Interlude V: The Reckoning
In the gloom, the two combatants stood barefoot watching each other. A few slivers of sunlight rained down onto them, a courtesy of the thin wall slits that illuminated this chamber, but neither of the pair had moved to light the torches of the room. It was too hot for the light of the fire, too hot too to do much else than to let the cool stone below them ease their feet. Sweat dotted their foreheads and faces, and caused their loose tunics to plaster against heated skin. Heavy shields on their arms and borrowed wooden swords in hand, muscles ached as shoulders panted.
The Warden took a deep breath and stepped to her right, shield at the ready, but as so many times before, Loghain did not counter left. Instead of allowing himself to be corralled into the sight of her remaining eye, Loghain kept himself fixed squarely in her blind spot. He had spent the better part of the day foiling her plans as they had practiced, forcing her to use her other "eye" and her senses in order to defeat him. Staying in the darkness of her left eye was getting more difficult as the day progressed, since the Warden was getting very good at swinging her head about to find him like some long-necked sea predator stalking for her prey.
However, his timing was much better than her fevered search for him. He was able to dance backwards and away as she turned towards him, but so far, he had been unable to goad the Warden into following through with an attack. She had this unfortunate habit of slinking behind her shield when she could not find him, pivoting on her heels whenever he made a sound. Her ears were sharp, but not enough to compensate for what her eye had given her.
Her newfound caution worried Loghain. While she had never been a reckless fighter to begin with, the Warden had attacked and parried with amazing confidence. Here she watched and waited, sucking in her breath to listen for the slightest sound that he might make. It was not a style of fighting that was effective, since Loghain's reach was long, his reflexes battle hardened, and his precision perfect. He was able to step inside the reach of her sword, spin out of her responsive shield bash, and flank her.
The echo of his wooden sword meeting the small of her back echoed throughout the room, and she let out a half-strangled hiss of pain.
"Was that necessary?" she asked in an angry tone, turning towards him with a scowl. Her shield was held wide as a gesture of surrender. "Truly, you had me at defeat when you flanked me."
He shrugged away her anger. "Again," he said, bringing his sword up at the ready to strike. Loghain watched a bead of sweat roll down the Warden's nose as she readied herself for another of his attacks. Her shield, emblazoned with the crest of the Grey Wardens, was held up tightly to cover her body. When she nodded her assent, which she always did, he struck.
In a series of small steps, he closed the distance between them. He would not give her the luxury of hiding behind her shield. If she refused to attack him, then he would attack her and force her to fight back. His sword slashed upward at her sword arm, and she stepped back to avoid the cut. He clattered his shield against her own, sending her stance open wide and her shield off to the left. Loghain gave her time to regroup, to pull her shield over her heaving chest, to use her new sense of sight to her advantage. But she kept tilting her right eye towards him, to find him, and Loghain knew she was back to her old habits. Perhaps she had been telling the truth, and not merely exaggerating.
"You really can't see anything out of that thing, can you?" he asked.
"Not anything to be of use." She said, pulling her shield back to her body, "just a lot of blurry shapes. I cannot fight like this." Her sword arm lowered.
Loghain stretched out his sword arm, waving it just outside of her right eye's field of vision and into that of her left eye's. She moved her head to follow. "Stop that. See if you can focus on my movement. Close your eye, if you have to." He watched her do as he suggested, though with a grimace and a tensing of her jaw. Slowly, he brought his sword am up, and then down. The pommel felt sweaty and hot in the palm of his hand, but managed to rest perfectly amidst the well-earned calluses of his fingers.
The Warden gritted her teeth and shuffled awkwardly behind her shield. "I can see what I think is your arm."
"If it moves like an arm, and it looks like an arm," said Loghain dryly, "then it must be an arm."
"It does not look like an arm," the Warden sighed, "there's too much…noise. I can't describe it, really. Imagine you're in a room with one hundred people, and you are trying to find my voice, but there are many other sounds that distract you. The clinking of glasses, the shuffle of feet, the roar of a fire, the barking of dogs. That's…what it's like, except it's my eye." She stared at him, brow furrowed.
"Irving said you would become more accustomed to it in time, did he not? Will you not be able to tune out the noise?" Loghain pursed his lips in thought as she shrugged helplessly. "We may just have to teach you how to recognize the 'shapes' of basic attacks. Like this, for example. Close your eyes," he crouched, after she did so, and brought his sword arm over his head and waited. "What do you see? How do you see it?"
"I 'see' a big round blob with a long thin blob sticking out from the top of it," said the Warden in frustration.
Slowly, Loghain brought his sword down. "Keep telling me what you see."
"The long thin blob is slowly shrinking," replied the Warden dryly.
"And what do you think that means?"
"I don't know."
"Open your eyes, girl, and look then."
A bitter chuckle from the Warden, "now I can open it?"
"Yes."
The Warden opened her eye, observing the stance that Loghain had taken. She closed her eye again, trying to match up the two images. "Shrinking blob is your sword arm coming down towards me."
"And what do you do when something is striking down towards you?" asked Loghain, trying to keep the chiding tone out of his voice.
The Warden raised her shield, lifting it up until she felt the scrape of Loghain's sword point a few inches higher than her shoulder level.
"Very good," he praised, "now, all we have to work on is your timing."
"This is ridiculously foolish," the Warden pushed Loghain's blow to the side, and his sword slowly fell from her shield. She let her defenses drop, both shield and sword arm drooping. "We don't have time for me to relearn how to fight."
