30 August, 9:30 Dragon
Denerim

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Lothering had fallen.

Loghain received word of this a few days ago, but it was still difficult to wrap his mind around the reality of it. He'd marched through the town just weeks before, and now it was gone. Destroyed utterly by the darkspawn.

That shouldn't have happened. He thought he'd have more time to raise a new army and march south, long before the darkspawn made their way that far north. He'd intended to contain the horde by defending the Imperial Highway south of Lothering, but it appeared that might no longer be possible.

Lothering was at the southern edge of the Bannorn. Now nothing stood between the darkspawn and Ferelden's heartland. It was bad enough to consider the immediate destruction; the Bannorn was not as heavily populated as any of the cities on the coast, but a fair number of people did live there. More terrifying was the thought that the land might become tainted by the creatures. Tainted by the black corruption they spread in their wake. If that happened, Ferelden would have no way to provide enough food to feed her people for the foreseeable future. Blackened farmland would yield no crops, nor would it support cattle and sheep and hogs.

Just how long did it take soil to recover from the taint? Years? Decades? More than an age? Loghain had no idea.

This was on the verge of becoming a disaster beyond any he could have imagined.

Now, he sat at his desk in the library of the Gwaren estate, and stared at the numbers he had scratched on a piece of parchment. Counts of Fereldan soldiers and potential volunteers, by region, based on the census he did at Cailan's request just over a year ago.

There weren't nearly enough, and not all of them would be able or willing to join the fight against the darkspawn. At this time, the only forces Loghain could count on were the regular armies from Gwaren, Amaranthine, and Lothering, as well as Bann Nicola's remaining soldiers. This was not an unsizeable army, and might have been sufficient if darkspawn were the only threat, and they could find a good location from which to stage their defense. Ostagar had been perfect, but that was no longer an option.

Damn.

Loghain pounded the desk with a clenched fist. It had been a stupid, stupid mistake to go along with Cailan's foolishness, and commit all their resources to that one battle. They could have stayed in Ostagar indefinitely, and whittled away at the horde while keeping it contained in the Wilds. Getting through the winter would have been a challenge, but even so, it would have been a much better situation than what they now faced.

He glanced at the map that hung on the wall nearby. Perhaps he would take Ferelden's combined forces and muster at Winter's Breath, or even South Reach. Strategically, neither was as ideal a location as Ostagar, but he needed a place from which to launch attacks, and keep the darkspawn at bay if they continued to move north.

If they were lucky, any northward push might not happen yet; most recently, there had been rumors of darkspawn raiding parties near West Hills.

Maker help him, but he hoped they turned their eyes south again. People would die, regardless, but better to lose the Hinterlands or the Southron Hills, rather than the arable land of the Bannorn.

His eyes passed over the parchment yet again. Just how many soldiers would he have in his command?

Dragon's Peak and South Reach would likely respond to a summons to muster, as would Oswin and River Dane. None of them had a particularly large force however, and Oswin had taken losses at Ostagar.

Redcliffe was out of the picture for the time being, and the bulk of the Highever and Denerim regular armies were lost at Ostagar. The southern bannrics would likely fight the darkspawn sooner rather than later, in their own backyards, whether they wanted to or not.

That left the Bannorn.

The Bannorn had soldiers, but few of the banns had established any regular training regime for their volunteers. Those men, conscripted out of necessity, wouldn't be nearly as effective as their counterparts from the Coastlands and the south.

Of course, this might prove to be a blessing. There was no guarantee that any of those soldiers would fight under Loghain's banner. The grumbling of the banns grew ever louder, led by that Maker-damned Bronach. None of them had yet committed their soldiers to the cause, and a few had threatened to refuse entirely if Loghain did not step down from the regency. They threatened civil war, and at the worst possible time. Damned fools, one and all.

