Zevran put his hand out to stop Neria, his expression hardening. Alistair frowned at the Antivan. Walking through the streets to the palace, the sun was warm overhead, the air heady with the scent of churned fields and a sea-fresh breeze.

"We are not alone."

The way-gate behind them closed and cornered off the street, and a man stepped into view.

"I should have expected we couldn't take you by surprise."

Taking two steps forward, Zevran placed himself in front of Neria, and Leiliana ran her hand up the recurve of her shouldered bow.

"Taliesin."

"You know, I hadn't quite believed when they said you had joined up with your mark." The lithe man glanced to the wings, and the glint of steel caught in the sunlight as he hopped down from his vantage. "The great Zevran Arainai."

"You were a fool to come here."

"Oh, I don't know," Taliesin laughed, he flipped and toyed with a slender dagger like a miniature baton, "I had to see for myself if it was true."

"So you have seen. Now go."

"You can still come back with me, Zevran. We'll dispose of the mage and templar and come up with a story for the Masters. We could be back in Antiva City and leave this wretched place behind, mmm?"

"Zev..."

The Antivan glanced back as Neria spoke, using the motion to count the archers poised along the rampart, and the fleck of leather hidden amidst the crates. He knew there were more unseen.

"Just go, Taliesin. My business is no longer with the Crows."

Still maintaining his superior position, Taliesin's grin was wry, "You know as well as I you can't simply walk away."

"There are things of greater concern afoot. Right now, the Crows are the least of my worries." Zevran 's eyes hardened as his hand fell along his belt and his voice grew cavalier, "Certainly you have heard of the prowess of the Grey Wardens who defeated me. If I could not finish the job, what makes you capable?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you couldn't make the kill," Taliesin replied, and following the words an arrow flew, clattering over the edge of Alistair's pauldron. In seconds, the contingent of Crows was upon them.

Grimacing, Zevran leapt into the fray with a shick of his blades, met head on by two of the assassins. Drawing her own sword, Neria pivoted to block a shot as another man fell upon her.

Pushing her attacker back, Neria spun and sliced the shimmering blade through the man's neck, nearly biting her tongue as she hit bone. Blood spattered her armour as she tugged her sword free, and in the distraction was kicked off balance.

They fought in close quarters, and Neria was unable to raise any of her defenses, swordsmanship floundering against those born and bred to kill. Bleeding from a wide gash down her side, she staggered back and dropped her sword. Manipulating the ether, she summoned forth a blast of cold to hamper the encroaching Crows.

The sound of metal clanking and the whiz of arrows amidst the verbal foray nearly distracted her, but Neria held her ground and looked to the sky. Drawing down the necessary force, her eyes clouded with the precise words on her lips, tugging at the unseen to bring forth the gale.

Stumbling out of the cold beside Alistair, they both gasped for air, the rush of wind beckoning them back into the whip of ice and snow. Neria closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, senses blurred as she gathered herself. Her staff caught as she tried to pull it from the sling on her back.

A hand snagged her belly, and pulled off balance, Neria fell back against her attacker, the blade at her throat snagging on the mail. Flakes of snow fluttered across her vision as Zevran stepped out of the snowstorm in pursuit.

The blade pulled over the mail, the pressure sliding up her throat as Taliesin said, "Now I finish what our dear Zevran could not."

Flipping the dagger in his hand, Zevran stepped and flicked it through the air. The blade snapped by Neria's head and embedded in Taliesin's neck. A warm gush spilt over the mage's shoulder as she scrambled away. Fingers tightening on her staff, the entropic energy swirled up through his core and sucked the life away.

Shuddering, the cut on Neria's neck closed itself as Taliesin slumped to the ground. The last vestiges of the blizzard blew away, leaving a grisly chill over the bodies in its wake.

Zevran stepped in to catch Neria as she slumped, clutching her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, even as his eyes flickered to Taliesin's body.

"Did he hurt you, tesaro?"

"No more then I hurt him..." Neria pulled herself up, blinking lengthily as she scanned for her sword. The crackle of static tension over its blade drew her eye. Sinking to her knees by it, some of the iced ground cracked, and she looked through her pack for a poultice.

"We're going to be late," Alistair hovered nearby, wiping the blood from his stubble.