"You aren't relearning how to fight," Loghain frowned, noticing her now vulnerable defense, "you are learning how to fight with a handicap. I have known many good soldiers who managed to continue their careers without the help of a magical eye. Now, again."
The Warden did as she was told, dropping herself into a defensive tuck, shield high and at the ready. "Ready," she said with a sigh.
"Your heart isn't in this, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"You know," Loghain eyed her critically, "you may want to try taking the offensive. It may be that you'll have to change your style in order to adapt to your injury. Give you something new to do."
"I…all right." The Warden switched her footing, weight distributed to spring forward, shield held loose just below her shoulder. "When you are ready."
"I'm ready, girl." Loghain tapped his sword to his shield for emphasis.
The Warden lunged forward, sword arm feinting high and slashing low. Every movement had a counter movement, and it was in this rhythm that the Warden found herself. As if she was living in some memory, her shield arm automatically came up to parry the usual counterattack that came with her sword slash. Her muscles were hot and throbbing in readiness. She felt the sound of Loghain's sword scraping against her shield, and the Warden threw her weight forward in a carefully timed strike, forcing Loghain to stagger backwards as her sword scraped against his own shield. She spun on her heel, forcing him on the defense with another set of attacks that aimed to cut his legs out from under him. Giving him no quarter, the Warden's memory was filled with maneuvers and their counters. Each time she attacked, her shield adjusted accordingly for the sister attack. Loghain's sword slipped along the edges of her shield, unable to break her barrier, while she kept his own shield busy.
As she rocked forward on her toes to begin another series of maneuvers, Loghain spun just outside of her line of sight, and the Warden felt a sharp, sudden crack of another's shield against her own. Her arm shook as the force of the blow sent her shield wide and over her head. Her feet slipped against the stone as she lost her balance, the weight above her head too great for her current stance. Her sword dropped to the ground as her arm flailed for balance, one leg kicked out blindly, and she brought her other hand up to drag her stray shield arm down.
Two clatters hit the ground, and then a strong arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling. She felt herself pulled back against a pair of warm hips, as Loghain pulled her flush against his body for balance. His free hand came up to assist her struggling shield arm, slowly tugging the shield over her forearm and head. He let it gently fall to his side, the clatter sounding through the templars' empty training room.
"You can't predict your opponent's movements," he chided, though his tone was gentle. His thick eyebrows were knotted close on his brow in concern. "A sword fight isn't won by rote or by memory. While you may try to force me into attacking and parrying in certain ways, whether or not I do is another matter. Also, you will tire if you try to attack like that. If you wish to end your fights quickly, try not to fight at all."
The Warden's hands had been gripping Loghain's broad shoulders for stability, her fingers digging into the cords of muscle. She withdrew one hand, using it to push away the stray hair that had stuck to her sweaty face. She also mopped at her brow and his with the edge of her sleeve. "Hopefully," she said, raising her grey eye to his, "it will always be old men who pick fights with me." Her lips quirked into a bitter smile, "do not think I didn't notice your labored breathing. My memories or not, you were also getting tired."
"I'm not a proud enough man to admit to the contrary," Loghain let loose a bark of rueful laughter, the hot air of his breath brushing against her cheeks, "but I guarantee you, madam, you would be hard pressed to fight two of me."
Color flushed to the Warden's cheeks. Hard pressed, indeed. "Of that I have no doubt." She leaned forward, sagging against him bonelessly, her cheek pressed into his shoulder. She could smell his sweat, and felt the cool, slickness of his neck. She was tired.
Loghain's shoulders stiffened and he pulled her away from him, standing her within an elbow's reach. With the Warden watching on with curiosity, he brought his large, sword-callused hands to either side of her face and slowly turned it one way, then the other. He watched her lonely eye and the way that it adjusted to his ministrations. It twittered between his eyes, nose, and lips. "Do you think," he said thoughtfully, "that it is your patch that is causing you trouble?" His thumb skirted the bottom edge of the black matte fabric for emphasis. "You could take it off for the next round."
"No," said the Warden, stormy eye suddenly focused on him. Her lips tightened, "the enchantment works the same with or without covering."
"Ah," Loghain shrugged, letting his hands fall away at the Warden's irritated stare, "was just a thought. You may want to try it, though."
The Warden shook her head and turned from him, gathering her sword and shield from the floor. "I will practice on my own, if that is the case."
"Aurora," Loghain's tone was stern, "it is just an eye. You could have lost your - "
"My life?" she finished for him.
"No," Loghain shook his head, "don't be daft. You could have lost your hand. If you think learning to fight with a magically enchanted eye is difficult, try training your left hand to do what your right can no longer. No mage is going to regrow you a hand."
"Well, no mage has yet regrown me an eye." The Warden had her back turned to Loghain, and so secretly admired the contours of her hands and the flexibility of her fingers. "I just wish that, for once, things were simple."
"If you think being Teyrna of Highever or the wife of some Bann would be easy, you would be wrong." Loghain came to stand beside her, "politics is not simple. Marriages aren't simple; Maker's breath, children aren't simple."
"Ah," the Warden shrugged away his presence, lips pulled back into a half-grimace at his comments, "well, who knows if any of those things were in my future anyway. I could have never chosen to marry, never been Teyrna of Highever, and merely lived off my brother's wealth. Life would have been simple then."
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "My apologies, but you don't seem the type."
"I'm not the type for a lot of things, Loghain Mac Tir." The Warden's thoughts were taking a dark turn for the worse. Children, and marriage, and Highever, all of the things that she had been groomed for that she would never get to partake in. Being freed of them should have been a relief, but she felt as though she had lost her normalcy.