Why did they not understand that Loghain could not step down? This was the one thing he absolutely could not do, especially while they fomented trouble. No one knew better than Loghain how to defend Ferelden from the threats she now faced. No one had sacrificed more than he had, or knew the history as intimately. No one else understood just what was at stake. Loghain would not back down. He could not back down. Ferelden must be protected at all costs, against all foes.

Perhaps now that Lothering had fallen, they would see reason. Be made to understand that no one bann could stand on his own; they needed to unite in order to have any hope of fighting off the various threats Ferelden now faced.

He let out a slow, steady breath. No matter how he looked at it, he came to the same conclusion: he needed more soldiers, soldiers who just weren't there. And even if he had the soldiers he needed, there would still be the problem of how to feed and provision them; the royal coffers were disturbingly empty. More than ever, Ferelden needed to unite under a single banner. Work together, rather than apart. But how could he make that happen, when all around him, people seemed determined to argue?

He rested his elbows on the desk, and rubbed at his temples.

There was a way to make this work. There had to be a way. Loghain just needed to find it.

Colin appeared in the doorway of the library. "Soldiers are here, Your Grace, from Gherlen's Pass."

Loghain sat up. Gherlen's Pass? That was unexpected. Just a few days ago, a rider had arrived to let him know that the Orlesian Wardens had come and been turned away. He wouldn't have thought there would be news so soon.

Unless the Wardens and chevaliers taken more drastic steps to try and enter the country.

"Show them in."

Two of his Gwaren soldiers strode into the room: Dashiell, his personal guard from Ostagar, and Georgina, who was second in command at Gherlen's Pass. Her presence here didn't bode well.

"Good evening, Your Grace," Georgina said. "We have news from Gherlen's Pass. Something we thought you would want to know right away."

"Have the Orlesians made another attempt to enter Ferelden?"

"No ser," she replied. "Nothing like that. It's something else. It's about the Grey Wardens. The woman you asked us to be on the lookout for."

"Rhianna Cousland?"

"Yes."

They had news about Rhianna? He sat up straighter.

"Tell me."

"A week ago, she attempted to cross the border into Orlais."

That didn't sound right. "She attempted to cross the border? With the other Wardens?" Why in the world would Rhianna wish to leave the country?

"Sort of. She did try to get in Orlais, but not with the other Wardens. She wasn't traveling with anyone who matched the descriptions you gave us. Instead, she was with an Orlesian woman and a Qunari mercenary, and she was in disguise, dressed as a Chantry sister. They claimed they were trying to get home to Orlais. Only it wasn't the Warden who did the talking. The other woman is the one who spoke with our soldiers, an Orlesian noblewoman to judge by her clothing and her accent. In fact, the Warden spoke nothing but Orlesian, so the guards at the border didn't even realize it was her."

What? Rhianna tried to cross the border dressed as an Orlesian Chantry sister? That sounded ridiculous, although she did speak the language well enough to pull off a stunt like that.

"She might have gotten away," Georgina added, "if Dashiell hadn't ridden by soon after she'd been turned back at the border."

"That's true," Dashiell replied. "Even with the Chantry robes, I realized right away she was the woman who'd come to visit you twice at Ostagar."

"Twice? That's not right. Rhianna Cousland only visited me once."

"Oh, well, I don't think you knew about the second time, Your Grace. It was that last night, the night before the battle? She came by asking to see you when you were out in the camp. I asked if she wanted to leave a message, but she declined, and I guess I forgot to mention it."

Rhianna had tried to see him the night before the battle?

"In any case, ser," Dashiell continued, "it was definitely her. I stopped her, and for a short while she tried to keep up the pretense, but she figured out right away I wasn't going to be fooled by any story."

"I trust you took her into custody."

"Yes, ser. She didn't give me any trouble. Came along peacefully, once I promised to let the other two go. I didn't figure you'd have any use for them, since it was obvious they weren't the other Wardens you're after." He paused. "I took her to Fort Gherlen, with the intention of bringing her here to the city, as you'd requested."

