healer. You have every right to be here," Loghain spat, his blue eyes the color of a winter storm.
"The court healer traditionally comes from the tower, Mac. I am an apostate, whether you want to admit or not. That means any templar with a desire for fame will hunt me. That's not the life I want, not now." The look she turned on him was accusatory, hurt. He was betrothed now, and not to a noble. He sighed, wondering why he had consented to come to court, knowing she would be here. Wounds were festering and scabs peeling away to expose them. He felt raw and defenseless and he didn't like it. He cloaked himself in his anger.
Maric sat up straighter, shooting a look at Loghain. "She's right. We can't afford to rile the Grand Cleric, or the Divine for that matter. As I understand it, the Divine is willing to overlook our transgressions if Marin submits to the circle, and if she makes an appeal to other apostates to do the same."
Marin gave an unhappy chuff of laughter, a bitter sound that dropped into the silence with a dull thud. "So not only do I submit, but I force others to do so."
"You are Marin the Mad, hero of Dragon's Mist and River Dane," Loghain ground out, his face twisted with anger. "They have no right."
But they did, and he knew it as well as anyone. "History belongs to men; they are the legends and heroes. Women are martyrs, at best," she argued.
"And that's what you're to be? A martyr? Fed to the chantry? And you'll allow this, Maric?" Loghain snarled, snapping out of his seat and striding around the room, eyes narrow, expression haughty.
"We didn't defeat the Orlesians just to bow down to the Divine and her Orlesian chantry puppets," he added angrily.
Marin's eyes widened. "Why are you so angry? It isn't as if you're being sent to live in the tower," she said and her words were low and bitter.
"Would you rather I didn't care, Marin? You think me some ill bred monster because I don't want you to be locked away in a tower?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed and cold as they tore into her.
Magic jumped along her and she stood up, coming to stand before him, her mouth turned down and eyes narrowed. "You insufferable, arrogant man! You don't want me, but you won't let me go."
He reached out to grab her arms but she held out her hands, palms up. "Do not touch me," she whispered hoarsely. "You have made your position clear."
He spun away from her, hands falling to his sides. Maric cleared his throat.
"Ferelden's safety is more important than one person, Loghain. Maric knows this. I know this. If I don't submit, they will be justified in sending an army of templars after apostates within the borders of Ferelden. Is that what you want to see? We tossed out the Orlesians only to have their counterparts here en masse?" she asked, her voice softer. She came to him, reaching out a supplicating hand.
"Haven't we given enough to Ferelden? Would you risk having to give more?"
Maric sighed and shook his head. "She's right, Loghain."
Loghain swung around to look at them, his eyebrow quirked. "And this makes it better? She gave everything to free Ferelden and now we're just going to ignore her sacrifices?" he asked, his voice deathly quiet. He took her hand in his, gripping it so tightly that Marin winced.
"Ferelden is a harsh mistress, Loghain. She demands constant sacrifice. But she's worth it. You're worth it," she whispered and then turned on her heal and walked from the room, head held high.
"Go after her, you arse," Maric said with his lopsided grin and Loghain was striding out of the room before he finished. He caught her up in his arms, pulling her to him and his lips were bruising on hers.
"Be happy, Mac. That's all I ask," she whispered brokenly and then she turned and fled and he watched her, unable to speak around the tightness in his chest.
He returned to Gwaren the next morning. Two weeks later, he was married to a cabinet maker's daughter.
The Grand Cleric was not happy. She was not happy at all. Her face was pinched into a frown and her eyes were narrowed and withering as she eyed the two templars before her.
"Your orders were clear. Bring Marin Gallard Amell to Aeonar. Yet I have learned that she is in Dragon's Mist. Why is that?"
Jerod and Kenric glanced at each other and remained silent. The Grand Cleric's jaw twitched and then her eye twitched.
"I suggest you leave immediately for Dragon's Mist. If she gives you any trouble, do whatever is necessary. Do you understand your instructions?"
Jerod and Kenric nodded in unison and with a bow, they withdrew. "This Marin Amell? Is she the one they call Marin the Mad?" Kenric asked, a note of awe in his voice. He was a red headed man with a face full of freckles, well hidden behind his helm, young and still a bit unsure of himself.
Jerod nodded, his brown eyes wide. "She's the one that won the battle at Dragon's Mist. She was an apostate during the rebellion. I hear she's a malificar."
The men departed Denerim that same day.
Loghain leaned over the bed and poked Marin with a finger, smirking. "Wake up if you're going hunting with us, you lazy mage," he said loudly and Marin jumped. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, the blanket and sheet pooling around her waist as she stretched.
"Or I suppose they could wait for a bit," he leered, bending down to nuzzle her neck. She flung her arms around him, pulling him down.
"My nefarious plan has worked," she crowed, and then gasped as his mouth continued the journey from her neck down to her breasts.
