A/N: Omgwtfbbq! You mean, a chapter? Really and truly?

Sorry for the enormous delay, folks. Life just got really messy for a while and my creativity kind of got sucked into the Void. But I've moved past it and am now well on my way to finally finishing this fic (and I mean it this time! I'm already working on the next chapter). So stay tuned, and I hope everyone's enjoying DA2.

P.S. Speaking of DA2, there's totally a Hawke/Anders fic brewing in my brain. (Although I should probably work on that Cousland/Nathaniel fic first...) ...Yeeah, more on that later.

Chapter Thirteen

Gráinne stared at the piece of parchment, her hands trembling slightly. The letter bore no seal or signature, but she recognized the handwriting as clearly as her own, even after a decade. The question, of course, was why Leonas Bryland wanted to meet with his estranged daughter on the eve of the Landsmeet.

Bann Teagan's words echoed in her mind: "As of right now, he supports Loghain, but his loyalties will change easily so long as he benefits from the outcome. He will recognize you at the Landsmeet and will not hesitate to use your position to his advantage." Given the timing of this proposed meeting, Gráinne was certain that Teagan had been right and her father would now try to use her position to his advantage.

And if that failed, would Bryland attempt to remove her from the picture altogether?

Either way, she would not venture into this meeting alone. There was only one person she could trust. She found him in the dining room, flirting with a scullery maid. When the maid saw Gráinne approach, she quickly bowed her head and excused herself back to the kitchen.

"Zev, I need your help."

"If it involves chocolate sauce and rope, I'm game."

Gráinne rolled her eyes and handed him the letter. As he began to read, she noted, "It's from my father."

Zevran's brow furrowed. "How can you be sure?"

"I recognize his handwriting," she said. "Not only that, but he met with Arl Eamon here a few days ago. He must have figured out who I am."

"And you do not trust his intentions, so you would like someone to accompany you to the meeting."

Gráinne nodded.

"Well, it's not an invitation to the wild night of sex I was hoping for," he replied with a wink, "but the night is still young."

At the appointed time, Gráinne made her way to the back rooms at The Gnawed Noble, Zevran following closely behind. As she approached the meeting room, a guard stopped her.

"I'm expected," she informed the guard, showing him the letter.

The guard opened the door and allowed her to enter, but held out his arm to stop Zevran.

"He stays with me," Gráinne demanded, "or this meeting is over before it's even begun."

"Allow them in, Emery," a voice ordered from within the room. The guard lowered his arm and allowed them both into the room. Leonas Bryland sat waiting for them, a book in hand and a goblet of wine on the table beside him. He set down his book and rose from his seat to face her.

Not a word was spoken for several moments while father and daughter stared at one another. Ten years had brought grey hair and lines to his face, but his eyes were still as dark and cold as the Void.

"Igraine," Bryland calmly greeted.

"Gráinne," she corrected.

"Of course," he acquiesced. He gestured for her to sit while resuming his own seat. "While I understand your concern for this meeting, I assure you my intentions are peaceful. I would prefer if your assassin friend remained outside during this conversation."

Despite her apprehension, Gráinne suspected nothing amiss in the room and nodded to Zevran. He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze and softly told her, "I will be right outside if you need me."

Once the door was shut, Gráinne took her intended seat opposite Bryland.

"Wine?" he offered.

"No."

He refilled his own goblet. "You've certainly come a long way in the past ten years," he commented.

"You didn't send for me to have a family reunion," Gráinne interjected. "What do you want?"

Bryland's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Gráinne over the rim of his goblet. "You intend to challenge Loghain tomorrow at the Landsmeet," he began, "and based on the evidence you have compiled, I have no doubt you'll succeed in overthrowing him—after which a new sovereign will be selected to rule Ferelden in Cailan's place." He held Gráinne's gaze. "You know as well as I do that Alistair is not fit to rule this country."

"You underestimate him," she replied. "In fact, he is just what this country needs—someone who isn't corrupt and looking only for his own personal gain."

Bryland laughed. "And you think your Templar lover will prove to be such a ruler?" he scoffed. "Not with Eamon standing by to advise him." He took another sip of wine and smirked at her. "Did you think you would rule beside him?"

Gráinne gritted her teeth. "Of course not."

"Then what? Assuming you're alive and defeat the archdemon, what do you expect to happen to you afterwards?"

Gráinne stared at him, unable to answer. It wasn't a thought that often occurred to her, considering the danger she faced on a daily basis. Alistair had all but sworn to be king if it meant he couldn't be with her, but after Fort Drakon, she doubted he still felt the same.

Bryland leaned forward, his voice hushed. "Do you really think you're going to freely walk away from this? Your relationship grants you—a mage, I might add—incredible influence over the future king of Ferelden, whether you intend it or not. And that, my dear girl, is something Eamon or any other nobleman cannot risk. As soon as the opportune moment presents itself, you'll be sent off and locked away in the Circle Tower. Perhaps even made Tranquil."

He'd struck a nerve. The threat of being made Tranquil was always a real possibility to any mage.

Gráinne swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "What are you suggesting?"

