"Heck!" Alistair grabs the bloodied towel in yet another vain attempt to ease the damage, then sighs in resignation. Just like me, making a mess of my face right on the day when every single damned aristocrat of Ferelden is going to stare at the infamous bastard of Maric's. Great.
There is but one option. Making sure that no-one is passing by at the moment, Alistair darts across the corridor and knocks on Wynne's door. "Er, Wynne, could you…" he gestures at the bloody results of his shaving.
The corner of her mouth twitches only slightly as she invokes a healing spell. "Wash your face properly, my dear. We don't want our future king all smudgy."
Even greater. Thanks so much.
The breakfast takes place in grave silence, without the usual banter. Alistair can feel Morrigan's ironic glances on himself: What is it, Alistair, run out of jokes?
Suit yourself, he thinks angrily as he nibbles at the oatmeal. Definitely unappetizing. Where is that damned Grey Warden appetite when one needs it?
"Alistair, are you listening?"
"What?" he startles.
"I said, 'stop staring at that oatmeal as if it was genlock excrement, the rumbling of your stomach won't secure any votes at the Landsmeet."
On mornings like this, I really, really hate you, Ned Cousland!
Though, when he takes a closer look, Ned's plate is also considerably fuller that it should be by this stage of the breakfast. "Just following your example, oh fearless leader."
The sour look he receives in answer definitely improves his mood, for a few seconds.
As he puts on his silverite armour, polished to blinding sheen, his hands tremble so much that Leliana's assistance comes more than handy.
When he tries to fasten an uncooperative buckle for the tenth time, Leliana laughs softly. "Oh, come on, Alistair, it won't be so bad. You're to be crowned, not executed."
"The other option is almost more appealing."
It's definitely past him why she laughs even more but he doesn't protest as she stands on her toes to kiss him.
The kiss would have been much more reassuring if her hands were not ice-cold.
They're the last to join the others in the entrance hall and Ned gives them an impatient glance. Why, you insisted on setting out after Eamon, didn't you?
"Ready?"
Ready, oh Warden Commander. As ready as I can be – and I do hope that I won't throw my breakfast on that pretty breastplate of yours. Though, it has definitely seen much worse defilement. Not that I'm particularly picky about taking equipment from the dead, but putting on something worn by the dead who walked and talked while happily rotting –
Remembering Sophia Dryden's decaying face was not the brightest idea and Alistair takes deep breaths, grateful for the fresh air as they leave the estate.
The royal palace is much closer than he would have preferred, and as they approach, Alistair's nervosity has reached unknown peaks. With every step, he grows more and more certain that the oatmeal will see the daylight again… right before the gathered nobles of Ferelden.
Politics. Of all the beasts and monsters he has faced, this one scares him most.
They pass the gates, unhindered, unattacked. Ned doesn't look left or right, simply marches on, as if no-one and nothing could ever stop them.
That is, until they enter the ante-chamber.
Ser Cauthrien, and not alone.
I knew this was all too easy.Seeing her, and the oncoming fight, Alistair suddenly realizes that his nervosity is gone.
The goal is clear.
There is but one obstacle to be removed.
"Ned Cousland. I am not surprised it has come to this."
It keeps mystifying Alistair what a sweet, girly voice the woman has; it makes her somewhat less detestable and he has to remind himself hard that she is simply another lackey of Loghain's…
Not just 'another'. The one who caused Ned all that misery.
Probably drawn by his glance of hatred, she shifts her attention to him. "And you, Alistair… if you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn't you?"
Hey, it wasn't me who desired a special entrée!
It seems, though, that the question was purely rhetorical, as Cauthrien's eyes immediately return to Ned. "You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom! Do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as Regent and we can put this to rest once you are gone."
And we put this to rest once you are gone.
"Do you really not see what Loghain has become?" Ned asks very softly. Alistair holds his breath: he already knows that intent, hypnotizing gaze, and its impact on those who stand in the way. Cauthrien is no different: for all her bravado, she briefly averts her eyes, and before she can regain composure, Ned continues: "But of course you do. What will you do about it, Ser Cauthrien – will you just close your eyes like you have so far?"
"I… have had… so many doubts of late." She bites her lip, struggling with herself, and sounding even younger. Watching her, Alistair almost finds himself sympathetic: the shell of the confident warrior has broken and revealed a woman full of uncertainty. "Loghain is a great man, but his obsession with the Orlesians has driven him to madness." Her voice breaks. "He has done terrible things, I know it, but I owe him everything. I cannot... Don't ask me to!" Yet still she defends him…
"All I ask is that you let me stop him. You know there is no other way. This cannot be allowed to continue. For the sake of Ferelden."
Now you've got her.
"I never thought duty would taste so bitter..." Cauthrien is definitely holding back tears but she has come to a decision. "Stop him… stop him from betraying everything he once loved." She falls on her knees, her eyes never leaving Ned's. "Please, show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend!"
"He will have the mercy he deserves." Ned's voice shows no emotions and he keeps looking at her until Cauthrien lowers her head.
"Go, then," she whispers barely audibly.
As they approach the large, ornamental door, Alistair's heart slightly speeds up again. The final reckoning has come, and whatever else awaits behind that door. My own fate. And Loghain's, who deserves no mercy at all.
He exchanges glances with Ned, and together they push the door open.