In answer to a reviewer question, I have been playing DA2 and enjoying it, but am as motivated as ever to finish The Arrangement. I know I am not the quickest at updating, especially as these chapters are pivotal and have required a lot of thought and work, but hopefully the result is better for it. Thank you all for your interest and readership, and to SurelyForth as always for the beta support. Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. -A.
3 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.
Ellie woke to shouting and the sound of Cutha growling from Gareth's room. Bolting from her bed, she ran to the boy's room and found the mabari tugging at his covers trying to wake him. Crossing to Gareth's bed, Ellie turned up his bedside lamp and reached to shake Gareth's arm.
Anya appeared in the doorway soon after, muttering, "Maker preserve us, another nightmare?" There had been several in past days, a rarity for the young Mac Tir.
Gareth started awake, eyes wide and panting. "Mamma."
"It was just a bad dream, love." Ellie sat and stroked his cheek and the forehead, plastered with sweaty locks of brown hair. She turned to Anya. "Fetch him some water, please." Turning back, Ellie's brow knit with worry. Gareth had rested back and lay quiet, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his blanket.
It had been a week and a half since Loghain's departure. Initial reports back from the south were promising. The king's forces had engaged the darkspawn even before Loghain arrived, but the skirmishes were going well. Highever and Amaranthine would have met up and would be marching by now, but might find their muster was for nought. Still, Ellie could not help but wonder if they had not been careful enough with their stories of darkspawn around Gareth. Since his father had set out, Gareth had been irritable, but was a silent wall when she tried to prod him. I am raising another Loghain, Ellie thought, the idea only charming in the abstract. She was outnumbered.
"Do you want to talk about your dream, pet?" she prompted. Silence followed, as she expected. "You're thinking about your da, aren't you? He's alright, Gareth. The battles are going well. He'll write to us himself as soon as he can. Or maybe he'll be back soon, before Satinalia I wager."
The boy turned to look at her, but Anya appeared with the cup of water just then. Gareth sat up and accepted it, took a few long slurps, then let Ellie take the cup and settled back down. She guessed that there would be no more talking, but as Ellie was reaching to tuck in his covers, Gareth spoke up in a small, solemn voice. "I don't want my da to die."
Ellie exchanged a look with her attendant, and Anya slipped out. When his mother reclined against the headboard, Gareth moved closer to her side and she tucked him under her arm. She thought a while about what to say. Her assurances obviously weren't working, but this was little surprise. They sounded hollow even to her own ears. "I want him back, too. Do you remember the game we played when I went to Orlais?"
"The 'magining game."
"That's right. Shall we do it now for him?" Gareth looked up at her uncertainly. Simple ploys to distract or comfort him were not working as well as they used to when he was smaller. The four year-old questioned everything. It was one reason he was so sharp, but Ellie felt a grey hair must appear on her head every time he did it. She persisted. "It helped before, didn't it? A little?" To her relief, Gareth would allow this. He nodded, then turned his head and closed his eyes. Ellie smiled and clasped a small, sweaty hand. "Alright. Do you see him? Picture every little detail. His face, his laugh, the sound of his voice. Concentrate now."
They both did it. The average palace guard might never have seen one of the teyrn's smiles, but Ellie thought of how Loghain looked when Gareth ran to meet him after a long time away. Lines on his forehead would soften and others form at his eyes and mouth as he smiled. The blue eyes that caused people to flinch and wilt could be gentle when he willed them to be, and that is how Ellie preferred to imagine him.
Just as she was getting to the part where Loghain would rise from Gareth and turn to her, Ellie noticed that her son's breathing had deepened. Opening her eyes, she watched him until she was satisfied that he had fallen back asleep, then leaned down and brushed her lips over the place where the dark brown hair curled at his brow.
Carefully Ellie stood and fixed the covers. Cutha lifted his head from where he had curled up at the end of Gareth's bed. The mabari uttered a small "ruff," obviously still uneasy. She knelt down and stroked the black fur. The hound leaned into her hand as she scratched his ears.
