A/N: Finally we reach the moment Dulcia has been biding her time for ever since the very beginning. Arl Howe may have destroyed her family, but she knows a coward when she sees one, and she herself has lost all her hesitance and doubt long ago. Will the villain be able to stand up against her, or has she grown too strong for even him? Enjoy!

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Fifty-Three. Dulcia: Howe to Get Revenge.

"Welcome to the heart of Denerim," Arl Eamon says, pulling open the doors to his manor at the outskirts of the Market District. "We are in the nest of our enemies, now, and poised to make the first strike against them. Now we must wait and see how they will respond."

Dulcia strides into the manor and sets her belongings down on the cold stone floor. Her feet had been tired from their long trek from Redcliffe, but the knowledge that she is Denerim again livens her heart and fuels her spirit to propel her body even further forward. According to the town criers, Rendon Howe had been made Arl of the capital city after Urien had been deposed, and had since moved his residence from Amaranthine to the arling's estate, a place not far from where the company is settled now. He is close now, closer than he's ever been since that fateful night of slaughter, and the mere awareness that any day now he will be skewered at the end of the sword keeps Dulcia from being overburdened by their recent traveling and restless nights. She cannot afford to lose her energy now, not when the resolution she has been waiting for is so close.

A serving girl appears at the top of the stairwell and drops into a curtsy before Arl Eamon. "Your grace, pardon the intrusion, but you have visitors awaiting you in the main hall."

"So soon? I had hoped to give the Wardens time to rest and unpack their belongings. Is it urgent?"

"I think so, Your grace. It is Teryn Loghain, Ser Cauthrien, and Arl Howe."

Dulcia's hands immediately sought her sword, which she unsheathed and lifted at the ready. "Perfect," she hisses, clenching her teeth. "I was hoping my vengeance would not be long in coming."

"Lady Cousland," Arl Eamon says gently, lowering her hand back down to her side. "It is not advisable to enter into this discussion with your weapon drawn. Loghain may not yet be king, but he is still a Teryn, and one who has the support of many at his side. If you threaten him without provocation, you could very well be arrested for treason against the crown, especially since his daughter is the Queen. If it is your wish to bring Howe to justice, challenge him personally and make it a duel of honor so you will not be charged in his death. You are essential to the Grey Wardens; it would be fatal for us to lose you now. In fact, if we are to have Alistair as a viable competitor against Anora and Loghain, you will be our most solid foundation of support."

"But she is his lover," Britomart points out. "Don't people expect she will be a bit biased in favor of Alistair?"

"Yes, but she is first and foremost a Cousland and a Grey Warden in the eyes of the Landsmeet. She will be seen as representing both the interests of the nobility and of those who wish to defend Ferelden against the Blight. Even if she does have more reason to choose Alistair, her family is known for being fair and even handed in the way they act for the betterment of their country rather than for personal gain. In short, she is the polar opposite of Rendon Howe, who is hated more than anyone else within this city, and both Loghain and Alistair require people at their side who will aid their cause rather than detract from it."

"Ah, that's a relief," Alistair jokes, though he look nauseated by the continual references to himself as the future king of Ferelden, an idea he has not yet reconciled himself to. "I surround myself with the sort of people everyone loves! A member of the Crows, a Quanari, an apostate, an elf who murdered an Arl's son, a handful dwarves with gutter mouths, an Orlesian..."

"All of which prove your diplomacy and ability to associate equally across race and national boundaries."

"That's assuming I actually played a part in having them in our company... which I didn't."

"Must we have this conversation now?" Dulcia asks, her hands tightening on her weapon's pommel. "Our guests are waiting."

Alistair reaches over to brush a stray curl from her forehead. "Put aside your blade, Dulcia. Both Loghain and Howe will be punished at the proper time. I need you at my side for what is to come, so stay out of trouble for now, okay?"

Dulcia sighs and returns her sword to her back. "Very well. But don't expect me to polite and silent in his presence. He stole my father's lands and titles, and if he dares to style himself as Teyrn of Highever to my face, Andraste knows what I will do."