"Stop it."
The Warden felt Loghain's sword point, dull and heavy, between her shoulder blades. "What?"
"You're moping." Loghain pressed the point harder, "Stop it."
"I am not moping," replied the Warden lamely.
He scoffed at that. "I've had a daughter and a wife, I know what moping is. I know what it looks like, madam."
"I'm a Grey Warden, we do not mope. We suffer." The Lady chuckled quietly, "that was terrible, wasn't it?"
Loghain nodded, though she could not see it. "It was."
"Loghain, why did you follow me?" the Warden turned to look over her shoulder, her good eye appraising the man in his beige, sweat-soaked tunic as he moved to gather his fallen arms. "And how did you know?"
Loghain raised an eyebrow at her. "You say that in a rather accusatory tone."
"Well, didn't you trust me?" she asked. She narrowed her eye as she waited for him to speak.
"Trust someone who was being ferried across to the far shore of Lake Calenhad in the middle of the night after a long day of traveling? Pah," his lip curled back, "I wouldn't even trust Maric in that situation."
"That brings me very little comfort," the Warden grumbled.
"It isn't supposed to," Loghain walked to the far wall and slowly rested his shield and sword against it, before moving a short distance away and sinking to the floor. "My knees aren't as good as they once were," he winced as he stretched his legs out in front of him. His back rested stiff and straight against the stone, hands settling on his thighs.
The Warden imitated his behavior, resting her own sword and shield beside his before she crouched down in the space between his parted legs. She rested her hands before her, distributing her weight on them in her frog crouch. "So how did you know it was me then?"
"I didn't," said Loghain with a wry smile, "your Mabari did."
He settled back against the wall, telling her of what had happened, while the Warden lowered herself fully down to the floor and sat cross-legged before him, nestled between his knees.
Loghain sat on the edge of the pier, skipping stones into the still water of Lake Calenhad. At his side rested his shield and sword, and behind him Dane paced nervously. The Mabari, not wanting to be left alone inside the inn, had followed Loghain out to the water he detested so much. As he paced, he shook his head from side to side and growled, hopping into a fighting stance every so often and growling at the massive expanse of water before them.
"So you don't like water, do you?" Loghain chuckled. "When Aurora told me that on the road here, I would never have guessed it. I suppose that explains why you go barking mad whenever there's snow on the ground, pardon the pun."
Dane only whimpered in agreement, snuffling and shuffling on the thick wooden planks.
"It isn't going to hurt you," said Loghain of the water, "you've got big strong muscles to swim with."
This didn't seem to ease the war dog, who continued to alternate between whimpering and growling at the lake. His paws scratched on the thick wood, nails digging small grooves in the weatherworn surface.
Loghain sighed, "If you keep moving about like that, I'm going to have to feed you again." Loghain had spent a fair amount of coin on their dinner; which consisted of three roasted (more appropriately charred) rabbits. Loghain had only gotten to eat half of his, having had to contend with Dane's large, sad eyes as he mournfully watched every mouthful the old Warden had taken. "And I don't think your mistress would appreciate me spending the coin to fatten you up." He skipped another stone on the water.
Their accommodations were simple enough, but the denizens at the Spoiled Princess were a gloomy sort and Loghain did not really blame them. Living in the shadow of the Circle Tower, they were always in danger of becoming prey to any magical mishaps. He did not particularly envy them their scenic views of the legendary lake and the beautiful countryside and forests of their landscape, for Loghain Mac Tir trusted magic about as much as he trusted anyone other than himself.
Magic had failed Loghain Mac Tir many times, beginning first with the Orlesian occupation. The intent of Ferelden's fancy, frilly-knickered cousin had been discovered too late. If the mages had been less concerned with themselves, and more concerned with the country that they resided in, then perhaps they could have divined the Orlesian occupation. With advanced warning, Loghain was sure that his countrymen could have repelled the invaders easily. But as it was, the mages had been (and still were) concerned primarily with their secrets and their societies, and had left their country to twist and burn under foreign rule.
The last time that magic had failed Loghain was in the death of Ferelden's queen. For all the power of magic, for all the skill of its users, for all the convenience that it did, magic had failed to save Rowan Guerrin. She had wasted away under the careful eyes of Ferelden's best healers. Her eyes had sunk, her glorious hair had turned brittle, and her skin had gone as thin as paper. She died a shade, which was how (bitterly) Loghain thought of her position in life: the second love, the dutiful queen, but always in the shadow of another.
Where magic had been needed the most in Loghain's life, it had failed, and Loghain had not forgiven such trespass.
But the Warden did not seem to share his sentiments, for she had made a powerful friend within the Circle. Wynne was a tenacious old woman, and though she had butt heads with Loghain often during those last few moments of the Blight, they had come to an understanding about one another. She did not like him, and she certainly did not understand his motives, but they had the same cause and the same quest. They held the same respect for their Commander, and in that, they could at least share. He knew Aurora saw her as a motherly figure, and Loghain himself had had a grandmother much like Wynne and knew the appeal. She had been wise, of strong convictions, and had the ability to make the best jam tarts in all of Ferelden.
Loghain missed the old woman quite a bit, but was thankful that she had passed away before the Orlesian occupation, before she could see what the invaders had done to her daughter, his mother.
Three stones in quick succession glided over the glassy surface of the lake, but his fourth was angled badly and fell with a large splash. A few droplets of water splattered over the pier. They were not close enough to reach Dane, but the Mabari lunged at them anyway, snapping at the air next to Loghain's foot.