"Neither of us can do much about this problem, can we boy?" she whispered. "I'm glad you're here with him, though. That's something."
Back in her own room, Ellie could not return to sleep. She tried to read, then got up and fiddled restlessly around her chamber. At her dressing table, she paused and leaned in to look at her face in the mirror. Loghain had noticed lines around her eyes, and Ellie saw them, too, fine but noticeable. Anya was always slathering creams and preparations on herself, and did have soft, clear skin for a woman her age. She had tried to push the same on Ellie but the teyrna ignored cosmetics as much as possible. Yet if this wrinkling trend were to continue...
Pounding on the front door cut off thoughts of face cream. The housekeeper would normally answer the door, but since she was awake anyway, Ellie pulled on a dressing gown. The visitor's impatient battering of the door continued.
Ellie opened the door to find soldiers there, armed and in full gear. They blocked the doorway and there were more in the yard, twenty or perhaps thirty, some of them moving around to the back of the house.
"Lady Cousland?" one of them asked brusquely.
"That's right. Lady Mac Tir, if you please." Looking around in confusion, Ellie noticed a crest of Amaranthine. "Is my father with you? Are you looking for Loghain? He has already marched south, I'm afraid."
"Oh, we know," the lead soldier replied, smiling.
Ellie had a moment to frown at the odd response before, glancing around, she noticed other leering grins. It was not these that made her afraid, however. The fear came when she saw one young sergeant looking at her with an expression she recognized as pity.
10 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Ostagar.
His first sword strike knocked the crude helmet from the genlock's head. Loghain's backstroke removed the head clean, leaving a toothless maw permanently open in a shriek. Shoving the headless body out of his way with his shield, he advanced and dispatched two more, then looked up as he heard the men cheering. What was left of the black mass was breaking up and trying to retreat back into the trees.
"Archers!" Loghain shouted, reminding them that their battle wasn't over. The men knew not to pursue the darkspawn into the Wilds, but no retreat would be allowed without cost. Bowmen, whose ranks had been scattered during the battle, stood where they were and began firing arrows into the backs of the fleeing monsters. Loghain spotted a felled archer nearby and in one movement kicked the man over, sheathed his sword and dropped his shield at his feet. Nock, aim and fire. The motions were ingrained in him from his youth, first taught by his father to hunt their family's food. Some forty years later, Gareth Mac Tir's instruction served just as well for dropping darkspawn.
When there were no more targets, Loghain dropped the bow and retrieved his shield with only a moment's glance at the young face of the dead archer. He recognized him, a Gwaren man who had been posted to Denerim only that spring. There was no time for regret.
"Burn the bodies," he instructed as men gathered around him. "Everyone washes before you're back at camp. No exceptions, Captain." His officer nodded, familiar with the routine. Before returning to camp everyone washed the blood and filth from their weapons and armor, turning the streams that fed into the Wilds black with darkspawn stench. The king's army and Loghain's forces had not incurred many losses, but more than they should have and not only to battle wounds. The creatures spread sickness and a kind of mania that had gripped some men so powerfully that they raved even though there was not a scratch on their bodies. There was no way to rid the camp of the smell and the diseased blood, but they had to at least try.
After washing himself, Loghain returned dripping to his tent to find Cailan and several of his guards lounging there. Cauthrien followed behind him.
The king jumped up. "You fought them? Why didn't you send word?"
When Loghain made no answer, only began to remove his gauntlets, Cauthrien spoke up behind him. "They hit hard but the battle was over quickly, Your Majesty. A messenger wouldn't have reached you in time. I'm sorry."
Loghain shot his second an impatient scowl for indulging the king's complaint. Since the moment they arrived at the ancient keep, Cailan had increasingly exhibited a different kind of mania than fear of the darkspawn. The battles were growing more difficult and sorties more dangerous, but it only made Cailan the more eager. He had accompanied the Grey Wardens to scout that morning or he would have been in the thick of the battle on the other side of the valley. As always, the Wardens who were supposed to be able to sense the creatures were nowhere to be found when they actually attacked.