"Madam, I assure you, it was my nefarious plan, not yours," he argued, gently biting first one nipple and then the other.
"Then I beg your pardon and submit myself to your nefarious plan, General Loghain," she whispered, tugging at his shirt.
An hour later, Loghain made his way down the stairs. Greagoir looked up and frowned. "Marin isn't coming with us?"
"She says she's too tired and that you're not to worry, she promises not to perform any magic while you're gone."
"I should stay here, just in case," Greagoir said reluctantly but before Loghain could argue with him, Marin was at the top of the stairs, barefoot and her shirt inside out, her skirt askew. Greagoir bit back a smile and Loghain laughed outright. Corwin looked scandalized.
"Go, shoo, out with you men! I promise to behave, Greagoir."
She came racing down the stairs and launched herself at Loghain, who caught her up and kissed her soundly before setting her on her feet.
"Do you want me to leave any of my men?" he asked seriously but she shook her head.
"Just go and bring back some meat, rabbit wrangler," she teased and he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose before grabbing his bow and quiver.
She was at the well when she heard the sound of horses approaching. Wearing a plain homespun dress, she could easily be mistaken for a maid. She looked up, smiling, sure it was the men returning from the hunt. Her smile faded as the sun caught the gleaming metal of templar armor. She set the bucket of water down carefully and backed toward the house.
"Ho there, young maid. We are looking for Marin Amell!" one of the templar's called in a friendly voice.
Marin's heart skipped several beats as she continued backing toward the house. "Who?" she asked, her voice reedy with fear.
High over head she heard a raven's cry. It sounded like laughter. The two templar's dismounted and tied their horses to a rail. She wet her suddenly dry lips.
"You're a mage," the taller of the two accused and began to move deliberately in her direction. He motioned discreetly to the shorter man to go around the other way. Marin watched with wary eyes.
"Then you know you've found Marin Amell," she said quietly. She moved her hands in front of her and closed her eyes, her lips moving. The smite caught her mid cast and hurled her some feet back. She crashed to the ground with a loud thump and the air rushed out of her.
"Please," she whispered before her stomach clenched and her breakfast came up. She retched, weak and dizzy. "General Loghain is here. He – he will explain," she finally managed between gasps. She was drained, weak as a newborn. Helpless. She staggered to her feet but her legs were too wobbly and she fell back to the ground.
"The Grand Cleric sent us," Kenric said ominously. "She said we're to have a bit of sport with you and then do whatever is necessary to take you into custody."
Jerod shot a look at Kenric. "She said any means necessary, she didn't say anything about sport," he countered. Kenric looked at him, his eyes through the visor a sickly yellow. Jerod reached for his sword.
Marin was scooting away, scuttling across the courtyard toward the path, thinking in her confusion that Mac and her tree would be at the end of the path and that meant safety. The gauntleted fist caught her on her temple and her head exploded in a white hot pain that robbed her of vision and thought but she continued onward, instinct driving her.
"Hey Kenric, no sense in that. She can't hurt anyone now," Jerod protested and Marin turned to look at him just as the other templar brought his sword up. With a harsh cry, he brought it down and Jerod fell, his skull split in two. Marin tried to scream but it came out guttural and low, impossible to hear.
"Now come along, sweetheart. Lets you and I get acquainted better. Long ride ahead of us, might as well be friends."
Marin heard a loud clatter. It was the sound of armor hitting the ground. Maker, he was stripping out of his armor. Marin's panic flared and she scrambled along the ground, finally pushing herself up. He caught her dress in a tight grip and she pulled desperately. The dress tore and she was running down the path. He was laughing, an eerie sound that seemed to reverberate through her muscle and tissue, into her heart.
He caught her just as she was pulling herself into the tree, dragging her down. She kicked out with her foot but he laughed again and she looked up at his face, saw a flicker of abject horror in his eyes before they hardened again. And then she felt it. A trickling of power beginning to form around her. A ripple in the veil, shimmering and beckoning. She lashed out at him, her nails biting into his flesh as she screamed. She started casting then, her darkest, fiercest spell. She set him aflame. He was writhing where he stood, undulating screams as his skin began to drip away.
"Marin, no!" a voice cried and she was hit with another smite, pushing into her and robbing her of her small pool of mana. She went skidding back, the rocks in the ground beneath her back scraping at her skin.
"She's mad!" one of the soldiers yelled. "She's gone crazy! She'll kill us all!"
Greagoir had his sword out, advancing, his face as grey as his eyes. "Marin?" he called and she nodded, retching again, her stomach empty and churning, full of bile that rose in her mouth.
"No!" Loghain shouted, throwing himself at Corwin, who was advancing with his sword above his head. Corwin stumbled and fell as Loghain crashed into him, the sword falling from his surprised grasp.