"Did someone drown you as a pup?" Loghain reached out a hand and scratched at the riled Mabari's fur, nails stroking deep against the thick flap of skin behind the dog's neck that served to protect it. "Wasn't your mistress, was it?"
Dane barked, which Loghain assumed meant, 'No, my mistress didn't attempt to drown me.'
The Warden grunted. "Of course I never tried to drown Dane!" She looked highly offended, her nose wrinkling high in indignation on her face. "Nor did anyone in my family!"
Loghain merely shook his head. "Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?"
The Warden fell silent in response.
Loghain chuckled and his fingers absently moved to that place behind the Mabari's ears that were the most sensitive. His fingertips grazed the area gently, slowly rubbing small circles into the short, prickly fur. Despite his unease, Dane's tongue peaked out of his mouth. He lowered himself beside Loghain with a grunt, large head resting on his paws.
In the light of the moon, Loghain could clearly see the Mabari's bone-white kaddis streaking across the dark fur. The kaddis had been enchanted, since Loghain could feel it tingling just below his hand, but with what he did not know. If it were his mabari, he would have had some sort of stone-shell enchantment, something to make his war dog impervious to all weapons. Knowing Aurora, she had probably chosen something similar, though one could never tell with women. Whatever she had chosen though, it would need reapplying. The kaddis was beginning to wear.
"Must be terrible trying to get you to bathe, eh?"
Dane just rumbled in response and Loghain hadn't even needed to ask the question. He had seen the Mabari's mistress try to coax her dog into a stream to bathe, or entice him into rolling in the snow. Thankfully for them all, Dane abhorred all liquids. Mud, blood, spilled milk, it did not matter. It was only in the rain that Dane was ever clean, and even that he suffered sullenly.
"She won't have us take the boat to Val Royeaux because of you. It's a long walk for us, pup, all because you hate the water!"
Dane did not seem grateful or surprised with the news; he was concerned only with Loghain's fingers in his fur, weaving delightful patterns against his skin. He was also grateful for the meaty rabbit leg that Loghain slipped him from one of his pockets.
"You are spoiling my dog," remarked the Warden with a smirk. "The long walk to Orlais may do him some good."
"Your dog was long spoiled before I ever came along," replied Loghain, mirroring her expression, "but has more alacrity than we give him credit for."
Dane did not get to enjoy the snack, for the sound of wood parting water reached Dane's ears. The Mabari stood, ears pointed forward, eyes alert as he peered into the gloom. Loghain sucked in his breath, staring where Dane did. In the moonlight, he could see the glinting of armor on the distant shore of the Circle Tower. He could see the rippling of the moon's reflection at the small island's pier; the shadow of a boat in the water. Who would be taking out a boat so late?
Letting out a loud growl, Dane's nails pawed at the dock as he set about the area in a quick pace. He swung his head back and forth, whimpering, and whining at the boat that was slowly moving towards the eastern shore.
"That could be your mistress." Loghain pursed his lips. If that was indeed the Warden, he thought her a fool for leaving the Circle Tower so late at night. She was there on a social visit; there was no need to go traipsing into the woods. Her odd habits or not, the Warden was not someone who willingly gave up the warmth and safety of a roof over her head in the dark hours of the night. So what was it that brought her out so late and without coming back to get him first?
If that was even her at all.
Best to go take a look.
He eyed the boat that had been tied carefully to the pier, resting alongside the dock in the shallow water for the evening. It was fairly late, and most of the good folk in the area had retired to bed (Loghain himself was only awake because of the gnawing feeling in his gut). By the blackened windows and darkened doorways of the small homesteads in the area, he knew it was unlikely that anyway was awake to ferry him across, which meant that he would have to do it himself.
Loghain pushed himself to a stand, gathered his sword and shield, and made the necessary preparations to make the small boat ready for travel. Dane wandered behind him as he set about uncoiling the rope from its home, unwrapping it halfway before he clambered down into the small craft to finish the task.
Dane let out a snuffling whine, looking at Loghain in agitated fashion.
"Do you think you can handle the trip, Dane?" Loghain asked the Mabari, lifting his head as he spoke.
The Mabari seemed uncertain of the answer, tail wiggling in agitation as his large, dark eyes regarded the boat, the Circle Tower, Loghain, and the eastern shore.
"I can't wait for you," Loghain was nearing the end of the rope, "if you're coming, get in."
And so Dane did. His large paws surprisingly delicate and agile, he lowered himself into the boat. Settling himself in front of Loghain, his head turned to follow the movement of the other boat. As Loghain gathered the oars in each hand and with powerful strokes sent their boat gliding across the water, Dane watched the eastern shore with vigilance. His concentration only broke when Loghain brought them alongside the pier on the opposite shore.
Here a templar greeted them, tying their boat to the dock and helping Loghain out with a steady hand. Though Loghain was only in the light, leather padding he wore below his heavy set of plate, he was feeling his age acutely in his knees and so standing and moving out of the boat was a more awkward task than he had originally predicted. It was made more awkward by the cumbersome weight of the shield strapped to his back. Dane, on the other hand, had no trouble exiting the boat at all. His powerful muscles easily catapulted him from the boat, pushing it out into the water (and nearly taking the started Loghain with it) where it tugged fitfully against its binding.
"Do you often have people leaving the Circle Tower so late at night?" asked Loghain of the templar who had greeted them.
"Not usually," responded the templar, "but tonight has been full of unwanted and unfortunate surprises."