"What did you find out about the western passes?"
Cailan heaved a sigh and sat back down, propping his foot up on an arms chest. "It's a waste of time, Loghain. We aren't retreating."
Loghain turned, fighting to keep his voice even. "We've been over this. I would like to know that the possibility at least exists for some sort of retreat. Did you or did you not scout the mountain passes as you said you were going to?"
"They're overgrown. It would take more men or more time than we've got to clear them. Anyway, we don't need them. I already told you our strategy here, Loghain."
"You've told me what your Grey Wardens deem a strategy," he answered derisively. "It sounds like a fine plan. Instead of harrying them to retreat to the Deep Roads, you hope to draw every darkspawn out into Ferelden's heart."
"Scared, old man?" Cailan laughed. Loghain cast him a dangerous look but said nothing. A fight would only give the king what he wanted. Undeterred, Cailan went on. "If they are going to attack Ferelden anyway, we might as well meet the darkspawn all here in one great contest. They are drawn to Grey Wardens like dogs to a fresh kill. We have all the Fereldan Wardens here now save Duncan, and if our Wardens aren't enough to draw the archdemon, the Orlesians should arrive soon enough. Then we'll put an end to this and you can go back to puttering with your maps."
Loghain spoke the word with acid. "Orlesians?"
The king's grin widened. "Maker, did I forget to tell you? Yes, Loghain. I sent word to Empress Celene weeks ago. Orlais has far more Wardens than we do, and she also offered the help of her chevaliers. I expect to get word from the border any day now that they've crossed over."
Loghain felt his face purple. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cauthrien staring at Cailan in disbelief. "Get out," he uttered from clenched jaw.
Without hesitation, Cauthrien gestured at the others in the tent. "You heard the teyrn. Out." Even the king's men obeyed her.
Cailan had got up from his chair and was fiddling in the provision cabinet. As he found the whiskey he'd been searching for and turned, Loghain's grip stopped his arm in midair. The whiskey sloshed but the king managed not to drop the bottle. "What have you done? Chevaliers, on Fereldan soil?"
Shaking Loghain's hand loose, Cailan stepped away and opened the whiskey, drawing a swig straight from the bottle. "It's done, and there's nothing you can say or do about it. We don't need them, but it's a gesture of... new relations." His mouth quirked again, the smile not quite breaking, as though he were not yet sure himself if it was a good thing. "You need to get used to this, Loghain. I call the shots. Not you, not Anora. The time of you all scheming behind my back is over. You got Elissa. The rest of Ferelden is mine."
"That is what this is all about?" Loghain's voice was laced with contempt. "There's one woman in Ferelden you can't fuck, so the rest of the country is to fall to either darkspawn or Orlesians, is that it? Have I assessed the situation accurately, Cailan?"
"I'll defeat the darkspawn, Loghain." Cailan was strident. "And I think you know as well as I do that there are two women in Ferelden I can't fuck. One of them only lies down for you, hard as it is to believe. The other I wouldn't bed if she were the last woman in Thedas."
"By the Maker, I'll..." Loghain had started forward but just then his guard poked a head in to announce a messenger outside. Loghain barked at him where he might shove his blighted message. The man vanished, and Loghain rounded on Cailan again. The king stood, arms crossed, his smirk lingering though his eyes were narrowed.
"You'll do nothing at all," Cailan answered. "I'm giving you a last chance to seal your legacy by even letting you command my armies here. Once this Blight is defeated, you are going to leave Denerim and take your pretty wife and young son back to Gwaren to live out the rest of your miserable days. If Anora doesn't like it, you can take her with you. My father made you both what you are, and I can unmake you just as easily."
Beneath the rage, Loghain discovered a mote of surprise. He and Cailan had often argued, but there was little backbone behind the boy king's protests. This time he actually sounded confident, and for a moment Loghain was reminded of Maric when his friend had finally transformed from quavering fugitive princeling and had stood up to the banns. Nevertheless Maric had found his courage facing an army of Orlesian chevaliers, not with an army of them behind him. Loghain kept his voice even. "You may do what you like to me, but I will not let you destroy Ferelden."