The guard wrinkled his nose; there was something more to this story.

"And? Where is she?"

"She . . ." Georgina began. "Well . . . she escaped, ser. From the fort."

Maker's balls. "How?"

As soon as the question left his lips, though, Loghain knew the answer. He knew exactly how Rhianna must have escaped. She had a good memory, and no doubt had never forgotten the story he'd told her years ago, about how the Night Elves had liberated the fort during the Occupation.

Sure enough, the commander confirmed this: "She went over the side, Your Grace. She waited until after dark, and then picked the lock on her door, and used rope to climb down the walls, and into the gorge below. No one would have imagined she might try such a thing – frankly, it was suicidal - but that's what she did."

Just like in the story.

The hairs bristled on the back of his neck, and he had trouble taking in a breath. "You're sure she made it all the way down safely? She didn't . . . fall?"

"No, ser. She didn't fall. Well, at least not so far that it stopped her getting away. They discovered she was gone before she was all the way down the wall, and tried to haul her up with the rope. I think she might have slid part way down. There was blood on the rope, and a few bloodstains in the dirt below, but no sign of her. And all the dogs we sent came back empty handed as well. There was no way to pursue her through the mountains once she'd gotten enough of a headstart, and the dogs seemed not to know which way she went."

Blood on the rope? His stomach lurched. "No, the dogs wouldn't have brought her back." She'd have charmed them into letting her go with no difficulty at all. "And I know which way she went. She headed south, along the riverbed to Sulcher's Pass. There's one sheer cliff she'd have needed to climb down, but she would have known to bring rope." Assuming she wasn't so badly injured that she wasn't able to make it down the cliff. That was a desolate part of the Frostbacks; if she were injured, out in the wilderness . . .

He pushed those thoughts away. "You said she came without a struggle?"

"Yes, ser," Dashiell nodded.

"Then," he mused aloud, "why in the world would she risk her life trying to escape?"

Well, perhaps that wasn't hard to guess. Rhianna hated being locked up. Had hated it since she was eight years old.

"I'm not sure, ser," Dashiell replied. "I mean, it's not like we mistreated her. We gave her a nice little room in one of the towers, and we fed her, and, well, she seemed all right with things." He paused. "She's a nice lady. She was . . . polite, and rather pleasant."

"Yes. She would be." Especially to a guard she'd seen before, one who was only following orders.

"And," Dashiell continued, "she was adamant that there not be any fighting. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. She also made it clear she was more than willing to talk to you." He paused. "Back at Ostagar, it seemed as though the two of you were . . . friends, yes?"

"Y-yes." The question took him by surprise. "Yes. We were friends." He paused. "I'm not sure how much that matters now."

"Oh." Dashiell frowned. "I see."

No, he didn't. The man had absolutely no way of knowing just how complicated this was, but Loghain certainly wasn't about go into any of that just now.

"Is there anything else?"

"There is one other thing that might interest you," Georgina began. "As the Warden made her back down the mountain, some of the soldiers asked her to say a blessing for them. She was wearing Chantry robes, after all."

"Did she agree?"

"Yes. She said a prayer in Orlesian, and the other woman translated it for the soldiers." She paused. "They seemed to appreciate it a lot, to be honest. Tried to give her money, but she wouldn't take it. And she chose a lovely verse. That bit about being unshaken by the darkness: 'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.'"

Anger bubbled up inside of him. Lovely verse or not, Rhianna was no Chantry sister, and had no business running around Ferelden giving blessings to his soldiers or anyone else. And for someone who claimed to be willing to talk, she was doing an excellent job of avoiding every possible opportunity. This was twice now that she'd evaded his guards.