"I need a moment," Neria whispered, cracking open the side of her cuirass. Her head throbbed as Leiliana frowned at Alistair and knelt to help her bandage the wound. "Clean yourselves off."


Stumbling aside, Ser Cauthrien felt a trickle of blood on her lip, and she tightened her grip on the Summer Sword. When the rock hit her, she fell back another step and growled in frustration.

"Just let us in! We have every right to be there," Neria demanded, standing by the back door of the receiving chamber. "Save your energy for the Blight."

"You have already besmirched my Lord enough! Your presence in the Landsmeet is a sham."

"He is the rightful heir to the throne – King Calenhad's own blood." Leiliana said, poised to match one of the archers who leaned into the safety of a column.

Ser Cauthrien balked as she sized them up once more. Three of her men lay dead, and the quiet huffing of another as he tried to dislodge his frozen foot from the stone floor proved that their numbers meant nothing against the seasoned Wardens.

"You were at Ostagar. You have served your Lord well and faithful… but he has gone too far."

A frustrated huff in her throat, Ser Cauthrien ordered her men at ease, wiping the blood from her nose, "I will lose no more men fighting my own countrymen."

Neria took the few steps down and exhaled, pulling off her helm and running a hand through her pale hair. "Thank you."

Ser Cauthrien merely nodded and waved her men aside, watching the elven mage with hawkish eyes as she approached the assembly doors. Dismissing her defensive auras, Neria waited by the door, unwilling to meet Alistair's gaze.

Turning the wide latch, Alistair pushed the door open for Neria, and they walked into the wide chamber side-by-side. The few banns and lesser landholders close to the door turned at their entry. Loghain and Eamon's voices echoed across the space. The nobles parted as the two armoured Wardens walked through their ranks, boots clinking on the fine carpet underfoot.

When Loghain saw them, he motioned through the ranks and addressed the assembly, "And here she is – the puppet master herself come to try and pull my strings. I did not think you would have the gall to show your traitorous face here."

Even as a light colour rose on her cheeks, Neria's hand tightened on the helm in her hand, "We have never been traitors, Teryn Loghain. We stood by King Cailan and barely escaped with our lives!"

"An easy enough story to tell." His armour glistened in the morning light that came through the windows as Loghain turned to the nobles. "This elven mage would have you believe the Grey Wardens acted in his majesty's best interest at Ostagar. She neglects the false promises and bravado of her Commander, and now she has raised an army to march on Denerim! Tell me, how much did the Empress buy your loyalty for?"

A murmur went through the gathered crowd, and Neria swallowed the rage to clip, "We have gathered an army to face the real threat to Ferelden – to all of Thedas – the Blight! While you have pandered for power and squandered good men by instigating civil unrest."

"The Warden is right! The south has already fallen, Loghain. Lothering and West Hills are lost." Arl Wulff leant on the banister from above, speaking over the crowd. "How many more must die for fear of Orlais?"

Arl Bryland nodded from his lofty position, "South Reach is flooded with refugees, and has been for months. We have all seen the camps outside of Denerim – we grow close to disaster with the lands lost, and the fouled fields go unplanted! How will our people feed themselves, Loghain, let alone send their men to fight?"

"I have seen the plight myself, Bryland," Loghain assured them, his voice tempered as his gaze drifted. "All the more reason that we must unite under one banner and cease fighting each other. Something this Warden would not have you do! Instead, she and Arl Eamon would purport to raise an inexperienced, unproven whelp."

"On my sister's name, I swear he is King Maric's son," Eamon hammered the banister, "He is the last of the Theirin bloodline."

"It does not change the fact that Ferelden has a fine ruler – one that this elf has tried hard to remove from her position." Loghain smouldered as he stepped closer to Neria, "Tell me, Warden, just what did you do with my daughter?"

"I think I can speak for myself, Father."

The crowd of nobles turned at her voice, and Loghain lost his footing, "Anora?"

Hands clasped together and face a picture of regality, the stern woman glided into the room, "Good nobles of Ferelden, in my grief, I allowed my father, a great hero of our land in his own right, to take up my duties and fell to the shadows while our lands have suffered – and for this, I am sorry.

"But the Grey Warden speaks true. There is a Blight on our lands, and my father has done nothing but harm the capabilities of all our men to unite and face it head on. We have spilt each other's blood, and it was only through the Wardens' help that I escaped from imprisonment within Rendon Howe's estate."