"Ferelden belongs to me," Cailan replied, draining the last of the whiskey and tossing the empty bottle on his cot. He then turned to go, but paused at the door and looked back. "I promise you one thing: No Mac Tir will ever sit on the throne while I live."
When Loghain was alone, he fought the urge to break everything that lay to hand. Anger would not help him now. "Sergeant!" he shouted toward the door. The same guard who had been earlier banned now poked his head tentatively past the tent flap. "I need to send a letter to the queen with the next post rider. Do not let him leave without it."
"Post riders ain't gettin' through, Teyrn," the messenger answered.
"Damn."
"Aye, for the second day now. The darkspawn are too thick in the Wilds."
The teyrn waved the man off and paced, considering. Cailan might be bluffing, but Loghain had to assume that he was telling the truth. That oily chamberpot Ambassador de Bruyn had not been in Denerim when the armies left it. The king must have sent him to Val Royeux with the message, even before the south had called for his aid. This was not about darkspawn. The monsters were only a pretext for some other plan Cailan was cooking up, he and Eamon. Loghain's thoughts turned to his agent, the blood mage Jowan. Even if he had been able to call the man back, this showed that more than ever it was necessary to isolate Cailan from him. If they were all lucky, the mage's poison might be more potent than Loghain had intended.
He recalled the last time they had confronted an Orlesian insurgency in independent Ferelden. That had involved darkspawn as well, intelligent darkspawn who were in league with several Orlesian Grey Wardens and the Orlesian First Enchanter of the mage Circle. Maric was drawn into it, but only unwittingly and because he trusted the Wardens. Now Loghain and his men were trapped in a valley fortress by darkspawn while Orlesians, led by Grey Wardens, were about to cross Ferelden's border. It was as though the events of history were repeating themselves in altered form, like they were caught in a maelstrom and had come back around to where the Fereldans once had been twenty years before. Loghain's mind moved uneasily to the witch. She should be long dead, but he had the feeling she was still watching them. He wondered if it was she who was stirring the pot, or if she only dipped her finger in it now and again.
"Fairy stories," Loghain grumbled, angry with himself for entertaining them at all. It did not matter why things were happening as they were. Come what may, he and his men would have to break free of this fortress and soon. If chevaliers had already crossed the border, they could take Denerim while Ferelden's armies were all unaware. Perhaps it was what Cailan wanted. The boy would make a fine puppet king for a greedy empress, and he was reckless and naive enough to believe he would get the better end of such a bargain. Still, the boy and Eamon would have quite a task to contend not only with the Mac Tirs but the Couslands as well, bound as they were by marriage.
That evening and the next morning were taken up by meeting with his officers and mediating trials for desertion. Loghain slept little, pacing in his tent and walking among the men the night through. Only towards dawn did he rest fitfully, and dreamt of Ellie calling to him.
The strategy meeting the next afternoon was delayed because Cailan was nowhere to be found. Loghain paced while Cauthrien stood patiently by. A half hour late, Cailan strolled in with two guard. His face grave, the king gestured for Loghain to step aside. Wisely, he kept a space between them.
"Duncan has returned. You'll want to see him and his new recruit."
"And why should I do that? I do not share your enthusiasm for these Wardens, Your Majesty." He spoke the title with irony dripping.
Cailan ignored the jibe. "You know this one. It's Fergus Cousland."
Loghain looked up sharply. "What? Has Bryce gone mad?"
"Bryce is dead. Eleanor, too, and most of the household by the sounds." There was murmuring in the tent as some of the others overheard.
"This is a poor time for tasteless jokes, Cailan."
"I can hardly believe it myself, but it's true." The king moved away and began to unstrap his gauntlets. "Fergus says he saw Howe men attacking the castle, slaughtering everyone down to the women and children. He escaped with Duncan's help in exchange for a vow to join the Wardens once they reached Ostagar. I promised him that once all this is done, I would lead the Highever forces that are here and go to the north to see about Howe." The king paused, regarding Loghain. "I expect you'll want to join me in that?"