Loghain raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
The templar's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't know where to begin, but I think it is I who should be doing the questioning. Who are you, sir, and what is your business here so late at our Tower?"
Loghain harrumphed. "I am Loghain Mac Tir, a Grey Warden, and my commander came here earlier this evening to meet one of her friends, the mage Wynne. She has yet to return, and her mabari has been acting strangely since he saw a boat leave here not too long ago."
"Ah," the templar sounded contrite, "forgive me, I did not recognize you in the dark, Teyrn. I am Ser Bryant."
"I'm not a Teyrn anymore, and I don't care who you are. Tell me what has happened here. And make it quick, please."
"You didn't have to be so mean to Ser Bryant," the Warden frowned, "he is a perfectly pleasant man."
"He was occupying me with useless details," replied Loghain.
"His name is not useless."
"Maybe not to you," Loghain smirked, "why, dare I say that you like Ser Bryant?"
The Warden's eye widened in surprise. "As a friend!"
"How merciful for Ser Bryant, because a man like him wouldn't know how to handle you."
Her eyebrows raised high. "And who would know how to 'handle' me?"
Loghain shrugged, feigning innocence. "I haven't the faintest idea, but mark my words, not someone like him."
For emphasis, Dane growled at the familiar templar.
Ser Bryant scowled. "There is a renegade templar on the eastern shore. He…" the templar seemed ashamed, "raped and killed three mages. The Circle Tower is in a political schism because of King Alistair's verdict that the mages should practice free of the Chantry, and tensions are running high here. The mages cannot take their justice out on him without many here taking offense. Likewise, there are few here who are willing to hunt him down, and if he escaped, the mages would accuse us of aiding him. It could start a war here, as there is little love between us. Not after what Uldred put us through. What he put Cullen through. His words have struck true with many of my brothers and sisters."
At the mention of the rape, Loghain let out an audible swear. The only thing Loghain hated more in the world than rapists were the Orlesians, and as far as he was concerned, they were all rapists anyway. "So you had the poor girl go and do your dirty work for you?" Loghain shook his head in disgust, "Typical. She's the Hero of Ferelden, not some damned errand girl. Did you realize we'd been on the road all day? She hasn't even eaten since midday. She's probably exhausted."
"She volunteered," said Ser Bryant in his defense. "It was her decision."
"Pah. You probably managed to guilt her in to it in some way." Loghain turned his head towards the eastern shore. He stretched out his hand and pointed. "She's over there, you say?"
Ser Bryant nodded. "Yes, we had Carroll take her across less than a half-hour ago."
"Good. You will take me there, Ser Bryant." Loghain gestured to the boat behind him.
"Why don't you ferry yourself there, Warden Mac Tir?" asked the templar, irritation clear in his voice at Loghain's treatment of him. "You have all the necessary equipment."
"Because," replied Loghain, as though he were talking to a small child, "I will need my arms for fighting. If my arms are tired, I will not fight as well. If your templar brother really slew three mages, then he must be quite an adept swordsman."
Ser Bryant looked at him, quite unconvinced and unmoved.
"And because," Loghain added, "there is a tired, hungry woman on the far shore who could use our help. Don't do it for me, but do it for her if you like. Or do it for the dog. His sounds are breaking my heart."
Dane whimpered, staring up at Ser Bryant with wide, sad eyes.
Ser Bryant glanced down at Dane and then immediately back up to Loghain, wincing. "Mabari."
"Quite," agreed Loghain, giving Dane a pat on the head. "A Mabari without his mistress. Come along, Ser Bryant. Let's go to the eastern shore."
"We'll use one of our boats," Ser Bryant gave a wave for Loghain to follow, leading him to one of the larger rowboats that could easily accommodate two or three fully armored templar, and at least one slim mage. The templars on dock duty stared at him with curiosity, until he explained the situation. Fumbling about in one of the other tethered boats, he tossed in an extra set of oars, which Loghain looked at with some contempt. "The two of us rowing together will make getting to the eastern shore quicker." He gave Loghain a pointed stare. "And lighten the rowing load."
Loghain grumbled in response, settling himself with some difficulty into the boat while Ser Bryant prepped them for departure. Dane settled himself at the prow, resting his front paws on the edge as he stared with determination at the tree line.
Turning to look over his shoulder, Loghain thought he could see the outline of a boat on the far shore, but the moon had passed behind a cloud and sent the world into darkness. "Won't you want a lantern?" he asked Ser Bryant, who had just lowered himself into the boat in front of him.
Ser Bryant shook his head. "No. If Cullen is in sight of Lake Calenhad, we do not want him to notice our coming. The moonlight has a chance to give us away, but a lantern most assuredly will."
Loghain shrugged and lifted the oars, mirroring Ser Bryant's movements in front of him. "If you say so."
Pushing them away from the dock with a combination of gauntlet and paddle, Ser Bryant sent them across to the eastern shore at a brisk pace. Loghain struggled to match the other man's pace. Though no stranger to ships and streams, they were not Loghain's specialty and he much preferred dry land. Ser Bryant, on the other hand, seemed well accustomed to boats, and his strokes were long and steady. Despite the awkward way Loghain strove to match strokes, they made it across to the eastern shore with relatively little splashing and time lost. All the while, Dane watched the far bank.
At the scraping of rocks, Ser Bryant and Loghain clambered out into the knee-deep water and dragged their boat ashore. They pulled it alongside the boat and its owner that already rested on the rocky beach. Dane jumped out once the boat had been nestled firmly on dry land.
"Watching the boat are you, Carroll?" asked Ser Bryant, his eyes narrowing at his brother templar who rested with his head in his hands.