"You said something about a Qunari?" Loghain didn't need to ask about the Orlesian woman; earlier in the week, Bann Nicola had stopped by to give him what information she had been able to gather. The woman's name was Leliana, and she wasn't even an actual Chantry sister. She'd pretended to be a lay sister in Lothering for a few years, but before that, spent some time in Denerim, after coming to Ferelden from Orlais. She'd stirred up a great deal of trouble in the city. There were rumors that she had something to do with that business with Bann Perrin and the guard captain back when Loghain was at sea. Her name had come up in connection to the death of Harwen Raleigh, as well. All signs pointed to the woman being a bard. From Orlais.

Nicola had not learned quite as much about Rhianna's other companion, the apostate. This woman had come out of the Korcari Wilds, and there was strange talk about her being the Witch of the Wilds, but that seemed ridiculous. She was basically an unknown quantity, but not a particularly worrisome one.

The presence of a Qunari, however, was news to him.

"Yes, ser. It's likely he's the same man who was incarcerated in Lothering a while back. He was arrested after murdering an entire family of people near Lake Calenhad." Yes, Loghain remembered seeing the man caged up on the edge of town. "The Warden must have convinced the Revered Mother to release him into her custody." Georgina paused. "Or perhaps she just picked the lock on his cage."

An Orlesian bard, an apostate from the Wilds, and a homicidal Qunari? This was the company Rhianna had chosen to keep? It did nothing to set Loghain's mind at ease. And of course, Maric's bastard was one of her companions, as well. The only one that didn't seem to pose some sort of imminent threat was the pickpocket. It's a sad day when the thief is the most reputable of your friends.

"And you saw no sign of the other Wardens?"

"No," Dashiell replied. "Rhianna . . . I mean, the Warden told me they'd split up, and not told one another where they were headed. But she thought he was on his way to Redcliffe to ask Arl Guerrin for assistance."

That, at least, would be a wild goose chase, were it true.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. None of this was good news, and, considering the state of things elsewhere in Ferelden, it was the last thing he needed. Rhianna masquerading as a Chantry sister, offering blessings and trying to get into Orlais? Something would have to be done. But what?

"Is there anything else?"

Both of the soldiers shook their heads.

"Very well. Thank you for the report. Go to Fort Drakon; the quartermaster will feed you and give you beds for the night, and make certain your horses are tended before you leave for the pass in the morning."

"Thank you, ser."

When they were gone, Loghain got up and began to pace the floor.

What in the world was Rhianna playing at? Had she really wanted to travel to Orlais?

Most likely, yes. She was a Grey Warden now, and it was no secret that a large number of Wardens had been on their way from Orlais. It would make sense for her to try and make contact with them, although she had to know they would not be welcome here. Neither the Wardens, nor the four legions of chevaliers who accompanied them.

And impersonating a Chantry sister? It was ridiculous, and infuriating . . .

Even so, a faint smile formed on his lips at the thought of Rhianna dressed in Chantry robes, pretending to be from Orlais. So out of character for her, and yet as a disguise, it was brilliant. So brilliant, she'd nearly succeeding in fooling all of his guards.

The smile faded to remember that she had succeeded in escaping custody. Again.

Why hadn't she come to Denerim? He'd made it clear he just wanted to speak with her. She'd been polite to the guards, cooperative, both times. Except for the part where she had escaped instead. She'd risked her life to scale the wall of the fort rather than allow herself to be brought to Denerim. Was she that unwilling to even sit down with Loghain and talk? Or was it just that she chafed at the idea of being in anyone's custody. She did hate being locked up, and for good reason. He knew that. But still. This was ridiculous.

How in the world had things gone so desperately wrong between them?

He ran a hand through his hair. That was a stupid question. Loghain knew exactly how, and when. He could pinpoint it to the very day. And it was his own damned fault. His own fault for not speaking with Bryce sooner. For not fighting harder. For just . . . giving up. Giving up on a woman he loved as much as he had ever loved another person. And now they'd come to this. She would rather risk her life escaping from prison before coming to the city to speak with him.

Perhaps it was better that they hadn't married. Perhaps there had never been any chance for them in the first place. If she were capable of this sort of behavior – traveling with bards and murderers – it was possible he'd never really known her at all.