Licking her lips, Neria's voice rose up, "The Queen speaks the truth. And I am sorry to say she was not the only one trapped within those walls."

"I wanted to protect you from this, Anora… has the Warden poisoned even your mind against me?"

"That monster imprisoned my son!" Bann Sighard of Dragon's Peak cried, his voice fraught with emotion, "The things they did to him, by the Maker – the healers do not know if he will ever walk properly again! I dread to think what may have happened had the Wardens not saved him…"

"And what of my brother, Loghain? What cause could the Arl of Denerim have for imprisoning a templar?" Murmurs ran through the crowd as another few voices rose and clashed

Neria tightened her hand into a clammy fist, hot under her armour as she realized Loghain was staring at her. "If Teryn Loghain had not tried to have Arl Eamon assassinated by a blood mage – a blood mage on the verge of being brought to justice by the Chantry – Howe would have never imprisoned Bann Alfstanna's brother."

"What is this? What does she speak of Eamon?"

From his place on the floor, Bann Teagan's voice rose up, "The mage in question was captured and turned over to the Circle. He confessed to being hired by Loghain to poison my brother."

"You would trust the words of a blood mage? Of any mage?" Loghain scoffed.

Another scuttle of arguments erupted when the Grand Cleric's voice cut through, "You reach too high when you deign to obstruct Chantry affairs, Teryn Loghain. It is an offense against the Maker to interfere in a templar's sacred duties!"

The sweat on Neria's brow and neck chilled, and she had to tighten her fist again to keep from trembling as she looked around. The nobles were roused against him, and their voices escalated until Anora raised a hand. Loghain's gaze went from her to the assembly.

"Arl Howe's actions were his own, and I cannot deny his treachery. Recompense will come." Loghain inhaled deeply, looking amidst the nobles, "But it did not keep this woman from slaughtering him in his own home! She denied justice and due process, preferring murder and bloodshed to proper judgement."

"He deserved to die for what he did!" Bann Sighard pushed off the banister, spitting on the ground. "The blessed Prophet smiled on us, sending us these Wardens to guide us through the darkness – and you have done nothing to help them!" A drum roll of smacks along the wooden rail followed his words. "Dragon's Peak stands with the Warden."

"They have acted against the Blight without hesitation. The Waking Seas will follow the Warden."

Crossing his arms, Arl Bryland nodded, "South Reach is with the Wardens."

"The Western Hills throw their lot with the Wardens. Maker help us all."

More and more of the banns voiced their support, with only Bann Ceorlic's nay squeaked in denial. The chorus of voices rose, and a shiver ascended Neria's spine as she glanced to Alistair. He looked lost.

When the rumble of smacking hands and claps died down, Loghain's hard voice broke out, "Traitors! Who fought while Orlesian troops battered your lands and raped your wives? I have spent my life fighting for Ferelden, fighting for all of you!

"How dare you judge me! Eamon, you fought for this land once – before you grew too old and fat and complacent, you don't even see what you risk." The guards flanking Loghain drew their swords.

Neria turned to the nobles, raising a hand to try and calm their shouts, when Alistair strode up to Loghain and said, "You profess yourself Reagent and uphold the charade of accord - you say you want the nobles to unite. But now you will not abide by their wishes? Then let us end this."

"You would duel me, boy? Or would you prefer your elven companion to do the work? I hear that is what you are wont to do."

Alistair clenched his jaw and glanced between the guards flanking Loghain. "I will. Enough blood has been spilt over this."

Neria glanced from Alistair, loathe to look away as she asked the assembly, "Will that be accepted by the Landsmeet?"

"As long as it is done properly," Arl Bryland stated.

"Yes – according to tradition," Bann Alfstanna agreed. "That you meet in single armed combat until one party yields. We who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

"Then let's end this."

Alistair nodded and drew his sword as a hush fell over the assembly. Loghain followed suit, eyeing the young man who steeled the Grey Warden shield on his arm. Neria stepped back as Zevran whispered something, the words lost in her distraction.

When they circled again, Loghain's rich voice stood out in the quiet, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Neria clenched her hands at her side as she watched Alistair, his concentration wholly upon the man who had betrayed them – the man who had left their order to die. A thought came to her from where it all had began.