"Yes, vigilantly," replied Carroll dully. He did not raise his head as he spoke. He kept his gaze fixated on the bottom of the boat in which he sat. "Lots of things to guard it from out here."
"Like rotting leaves and moss?" Ser Bryant shook his head.
"Cullen could come back and take it?" Carroll's shoulders seemed to shrug. "I didn't think Greagoir would want him to escape with one of our boats. That is why you had me bring her out here, after all. To capture him." His eyes raised to Ser Bryant's face, "She was sent to capture him, right?"
"Yes," Ser Bryant nodded, "she was."
"Speaking of the lady in question," Loghain watched as Dane sniffed and pawed at the ground, "where did she go?"
Carroll's eyes darted to Loghain's, "just straight up the hill. She didn't go down the shore; she just headed straight into the forest."
"Straight up, eh?" Loghain looked at the sloping forested terrain before him, "just like her." He gave a low whistle to Dane. "Come along, pup, and sniff her out."
Dane didn't need to be told twice, and with his head to the ground, he led the chase into the woods. Loghain had trouble following him at such a rapid pace, and had to whistle quietly to the dog to slow down, to wait for him to climb the uncertain path. He bludgeoned his way through foliage, shoving aside brambles and boughs with his powerful chest and arms. Loghain had drawn the bow in his youth (and found himself returning to it in his spare time) and had retained the strength (and physique) that it had given him.
But though he could plow through the underbrush with ease, he found his legs tiring and his knees aching at the climbing. He was becoming an old man, and had seen too many battles and climbed too many lofty staircases to say that his lower body was still in prime condition. They were getting into the thick forest now, and there was no turning back. The incline Dane was leading him up sent waves of pain through his joints, but he had to keep going, if not for the dog on the chase, but for the Warden's own safety. If nothing else, he at least got the chance to scold her for being irresponsible while she wiped down her sword. But the thought of her death troubled him greatly, for if she died, he would be left to manage the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. He would have to suffer through Alistair's politics and foreign entreating. He had wanted to spend his old age in peace, as a reward for the service that he had done for his country. He had not planned on doing…this.
The Warden frowned, worrying on her lower lip as she looked at him with a thoughtful cant of her head. "You don't have to come with me to Orlais. I can leave you in Ferelden."
Loghain shook his head. "They'll eat you alive."
The Lady just sighed in return and waved her hand, ordering him to continue with the simple movement.
He knew he was going the right direction though, for as Dane led him onwards, he could see the way that the trees and the shrubs had been mangled by a recent passerby. Leaves seemed sheared straight off their branches and the branches themselves appeared to be snapped and severed by a great weight.
Dane seemed more agitated now, presumably because the scent was becoming stronger.
And then the wind called out to them.
"They were not women, they were mages!"
"And you are not a man, you're a monster! Fight me for your freedom!"
The sound of battle was ahead of him. It was faint, still a few minutes away, and above the rise of this hill, but it was there.
Dane abandoned all pretenses of waiting for Loghain, bounding up the hill with his powerful muscles at the sound of his mistress's voice and that of her quarry's. However, something seemed to catch Dane's paw as he rose to the crest of the hill, and he tumbled backwards the way he came. He caught Loghain in the gut as he fell, and together the two slid bodily down the side of the hill. Both Mabari and Man clawed and scratched at the leaves and the earth as they fell, trying to slow their descent and make up for lost ground.
It was to no avail though, and both stared balefully at the hill they had just climbed.
"Come on," grunted Loghain, pushing himself roughly to his feet and climbing the hill now, hand over hand, balls of his feet pushing against the rocks and roots that jutted from the wooded mound.
Dane shook his head, sneezing away dust and dirt, before he (more carefully, this time) sprinted up beyond Loghain, his thick legs mindful of the twists and traps on the ground. This time he slowed and came to a stop before skirting the top, waiting, and pawing for the very close Loghain to catch up. The wind shook the woods around them, and leaves fell onto the disturbed earth. Some of them swept down into Loghain's face and he shook his head and spat them away, forcing himself faster up the hill.
A scream pierced the air, a haggard, terrible scream. A woman's scream. Not a scream triumphant or a scream enraged, but a scream agonized.
Cold energy coursed through Loghain's body, as if someone had emptied all the ice water in the River Dane through his veins. He felt himself catapult over the edge of the hill, thighs and knees knowing they would pay the price the next day, and knew that Dane had done the same. The crude trap that had been placed at the hill's top had already been sprung, and so neither man nor beast needed to fear it. They lunged forward through the thick copse of trees that separated them from the firelight, and there found the Warden and her prey.
Loghain had drawn his sword and shield and now stared at the owner of this small campsite who was in the process of picking himself up from the ground. An empty glass vial dropped from his hand as he saw Loghain, and with a look of shock, he fumbled on the ground for the nearest fallen sword. In front of him, the Warden writhed and clawed at the ground. She bellowed and yelled, clutching and scraping at her face, though Loghain could not see it from the way she was facing. Her back arched and her legs kicked out, before she burrowed her face and her head into the dirt.
He remembered another woman. He remembered his mother.
"So you like to torture and rape women, do you, Cullen?" asked Loghain to the renegade templar, watching as the man slowly positioned himself behind his shield. "Did you think you could try it with her too, you perverse bastard?"
"They weren't women!" Cried Cullen back to him, "They were mages!"
Loghain was finding it difficult to concentrate with the Warden's flailing limbs and throaty hollering. From the corner of his eye, he could see Dane slinking off into the woods to flank the templar.