Slowly the teyrn bent, bracing on the table. Bryce and Eleanor dead, all the household, and Highever taken. It made no sense. How could Rendon Howe have accomplished such a feat even if he had wanted to? He was resourceful, but this was madness. Loghain's mind turned, trying to assess the field as was his native talent. Orlesians moving in from the west, darkspawn attacking Ferelden's southern flank, and now this. Howe had suspected Bryce of collusion with the Orlesians. Perhaps he had learned of the chevaliers massing at the border and was taking matters into his own hands.
Loghain straightened, shaking his head slowly. Ellie would be devastated. The thought of her grief, and of Gareth's, made his hands shake. It was shortly followed by another image, however, and one even more chilling: Ellie and Gareth surrounded by chevaliers as once he and his own mother had been. All other concerns shrank next to the white fury this idea ignited in him.
"My lord, I'm sorry but we cannot do anything for her ladyship now." Cauthrien was leaning in to urge him back to the present. "The latest scouting reports from the Wilds are dire. It appears that there will be battle, a large one and soon. It can't be avoided."
Loghain nodded once, forcing his thoughts to calm. "Show me."
The reports were indeed bad. A large mass of darkspawn had broken through to the north. They were holding position, likely massing for an attack, but might arrive at Ostagar as soon as that night or the morning. There would indeed be no way to avoid a confrontation, even if Loghain took his forces to Denerim immediately. If they tried to go around, they could get mired in the Wilds. If they tried to break through, his army might be surrounded.
"This is it," Cailan said, his tone laced with triumph. "This has to be the main body with the archdemon guiding them. Why else would they be waiting to form up?"
"We've seen no dragons in the Wilds," Cauthrien countered.
Loghain watched the debate, his eyes mostly fixed on the cheerful Cailan. Not for a moment did Loghain forget that it was Cailan's doing, and Eamon's, that chevaliers were about to march on Ferelden while they were all occupied with darkspawn. Cailan was not only going to doom them, he was reveling in it. The thought crossed his mind, not for the first time, that they would all be better off if their boy king never returned from these battles.
The close tent had become a cacophony. "Enough!" Loghain bellowed, causing all to fall to silence. Shuffling the papers on the table, he drew forth a large diagram of the fortress and the surrounding Wilds. He paused over it, then reached for a charcoal and began scratching lines. "It is apparent that a large battle is coming and can't be avoided. This is what we are going to do..."
When the meeting broke, Loghain returned to his tent and sat down to a small meal the steward had laid out for him. Although he had not eaten all day, he found that not the smallest crust would go down his throat. For an hour he sat torturing a cup of ale, mind swimming. One phrase kept repeating in his thoughts like a drumbeat: "Ellie, forgive me." He did not even know what he was asking pardon for.
The constant back-and-forth of messengers to his quarters would have been a mercy, but they had fallen silent. Finally there came a scratching on the tent flap.
"Come," he barked.
The tent flap parted and his guard leaned in. "Grey Wardens to see you, m'lord."
Loghain rose, resigned. He was not surprised to see which Warden was standing at his door.
Fergus was pacing, but turned abruptly when Loghain appeared. "You heard?"
"I heard." Loghain inspected the younger Cousland. Fergus looked to have aged a full five years at least. There was a shadow of beard on his cheeks, along with cuts and scrapes not yet healed over. The dark amber eyes that were so much like Ellie's were wild and haunted, bruised with lack of sleep.
"Then you know Howe betrayed us. I'm going back north just as soon as this is done. As soon as the Grey Wardens are done with me. You'll help us, won't you?"
"You saw your parents fall?"
"I didn't..." Fergus stopped, his throat seizing as though he might vomit. He didn't, however, and after a moment went on, "I didn't see them die, but Father's side was opened. We were surrounded and they made me leave them behind. I..." Once again the words broke.
Loghain stepped forward and laid a hand on the young man's arm. "I'm sorry."