No. That wasn't right. He had known Rhianna Cousland. As well as he'd ever known anyone. It was unthinkable that Rhianna he'd known would ever deliberately betray Ferelden. So perhaps Howe was right, and somewhere along the line she'd changed.

That seemed to be the only explanation for these companions of hers. A Qunari warrior who had murdered several innocent people. An apostate. An Orlesian bard, and the man with the single best claim to the throne in all of Ferelden.

In some ways, that last was the most troubling: a son of Maric's, just come of age. If the lad's existence became common knowledge, there were some in the Landsmeet who would consider him a contender for the throne. Most likely, Eamon had spent years filling this Alistair's head with all manner of rubbish about his Theirin blood. The boy likely thought he had some Maker-given right to the throne, whether or not he had any aptitude for leadership.

Loghain had seen Alistair at Ostagar. He did favor his father; they shared a similar physical build and facial features – a strong jaw and straight nose. He had the look of a king about him, and would have little trouble rallying at least some of the nobles to support him, if that's what he chose to do. Especially with Rhianna Cousland at his side.

Ah. Perhaps that was how the pieces fit together. If Rhianna married this bastard of Maric's, together they would have a nearly unshakable claim to the throne. Rhianna had never expressed an interest in being queen, but that might have changed in the past year, once being Teyrna of Gwaren was no longer an option. And they were both Grey Wardens, and potentially puppets of the Orlesian empress. If Empress Celene knew of Alistair's parentage – likely, since the woman had an excellent network of spies – she could have sent one of her bards to assist Rhianna and Alistair in taking the throne.

Speculation, perhaps, but it did seem to add up to one tidy, but ugly, sum: that Rhianna Cousland was working with the Orlesians.

Had Howe been telling the truth? Did Rhianna intend to betray Ferelden?

Not long ago, he would never have believed such a thing. Rhianna loved Ferelden, possibly as much as Loghain himself did. At least she had, at one time. What had happened to her, during the past year, to change that? For her to be willing to sell out her homeland like this?

His hands clenched into fists, and something twisted in his gut.

He had loved her. No, that's not right. It was not in the past tense. He still loved her, and no matter what had happened over the past year, he would always have half a lifetime of good memories. Time they had spent together, conversations they'd had. He still had every single letter she'd written while he searched for Maric. They were tucked into his copy of the Chant of Light, along with the portraits she had drawn for him. For years, the memory of her voice, her smile, her laughter, had been the things that most sustained him. He had surrendered himself to her in so many ways. And now, not only was she gone, but he had to face the possibility that he'd never truly known her at all.

Maker damn it all to the Void.

Had she become a pawn of the Orlesians? Or, worse yet, no longer a pawn, but an active player? She told him she'd been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, and he believed that was true. But perhaps, somewhere along the way, she had decided to join with them. And now planned to take the throne from Anora for herself.

No.

No. This was all just speculation, and no doubt there were innocent explanations for all of it. It hadn't been her choice to join an organization with ties to Orlais; Duncan had dragged her from her home in the middle of the night, against her will. The darkspawn were still a threat, and the Grey Wardens were sworn to fight them. Perhaps that's all she was doing. She could have gone to the border to contact the other Wardens in the hope they would help her fight the darkspawn. And she might not know she traveled with a murderer and a bard.

Please, Andraste. Let this all be a misunderstanding. Please. I'll give anything, sacrifice anything, for this to be a misunderstanding.

Surely, Rhianna Cousland did not truly intend to betray Ferelden.

He stopped pacing, and stared out into the garden.

Unless, she did.

He forced his hands to relax; again, they'd clenched themselves into fists.

Either way, something must be done about this, before she caused any more trouble. Loghain didn't have the luxury of being incautious.

"Your Grace?" Colin appeared in the doorway once again. "Arl Rendon Howe is here to see you."