"You think repeating that dogma to me is going to make any sort of difference? She was going to take you back, boy, give you a fair trial, but I have no such mercy for you, rapist scum."
In the few moments it took for Cullen to try to formulate a response, Dane sprung into action. Having managed to avoid detection from his initial burst through the foliage by slinking behind Loghain's legs, he had darted back into the underbrush, circled passed the ground where his mistress lay in pain, and had come to crouch in the shadows behind Cullen. As the templar opened his mouth to speak, Dane rushed the templar's legs.
With the full weight of the war dog bearing down behind his knees, Cullen had no choice but to fall backwards. Dane slipped between his legs, turned, and lunged at Cullen's sword arm. His strong jaws clamped down on the expanse of chain mail between Cullen's gauntlet and couter, effectively locking down the templar's sword arm. Cullen tried to use his wrist to bring the sword up to slash at the Mabari, but all his strokes were dull and without force. The sword bounced harmlessly off Dane's thick hide.
Loghain lost no time in capitalizing on the templar's misfortune. As soon as the templar had been knocked off balance, Loghain had crossed the distance between them. With no snide parting words and with no fanfare, Loghain brought the tip of his sword straight through the most vulnerable part of the templar: his neck. As Cullen struggled with Dane, Loghain sunk the blade straight below the templar's chin and gave it a sharp, sudden twist to the right for good measure.
Cullen's hands scrabbled at his throat, but did not last long in the endeavor. He died choking on his own blood and regrets, like he had left Tahirah Amell, Winnifred Blake, and Neria Surana before him.
Loghain withdrew his sword, certain of his kill, sheathed it, and rushed to the Warden's side. He knelt beside her and brought his hands to her shoulders. She writhed and pulled away from him, screaming for her mother.
"Aurora," he called to her, "Aurora, I'm here. I've come to take you to safety. How badly are you hurt, dearheart?"
The Warden did not answer him with words, and only drove her face deeper into the dirt and her body further away from him each time he tried to pull her against his chest. "Mother!" she screamed, "mother, help me!" Her hands clutched at her hair and at the earth. She sobbed and wailed, her tears soaking the leaves and her cheeks.
Dane came to rest on the Warden's other side, and used his large head to nudge the Warden's shoulder away from the ground and into the air. She rolled, howling in agony, as the open air touched the dripping, mangled burn of her face. Loghain caught her in his arms as she rolled towards him, cradling her head and chest on his thigh. He spat out a string of ugly curses he hoped she would forget when he saw the bubbling, oozing flesh and the thick bits of raw skin hanging ragged from what was once her smooth features.
Loghain remembered the vial dropping from Cullen's hand and cursed the dead man for such a treacherous act. Truly, he had been a desperate man.
But time was of the essence, and Loghain did not have enough of it to dwell. "I'm sorry," he apologized, though the Warden would not appreciate it yet, and slowly he sat forward into a crouch. Carrying her in his arms would be awkward because she was still partially armored, but it was the only way he was going to get her out of the woods, since it seemed that Ser Bryant had stayed with Ser Carroll to gossip. He slipped a hand behind her knees and sent the other behind her back. Slowly, from his thighs up, he stood. The Warden's hands clamped instinctively around his neck, and her good cheek rested against his chest. He could feel her tears wetting the skin of his neck as she hollered extra loud at the sudden breeze on her raw skin.
Maker's breath, but she was heavy.
"Pardon me?" asked the Warden, mouth agape at his description of her weight.
Loghain chuckled. "Madam, you are pardoned."
Loghain's back ached, his joints ached, his head ached –
"His face will ache," offered the Warden with a sweet smile.
Loghain grunted his understanding. "I'll cease making you insecure."
"Dane," he said, taking a deep, steadying breath, "Can you find us a way down from here that doesn't require us falling down a hill?" He winced as the Warden let out a particularly loud shriek. Since she could not rub or cover her wound without falling from his arms, all she could do to release the pain was to scream.
Dane set about dashing out of the campsite and into the woods, shuffling and shaking the underbrush until he let out a frantic series of barks. Carefully, Loghain picked his way through openings in the trees, shifting his body left and right so that the Warden did not have her legs jostled against the trunks of the trees. He found Dane on the opposite end of the hill they had climbed. There was a fairly steady, even slope on this side. It ran parallel to a thick cluster of trees that rose high from the rocky shore of Lake Calenhad. They were very close to the beach, which meant that getting back to Ser Bryant, Ser Carroll and the boats would not be difficult.
For once, something was going right this night.
With Dane taking lead to pathfind, Loghain staggered behind him. For each step he took, the Warden wailed like a banshee and dug her fingers into his neck. The smell of her rotting skin was absolutely rancid, and the stink of it turned his stomach many times over. Loghain was not a man who often prayed, but in his head, he begged the Maker that the tools he had given his servants would be enough to heal her. Because if it were not, then this would be yet another example of how magic failed Loghain Mac Tir when he needed it the most.
Her forehead was resting just below his chin, and his head dipped low. His dry lips scratched along her head, strands of her sweaty, dirty, flaxen colored hair catching in his mouth. "We're almost there, girl," he said, though more for his benefit than her own. "Almost there."
And they were, for they were rounding a bend on the eastern sore when Dane began to bark and Ser Bryant appeared before them. The templars shoulders were heaving under the strain of running in his armor and he spoke to them with labored breath.