After a moment Fergus' head came up. "Howe has to die. I'll do whatever I have to do."
"You're here now and there's a large battle coming. I've also learned that there are Orlesian forces on our western border who will want to take advantage of this chaos. When these things are dealt with, we'll see to Highever. Perhaps there is another explanation for what happened. Your father and Howe had been arguing about Bryce's dealings with Orlais."
Taking a step back, Fergus regarded Loghain with disbelief. "Another explanation? Don't you see what he is trying to do? He wants Highever! I tried to get a message to Ellie but the Grey Warden wouldn't let me go to Denerim myself. I'm afraid Howe's going to go after her next."
Loghain's eyes flashed. The thought had not yet occurred to him, but that was because it was too absurd. "He wouldn't dare. If he does want Highever, he'll just challenge Ellie's claim in the Landsmeet on the basis that she's already Teyrna of Gwaren. She is still heir, but they won't like a dual title."
Fergus shook his head, his mouth twisting. He stared at Loghain as if it was the teyrn who had plunged a sword into his parents. "You're talking about politics when there is a madman killing my family and everyone pledged to us. Our family is yours now, Loghain. You have a blood debt to repay!"
Loghain's voice rose. "I have a country to save, one that includes my wife and son. Do not think that I ever forget it. You can lecture me about honor and revenge later, once that is done."
They were at an impasse and both recognized it. Fergus' face fell. Quietly he said, "The Grey Wardens want me to go through some ritual tonight. It's dangerous and I may not survive it. Please, Loghain, I'm begging you. Get out of here and get back to Ellie. She's not safe. If I die, don't let my family go unavenged."
Loghain's tone eased slightly but remained firm. "If I survive, I will do what is best for Ferelden. I can do no other."
Fergus' hands lifted in a gesture of futility. His voice was weary and bitter. "I suppose it is in the Maker's hands. That's what people say when it's all gone to hell, isn't it?"
"So they do." Their eyes met. Cousland straightened, his resolve returning to him. He said no more.
As Fergus turned to leave, Loghain glanced at the other Warden that had accompanied him but stood off at a distance. It was a young, sandy-haired man, carrying a templar shield though his armor was plain splint. His head appeared to follow a pretty mage that had walked past on her way towards the Circle's tents. Though the young man's back was turned to Loghain, there was a familiarity in his stance and it took only a moment for him to realize who the Warden was. Maric's son was here at Ostagar and apparently snapped up by the Grey Wardens just as Cousland had been. Had that been Maric's great plan to spare the boy taking Chantry vows, or were the Wardens just plucking off all the country's political heirs? At any other time, the matter would have felt momentous. Loghain had too much on his mind, however. That Maric's bastard was in front of him and lost to the Wardens meant little if the country they had once saved from the Orlesians fell to Cailan's betrayal.
By nightfall, no one needed the supposed Grey Warden ability to sense darkspawn to know that the horde was near. Their smell was on the air. Mabari howled and whined in the army camps, but the men were quieter than usual. Loghain stood in his tent while Cauthrien suited his armor. His mind turned over and over, sifting events. Who would benefit from the Couslands being eliminated or weakened? The same people who wanted the Mac Tirs out of the way. The same people who wanted Orlais to return to power in Ferelden. Willing or not, knowing or not, Howe might have become a pawn for them just as Cailan was being used as a puppet. Cailan wanted a decisive victory, something that would give him enough popular acclaim that he could afford to set Anora aside. If there were no more Couslands and no more Mac Tirs to oppose him, so much the better. Big changes are coming, Cailan had told Ellie before the armies marched south. No Mac Tir will ever sit the throne while I live. Five years before, when he and Anora and Ellie had made a bargain to keep their power and the peace of Ferelden, none of them had ever imagined that Cailan would turn to forces more powerful than their own and turn it all back on them. Loghain heard another voice scratching in his mind, that of the witch. Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last. Of himself and Cailan, which was the real traitor?
When the last piece was affixed, Loghain turned and reached for his sword.