Loghain rolled off him and was up and running to Marin, who was spent, eyes closed, breath heaving. He knelt beside her, glancing at Greagoir. Greagoir nodded and he scooped her up in his arms, rocking her, his voice rough and thick with emotions as he calmed her.
A raven landed in the shadow of the trees. The Woman of Many Years. The Witch of the Wilds. Flemeth stood in the shadows; became a part of the shadows. She wore a triumphant expression, her smile a gleeful curl, whispering, "And so it is done," before shifting back into a raven and winging away against the cloudless blue sky.
Marin was weeping softly, tears washing away the blood and dirt, leaving pale tracks in her face. She looked up, her green eyes dark and serious as they met Loghain's wintery blue eyes. They knew, without speaking, that her fate was sealed, he would not be able to save her from Aeonar now.
"We'll leave in the morning," Greagoir said quietly and the depth of his misery muffled his voice.
Marin nodded and struggled to sit up. Loghain refused to let her go, standing and carrying her back to the keep. He climbed the stairs and laid her carefully on the bed, settling beside her.
"I love you," Marin whispered against Loghain's chest. He bent down and kissed the golden crown of her head.
"Indeed?" he asked quietly.
"Just so," she replied with a faint smile.
"I can't imagine why," he answered honestly, his arms tightening around her.
"It seems rather unlikely, doesn't it? You are taciturn, stubborn, arrogant, obstinate and moody," she answered and the smile grew.
"Well, I'm hardly surprised then. Admirable traits, all," he replied dryly, dropping another kiss on her head.
"And passionate, thoughtful, intelligent and charming," she added softly, leaning up to kiss him with each word.
Loghain closed his eyes, sudden tears hot and thick behind his lids. In all his life, no one had ever said such things about him, to him. He had never been given a chance to be those things without someone expecting something in return. Here was this woman, this beautiful, graceful creature curled in his arms and she had given him her heart so freely, meant those words without expecting anything in return.
"You're mad," he growled, capturing her lips with his.
"Yes, I think we've established that," she agreed with a chuckle.
"I love you, Marin. Maker help me, but I love you," Loghain confessed against her lips and it didn't matter that they had no future, they had these last moments together and it would have to last them both a lifetime.
In the morning she sat in his lap, cupping his face in her hands, her eyes serious. "I once told you that Ferelden is a harsh mistress. I meant it then, I mean it now. She is worth the sacrifices, Mac. Don't ever forget that. Just promise me that no matter what else happens you will keep her safe. You'll make sure that all the sacrifices made on her behalf are not made in vain."
Loghain nodded once, throat too clogged with emotion and tears he wouldn't allow to fall to attempt speech.
"Do not, no matter how great the temptation, try to contact me, Loghain. They will use any excuse to tear you down. To tear Ferelden down. Don't give them the chance. And if my reputation is in tatters because of this, let it stay tattered. The chantry fears me because I am strong and because people still remember River Dane and Dragon's Mist. When I'm gone, they will forget and the chantry will be content to let them. You must too. "
"I can't promise that, Marin."
"Stubborn man. You can and you must."
He nodded once, reluctantly. "Now help me out to my horse. I need to leave while I still have the will to do so," she added, sliding off his lap.
He helped her mount and stood, his hand on her boot, staring up at her. She sat straight and proud, her head inclined. He had never seen such courage and he wondered if his men could hear the sound of his heart breaking.
"For Ferelden," she said for his ears alone.
"For Ferelden," he answered, squeezing her booted foot.
She spurred her horse forward but stopped at the gates and turned, waving once, before continuing on, Greagoir and Corwin at her side.
The last vestiges of who he could have been, who he had so desperately wanted to be, rode away with her that morning. And once again the relentless, bitter press of duty and promises crowded in, blistering his heart, searing it, encasing it in stone. But he would keep his promises to her, even if it killed him.
Eight months later
First Enchanter Irving and newly appointed Knight Commander Greagoir entered Aeonar side by side. Lay Sister Catrione led them to a small room and they entered to find Marin, belly swollen, smiling up at them from her bed.
"Just in time. In fact, almost too late," she greeted and held out her hands to them.
"This baby is as stubborn as its father, demanding it be born now," she said and then gasped as another pain shot through her.
Greagoir nodded and removed his gauntlets and took one of her hands, pressing it to his lips. Irving took her other hand and squeezed it in his. "Tell us what to do," he said and she gripped their hands tightly, a low cry stealing her words.
Twenty two hours later, Arin Amell was born in a small, dark room in the depths of Aeonar. Marin removed her amulet and carefully handed it to Greagoir.
"Find somewhere safe and loving for her, Greagoir. Don't let her know about me. Don't let her know about Mac. Give her this when she is too young to ask where it came from. And Maker, keep her safe."
Marin sighed, closing her eyes. "Let her have a chance at a happier life."
A/N: a short epilogue follows