Make your opponent control the distance of the fight.

Poised in a stance Neria recognized well, Alistair remained silent as Loghain swayed the longsword in his hand, and with a quick double step engaged. The clang of their swords rang through the hall, and in her periphery she could see nobles cringe, murmurs and gasps audible as a series of blows were traded back and forth. Seeing an exposure, Alistair pressed in and quickly battered his shield across Loghain's outer thigh.

Rounding back, the teryn smirked and flexed his fingers over the pommel. Aggressively drawing Alistair into another fray, their swords flew together, a flurry of flashing steel that glanced back and forth. Loghain seized as the ex-templar left himself open, twirling his blade to land a pommel blow hard across Alistair's trapezius.

Neria released a pent breath and choked out a sound, scarce noticing as Leiliana touched her arm. She had fought beside him countless times, held her hands to compress a wound more than she liked, but she had been with him. Being a spectator on the sidelines was much worse.

Stumbling from the impact, Alistair's shield smacked the ground as he backed away, turning to block another slash just in time. He glanced at her before darting to parry another blow.

Rolling into another exchange, their swords caught together, and Loghain kept close, speaking under his breath. "You know, your father had a thing for elven whores."

Alistair's scowl deepened and ripping away with a sharp cry, he flowed and slashed across the backs of Loghain's legs, before following with a hard thrash from his shield. The teryn lost his balance, armour clattering as a speckle of blood splashed the stone underfoot.

Almost on his feet again, Loghain spat on the ground and abandoned his shield as Alistair came round. Hissing with exertion, a righteous fire burst in the air before him, sending a shockwaved nimbus outward. Neria clutched her breast as the edges of the sphere buffeted against her, and Loghain stumbled off-kilter once more. Shield scything through the air, Alistair battered the teryn with a triplet of scarce deflected blows. When the edge of his fiery sword came round, it caught a chink in the mail, and bearing his weight into it, he ran Loghain through. The teryn cried out a gurgle of pain, and a gasp went through the crowd.

"Father!"

Loghain's hands clutched where the sword impaled him and collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath as Alistair pulled the blade out. "It... it seems I have underestimated the both of you."

Anora fled to her father's side, veneer broken as she caught his shoulder. Lips trembling, she glared at Alistair as the tip of his sword hit the floor. "You!"

"Hush, Anora." Loghain whispered, blinking lengthily as blood seeped through his gauntleted fingers. "It is too late. I deserve my fate."

"I am not a child! You - heal him!" Anora's eyes groped for Neria, who had paled considerably.

"Daughters are eternally no more than six in their father's eyes," Loghain sank forward onto a hand, the wet sounds of his breathing echoing through the chamber. "I knew this would be the end."

"It is cruel to let a man suffer," Zevran said under his breath.

"I know I ... can leave Ferelden in your hands," Clutching the wound, Loghain's gaze swept from Neria up to Alistair. He was met with cold eyes as his own closed, and Alistair lifted his sword. In one fell swoop, it sizzled and sliced through, and Loghain slumped down.

Neria's lips pressed into a grim line, watching the pool of blood spread as Anora stepped back, turning to don the mask of authority once more. Alistair stood, eyes upon the fallen teryn as his boots parted the seeping crimson.

Eamon's voice broke the stunned silence, "It is settled then. Alistair shall be king."

Neria turned at once as Alistair squawked, "What? No - no, that wasn't what we were deciding. Was it?"

Eyes trembling as a pair of guards came to retrieve her father's body, Anora's jaw hardened as she marched forward and lifted her chin, "See? You hear him. He does not even wish to take the throne."

"Don't be ridiculous, Anora," Arl Eamon scowled and crossed his arms. "It was decreed that the Landsmeet would honour the outcome of the duel."

As they spat back and forth, Neria's eyes remained on Alistair, and his caring eyes seemed further and further away. He tried to interject, but it was only when Bann Teagan stepped up that the bickering died.

"What the Landsmeet agreed to, brother, was to side with the choice of the Grey Warden. She is the impartial voice in these matters."

"Yes," another voice rose, "What does the Warden say?"

Hands numbed by her side, Neria felt the warmth in her bleed away. All eyes turned to her, but the ones that burrowed most of all were his.