"I heard the screaming," he explained, "and came as quickly as I could. I lost you in the woods back there. You may be an old man, but Maker's breath, you're fast." His eyes darted to the bundle of limbs in Loghain's arms and his mouth dropped in horror. "Dear Maker, what has happened? We must get her to the Circle Tower, quickly!"
"Cullen burned her face with some sort of potion," Loghain shifted the Warden in his arms (which was no easy feat while walking), "probably wouldn't have happened if your man over there," he tilted his head towards the boats for emphasis, "hadn't sat and guarded the boat."
"I'll deal with Carroll's negligence later." Ser Bryant looked between the Warden and Loghain, "Do you want me to carry her?"
Loghain shook his head. "No. We don't have to torture her any further. Just…" he took in a deep breath of air, "stop crowding me. I can't breathe."
Ser Bryant nodded, giving Loghain some air as they passed over the pebbly beach towards the boats. If the mages could not fix this…
Ser Carroll was watching them as they returned, having only taken notice of them when he heard the Warden's screaming getting closer. He winced when he saw the Warden's face, and Loghain thought he could see the young man's face pale in the moonlight.
"Carroll," ordered Ser Bryant, "you will take the Mabari back to the shore. I will ferry the Wardens across myself."
Dane did not seem pleased by this arrangement, and he barked and growled his protest at Ser Bryant, before Loghain interfered.
"Dane," Loghain looked him right in the eye, "I know you want to be with your mistress. But I have got to keep her steady in the boat. Nothing will happen to you out on the water."
Dane barked.
"I promise."
The Mabari's head dropped low in acceptance, and he slunk to Carroll's boat with a mournful stare back at the other boat where Ser Bryant was helping Loghain settle into it with his precious burden.
Loghain rested his back against the edge of the boat, his arms folded tightly around the shivering, twitching, wailing bundle of Grey Warden in his arms. He kept her good cheek pressed firmly against his chest, his fingers tangling deep into her hair as he did so. With her upper body and head trapped, the only part of her free to move was her legs. Her heels ground into the wood of the boat, and she began their path just below her knee so that when she extended her legs the heels squeaked against the boat's siding. Over and over again, she did this, as if the self-stimulation would somehow wash away the pain of her injury.
Ser Bryant and Loghain said nothing to each other on the way back to the Circle Tower. Loghain kept his fixed firmly on the Tower, while Ser Bryant stared at the eastern shore. It was only when they were being helped out of the boat that Ser Bryant asked of Cullen's fate.
Ser Bryant had steered them as close to the island's shore as he could before hopping into the knee high water and dragging the boat bodily out of the water. He whistled sharply, and the four templars that Loghain had met on dock duty appeared from down the path. "Did you kill him?" he asked, bending his head low so that his lips were by Loghain's ear.
Loghain nodded. "I did."
"You are certain of it?"
Loghain nodded again and he heard Ser Bryant sigh as he stood.
"We need healers!" called Ser Bryant to his fellows, who were coming down the path towards them. "Go get the mages! The Hero of Ferelden has been injured!"
Loghain wanted to wince for the Warden, and he did, for she let out the most horrific cry, as if to emphasize Ser Bryant's statement.
The Hero of Ferelden had indeed been gravely injured.
"I brought you into the Circle Tower, carried you like my bride up many flights of stairs, and brought you to the bed where you awoke." Loghain finished his tale and rested his hands on his thighs. He watched the Warden, who was watching him. For all her previous cajoling and interrupting, she was somber. Her grey eye was sad and silent, and at that moment, he missed its twin as much as she did. "And that is how," he said quietly, "you came to the care of the mages that night."
Slowly, her hands came out to cover his. They rested lightly, hard and warm, against his own.
Loghain could feel the sword calluses and the scars on her palms, and he dropped his eyes to look at them. He was surprised how large her hands were. They were not so large as to be masculine, but they were practical, Fereldan hands, and they had long, tapered fingers suited more to harp playing than swordplay. A few of the nails were chipped and broken, but they were still pleasing to look at. They intrigued Loghain, those hands, for they could both kill and soothe men.
He looked at her face again. She was still staring at him. He decided then that this woman had a strange and curious power over men and that if she had lost to him at the Landsmeet, he probably still would have lost the war for Ferelden. As Moira, the Rebel Queen, had led and inspired many to revolt against the Orlesians, so too would this woman, this Cousland, have done the same to him. And when she had died, for Loghain would have eventually found her and killed her, she would have been some glorious martyr for someone else, someone like him long ago.
"Loghain Mac Tir," her fingertips gently stroked down the length of his hands, fingertips grazing the backs of his fingers, "you are a good man." And then, with a gentle push of her hips, she was kissing him. She raised herself to her knees, placed her hands on either side of his head, fingers slipping through the thick black hair at his temples, and placed kiss after gentle kiss on his forehead.
Loghain had to shut his eyes, for her movement had jostled open the unbuttoned neck of her tunic and the curves of her breasts were laid bare to him. "If you think me so, madam," and Loghain could not help the dryness of his tone, "who am I to argue?"
She laughed at the statement and kissed his forehead a final time before sinking down once more before him. With rosy cheeks, the Lady said nothing to him in response, but instead she smiled and her eye looked less lonely for it.
So! Now we have seen Loghain's side of the drama in Chapter 14, and hopefully that has answered any questions/tied up any loose ends about why things went down the way they did. Also, I am slowly working on updating the fanmix, it is just hard to find internet available versions of the songs I listen to when writing! No matter. As always, lots of love goes out to my inspiration and conspirator Lady Winde. Love also goes out to the readers. Thank you for hanging in there!