Cauthrien lingered, watching him. The knight spoke little, never idly, but she knew him better than most. "Do you think her ladyship is in danger? Could Denerim fall before we get back?" Loghain didn't answer, and he knew that Cauthrien took this to be an affirmative. Her tone was earnest. "What are we going to do?"
Loghain sheathed his sword and picked up his shield. "We're going to survive."
There was a final strategy meeting with the commanders. The Grey Wardens were late, but Loghain laid out his map and reviewed the night's strategy. He felt an inward calm that he recognized from his time in the rebellion. Everything hung in the balance, but it was when the stakes were the highest they could be that a man found out what he could do.
"It's as I told you earlier," Loghain recounted. "We rely on the same strategy that the Tevinters used against a large attacking force, a classic envelopment. Draw the darkspawn into the valley, then close the door behind them with a flanking army. I am told that darkspawn are drawn to Grey Wardens, isn't that what you said?" His eyes leveled to Cailan, and the king nodded. "Then we use the Wardens as our bait. They and a few of our best troops will form the ground vanguard in the valley, with archers on the bridge and ramparts above. Lieutenant Riven from Gwaren will lead them..."
"I will lead them."
Loghain looked up, his eyes meeting Cailan's once more. He had anticipated this, and had to force himself not to smile. Whoever was at the head of the valley was not likely to come out again even if the pincer strategy worked. Cailan himself had ensured that none of the mountain passes were clear. There would be no retreat behind him. "It's too dangerous for you to be at the front lines," Loghain replied, knowing what the response would be. The more he pushed Cailan not to do it, the more likely the fool was to insist. Cailan was still Cailan, and Loghain knew how to pull his strings. He had had far more practice at it than Eamon or Celene.
"I don't care," the king answered firmly, true to Loghain's hunch. "I'm going to stand with the Grey Wardens in this assault. This is my victory and I'm not going to sit on the back lines."
There was a long pause. Loghain looked down at his map, and went on carefully. No one could say that he had not warned the boy about what his bravado would cost. "Very well, my men will form the flanking force. You'll have to hold, Cailan, possibly for a long time. The trap can only swing shut once most of the darkspawn are in the valley or they'll catch us in the rear and the flanking army will be surrounded. We will need spotters at a high vantage point to signal when the horde is completely in the valley. This tower..."
They were interrupted as the Grey Warden commander and Fergus Cousland entered the courtyard and took their places next to Cailan. Fergus regarded Loghain and nodded once. He looked shaken, the dark around his eyes even more pronounced, but he accepted Cailan's congratulations at completing the initiation ritual of the Wardens with a firm equanimity. This grim-faced young warrior was so different from the gawky young man that had stood dripping in their foyer some weeks prior that Loghain would have hardly recognized him. Yet the resemblance to Ellie was still there, a jolting reminder.
He had been trying not to think of her and Gareth. It was not possible that he would return to a dead wife and child. The Maker would not permit that his wife would lie bloody and ravaged at the feet of attackers, Orlesians or Orlesian puppets, while Loghain was half a country away unable to save her. And yet the Maker had allowed such an outrage before. Big changes are coming.
The king's chatter was a blur, and Loghain heard himself agreeing to a plan to have Grey Wardens light the signal beacon from the Tower of Ishal. Rage could make one numb, but it could also bring clarity. It didn't matter if the Wardens were in charge of the battle signal, though it might mean they could send his army in to be caught from the rear. An idea was forming in Loghain's mind, and it was better if the Wardens were in charge of that crucial aspect of the battle.
"It's set then," Cailan proclaimed, as though the battle had already been won. "I cannot wait for that moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil."
He could not countenance it any longer. Turning away, Loghain saw Ellie in his mind's eye, this time not bloody and beaten but standing. She was not his mother. It would not happen again, not to Gareth, not to any Fereldan child. Ellie would fight, as Rowan once had, and she would not have to hold out for long. Loghain would see to that.
"Yes, Cailan," he answered as he walked away from the assembly. "A glorious moment for us all."