Loghain bit back a groan. Howe? Maker damn him. Howe had been a daily visitor since his arrival in Denerim, and Loghain had grown weary of the man's sneering voice and constant chatter. Even so, he needed him. He needed Howe's support in the Landsmeet, and his troops. And from time to time, he had intelligence that was useful.

"Send him in."

Howe entered, bowing his head in an exaggerated gesture that had become familiar to Loghain over the past several days. Had he always been like this, so obsequious, and Loghain just hadn't noticed? Or had something changed? Howe'd always had a sharp tongue, but there was something different about him lately, something feverish and furtive.

Loghain waved him into the room.

"I bring word, sire." A slight smile played at the corners of Howe's mouth. "Demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the regency have increased of late. And I have heard that the banns are gathering their forces. It appears, it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn." He paused. "Pity." Howe's voice seemed to drip with false regret. Was it possible Howe wanted a civil war? What could he hope to gain from that, especially now? Or was he merely so unpleasant that he enjoyed the suffering of others?

Not for the first time, Loghain regretted the necessity of this alliance. Regretted it deeply. The more time he spent with the man, the more he doubted the accusations against Bryce Cousland. Yes, it was clear that certain parts of the story were true, but Loghain now feared that Howe had fabricated others. Loghain should have taken Anora's advice, and had him strung up in the courtyard of Fort Drakon.

Unfortunately, it was too late for that now, and second guessing what had happened in Highever wouldn't bring the Couslands back from the dead.

"Yes." Loghain struggled to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I am well aware of the various issues in the Bannorn."

"Ah, well perhaps this will be news to you. It appears there are some Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How, I don't know, but it seems certain they will find some way to act against you."

"Yes, I am aware of that, as well. I've just had a report that Rhianna Cousland was seen at Gherlen's Pass."

Howe blinked. "The Cousland girl? Ah. I . . . was not aware she had . . . survived." That sounded like a lie, and a rather blatant one at that.

"She did. And I hope to sit down and talk with her as soon as possible."

Howe's lip curled. "I can't imagine what good that would do, sire. I suppose there is some small chance she wasn't complicit in the king's death, but it's obvious that now, the Grey Wardens have no intention of cooperating. I'm sure she will only contribute to whatever harm they are trying to. Like crossing the border with chevaliers, for example." He paused. "To be honest, I'm not surprised she's one of them now. She always had a nasty, violent streak, even as a child."

Loghain arched a brow. No doubt, he meant the two times Rhianna had broken Thomas Howe's nose. Rendon always seemed to forget that both times, Thomas had struck first. There hardly seemed any point in arguing about it now, though.

On Funalis, after Rhianna hit Thomas, she'd been concerned it hadn't been the right thing to do.

I don't want to make trouble with Arl Howe. He and Father have been friends for years and years . . .

"Yes," Loghain replied. "I remember that you were never fond of Rhianna Cousland."

"She was out of control as a child," Howe replied, "and only became more violent as she got older. I have no doubt she will continue to leave as much destruction as possible in her wake, if no one stops her." He lifted a brow. "Better to eliminate the threat she poses – Rhianna, along with the other Grey Wardens - as soon as possible."

"Eliminate the threat?"

"Yes." He paused. "With your leave, I have arranged for a . . . solution."

Howe crossed to the door and gestured to someone standing in the hallway.

The man who swaggered into the room was short of stature, but carried himself with a great deal of confidence. He wore leather armor, and a pair of daggers strapped to his back. His blonde hair, braided and pulled back at the temples, hung to his shoulders, and a gently curved tattoo snaked down the left side of his face. Most notably, he was not human, but an elf.

He stopped midway across the room, and gave a shallow bow. "The Antivan Crows send their regards." His accent was musical; he was most assuredly from Antiva.