"Anora is more than capable of ruling as Queen," he said, "even more so with her father as an advisor."

Gráinne could not believe what she was hearing. "Loghain committed treason against the King. What makes you think he'll be allowed to remain unpunished, let alone become an advisor if his daughter remains Queen?"

"You."

"I hold no such power."

"You survived Ostagar. You've made a treacherous journey across Ferelden to uncover ancient allies to fight the Blight. You've fought darkspawn and other monstrous creatures, saving countless lives—including Arl Eamon and his son. You've challenged Loghain, Ferelden's most powerful general and exposed the truth of our beloved King's death. The people will be listening tomorrow at the Landsmeet, and it will be your voice they will want to hear. If you say the word, they will easily look past Loghain's treachery and accept him once more as their great hero."

Gráinne rose from her seat. "This meeting is over."

As she turned to leave, Bryland spoke, "Think about it, Igraine. It's what's best for Ferelden."

She was exhausted and yet she couldn't sleep. The Landsmeet was only a few hours away and she still hadn't decided what she was going to do. She knew her father was right; Alistair knew nothing about ruling a country, while Anora had proven herself an intelligent and capable ruler following Cailan's death. Moreover, Loghain was a brilliant general, despite his crimes. If anyone could lead them to victory against the darkspawn, it would be him.

But at what cost? Loghain was guilty of treason and had tried to have her and Alistair killed more than once. As for Anora, Gráinne did not trust that glint of ambition in her eyes.

Gráinne shook her head and sighed. She needed air, to clear her mind of all these thoughts that plagued her. She put on her robe and ventured through the empty halls of the estate until she reached the courtyard. The air was strangely quiet. The sky was still dark, except for the small glimmer of light on the eastern horizon.

She wasn't alone out in the courtyard. On the nearby bench sat Alistair. He'd spent the better part of the night alone in the courtyard, unable to sleep. He turned when he heard the door open and watched Gráinne step out into the courtyard. In the dim torchlight he saw her, beautiful and strong—and yet so very alone. Among everyone else her face was always passive, betraying nothing of her emotions. Even when they had been together, the mask was still there. But now, when she thought she was alone, it was gone, and Alistair could see the true depth of her loneliness. At that moment, he hated himself.

He stood from the bench and began to walk towards her. The noise attracted Gráinne's attention; as soon as she saw Alistair, the mask returned, her gaze wary and uncertain. He didn't blame her. They looked wordlessly at each other for several moments before Alistair cautiously raised his hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. At first Gráinne made no reaction to the gesture, but then closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He met with no resistance as he gently pulled her into his arms and held her close. It took a moment before he realized she was trembling, and not from the chill air. He said nothing but simply held her tighter and kissed her forehead while she silently wept against his chest.

Loghain fell to the ground, panting heavily and clutching his side. Blood trickled from the wound onto the stone floor. He glanced up at Gráinne, who stood above him with her sword pointed directly at his throat.

"Do you yield?"she demanded.

"I-I yield." Loghain cast aside his sword. "I underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war." He struggled to his feet. "I was wrong."

Gráinne kept her sword raised, her heart still pounding in her chest. "You deserve to die for what you've done."

"Wait." Riordan pushed his way through the crowd of nobles that surrounded them. "There is another option. "The teryn is a warrior and a general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

"Absolutely not!" Alistair yelled in outrage. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"

"There are three Wardens in all of Ferelden, Alistair," Riordan urged. "And there are…compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."

"Besides," Anora stepped in, "the Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" She turned to Gráinne, her eyes pleading. "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

All eyes turned to Gráinne expectantly. Loghain's life was in her hands. She gazed at the man who had betrayed the Grey Wardens and King Cailan, the man who had hunted her and made the lives of her and her friends a living nightmare, the man whose madness nearly destroyed Ferelden. Vengeance boiled in her veins and she clenched the handle of her sword. But would vengeance be worth it if the Blight swallowed them whole?

Alistair stepped towards her. "You can't really be considering this." His eyes burned with the same grief and anger she felt.

Gráinne shook her head and turned back to the crowd. "No. Loghain must be punished for his crimes."

It was then Anora's turn to cry out. "You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

"Yes, I can," Gráinne countered, her eyes piercing. "Ferelden law dictates that treason is a crime punishable by death, no matter who the person is."

Anora opened her mouth again to speak, but Loghain interrupted. "Hush, Anora. The Warden is right." He knelt before Gráinne. "Just make it quick. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

She made his death quick and painless. Blood spattered her robes and poured from his body into a pool on the floor. Nearby, Anora sank to the floor and wept.

Gráinne wiped away the blood from her sword, her mind strangely blank. She'd had enough of strife and bloodshed and the darkness of men. The Blight had already caused enough tragedy.

"So it is decided," Eamon's voice declared. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

This was the moment. If she chose, she could challenge Eamon's claim and make Anora ruler instead. She and Alistair could remain together and continue to mend the rift that had grown between them. Even in the crowd of nobles, Gráinne could feel her father's gaze, urging her to make the choice.

"Yes," she said quietly but clearly. "Alistair will be king."

She sheathed her sword and turned to walk away.