"An assassin?" Loghain glanced at Howe. This was a drastic measure, and no doubt Howe's motivations were anything but pure. Still, it might not be a bad idea to deal with this bastard of Maric's before the rest of the nobles even learned of his existence. Loghain's stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought of just killing the lad outright. Then again, Maric had shown no interest in the boy. If he'd cared, he would have sent his bastard somewhere other than Redcliffe, to be raised by the brother of his dead wife.

Did Howe even know about Alistair? Or did he merely want Rhianna dead?

"Against the Grey Wardens we will need the very best, sire," Howe replied. "What with the troubles in the Bannorn, Orlesians at the border, and darkspawn in the south, it seemed to me that this would be the most expedient way to remove one of the . . . thorns in your side."

This was about Rhianna. Howe wanted her dead.

At the same time, the man did have a point. Loghain had more than enough to worry about without the damned Wardens getting underfoot, as Rhianna had done at Gherlen's Pass. And ridding the world of an Orlesian bard and a murderous Qunari could only be a good thing.

Loghain crossed the room and poured himself a glass of wine. He drank deeply, and stared into the fire. The flames danced and writhed before his eyes; it soothed his nerves, somehow. He took another drink.

An assassin. Until recently, he had never hired a killer to do a job for him; he had always faced his enemies head on. First there was the apostate he'd sent to Redcliffe. Now this? It felt wrong. Cowardly and deceitful. However, this situation was somewhat unprecedented.

He drank once more from the goblet.

"Just . . . get it done." He turned, and caught the elf's gaze. "Not the girl, though. Do whatever you like with the others, but I want Rhianna Cousland brought here to me. Alive, and unharmed."

The assassin inclined his head in acknowledgement of the request. "As you wish, sire."

"But, Your Grace." Howe's voice was smooth, but underneath was a note of panic. "Are you certain that's wise? Not only does the Cousland girl have ties with Orlais, but she has an excellent claim to the throne. If she were to put herself forward as an alternative to your daughter, it's likely the Landsmeet would be happy to support-"

"Enough!"

That was the feeblest, most transparent argument imaginable. Howe had come here today knowing full well Rhianna was alive, and it was obvious he wanted her dead for his own reasons. For him to bring Anora into this was infuriating.

Again, Loghain caught and held the assassin's gaze. "I have told you what I require. Kill anyone else you want, but bring Rhianna to me, here in Denerim, completely unharmed. I wish to speak with her, face to face. Last I heard, she was in the Frostback Mountains, between Fort Gherlen and Sulcher's Pass. If you don't hear any other word of her, search there."

After all they had been through together, he owed Rhianna at least that much. To hear from her own lips what had happened, and what it was she was trying to do. To ask her, plainly, if she intended to betray Ferelden. If the Grey Wardens meant for Cailan to die.

If he determined that she had, indeed, done things that were unforgivable, she would be executed, like any other traitor to the crown. But Loghain could not take the chance that she was blameless, and had been an unwilling, or unwitting pawn. He needed to know the truth, one way or the other, before he did something that could not be undone.

"I understand." Again, the elf bowed, and then strode from the room.

Loghain turned away, and looked back into the flames. He had nothing more to say to Howe; with any luck, the man would take the hint, and leave.

Thankfully, Howe did just that.

Loghain took another swallow of wine. Perhaps this Crow would succeed where Loghain's own guards had failed. If the man brought Rhianna here, gave Loghain the chance to see her and talk to her, it would be well worth whatever coin he required. No doubt Rhianna would be angry, but he would have to find a way to make her understand. She'd given him no choice.

He returned to his desk, and to the parchment with numbers scrawled upon it.

They looked no better now than they had earlier in the day. More soldiers were needed if they were to have any hope of pulling through this crisis. Many, many more. And the money to support them.

Loghain had no idea where he was going to find any of it.

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Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Amanda Kitswell, and to all my lovely reviewers: Kira Kyuu, Skidney, Tyrannosaurustex, Milly-finalfantasy, SwomeeSwan, and Arsinoe de Blassenville.

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