Loghain, Cauthrien, and Howe are waiting seated in the main hall, and they rise to their feet as Eamon and the Wardens enter into the room. "Loghain," Arl Eamon calls out to him, not without a degree of sarcasm, "this is an honor. That the regent would greet me personally..."

"How could I not greet a man who considers himself important enough to call every noble in Ferelden to Denerim in the middle of a Blight?" Loghain's eyes skim over the Wardens, but the only one familiar to him is Arlindria, whom he frowns at coldly. Arl Howe's eyes meet Dulcia's, and his skin goes bloodless for a moment, as if he is seeing a ghost.

"The Blight is the reason I am here," Eamon responds calmly. "Ferelden needs a king to unite the land against the Blight, which clearly you have been unable to do. These seven youths have been working at it in your stead, and now they find that they cannot progress further while you stand in the way of complete unification."

"Ferelden has a strong leader. Anora is just as capable as your little pets, and she has the advantage of having me at the head of her armies. Do you really think these children know how to command forces against an enemy as inexhaustible as the horde?"

"We have led countless of battles in these recent months, many of them hopeless and against forces stronger than ourselves," Arlindria interrupts. "Broodmothers, dragons, demons, abominations, possessed mages, and spirits of the dead. In spite of all odds, we have prevailed and assured that those who accompany us have survived unscathed. Considering Ostagar, perhaps Ferelden would benefit from replacing its General."

Lesser men may have reacted to such a speech with an outburst of temper, but Loghain simply glares at her coolly, keeping his composure as unmovable as stone. Dulcia despises him with all her heart, but cannot help but be impressed that he at least has some manner of control over himself, even though he has lost his mind to his own greed and ambition.

"The Grey Warden recruits," Loghain grimaces, studying them. "Lady Aeducan, is it? I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathy for what happened to your order. It was unfortunate that they chose to turn against the king and Ferelden, but so it goes."

"So it goes?" Dulcia snarls, held steady only by Alistair and Alain's hands on her shoulders. "As if we would accept the sympathy of deserters, king killers, and traitors!"

"Careful with that tongue, girl. This is my city, and your talk is treasonous. Eamon, you would do well to tame your pets before they ruin your name before you even have the chance to prove it. I had heard your illness had left you feeble, but this..."

"Oh, enough," Alixire snaps. "You should do a better job of paying the people who do your dirty work for their silence. I'm an old friend of the mage you hired to poison the Arl, and he told me everything we needed to hear about that matter."

"And not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these..." Arl Eamon wrinkles his nose, "...sycophants."

"How impolite of you, Eamon. Surely you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Denerim and Teyrn of Highever?"

"Teyrn of Highever?" Dulcia says tightly.. "Andraste curse your tongue for calling that murderer by my father's name. Those rights belong to my family, and I would sooner die than have them in the hands of the man who killed them."

"Eamon, if you cannot control her..." Loghain trails off as he gets a better look at Dulcia's face. "Ah, I see a resemblance. You are the daughter of Bryce Cousland, are you not? Lady Dulcia. Perhaps this will serve as a lesson, Howe, as to why you should never do a job half heartedly."

"I don't understand," Howe murmurs softly. "I could have sworn she was at Castle Cousland that night."

"The Maker spared me so I could bear witness to your crimes, and to avenge those who you killed," Dulcia says, clenching her fists as she tries to keep herself from physically lashing out against him.

"Curb your tongue, churl." Cauthrien steps forward, her hands inching towards her blade. "Your betters are speaking, and you were already ordered to be silent by the regent himself."

"Enough, Cauthrien." Loghain sighs and steps in between his supporters and Dulcia. "If you have any complaints against the Arl, Lady Cousland, I am sure the seneschal will be more than happy to listen to your harping. As for you, Eamon, I am disappointed. Our king is dead and the nation is frightened. You weaken our efforts and divide our nation with your selfish ambitions for the throne."

Dulcia opens her mouth to berate him again, but Alain shushes her and speaks on her behalf. "You were the one who divided Ferelden," he says in his soft yet commanding vote. "You decided yourself that you could lead against the Blight better than the Grey Wardens, but you have no idea who we are or what price we pay to defeat the darkspawn. If you continue to hold us as a foolish children's tale, you will lose the land you hold so dear because of your pride. If you will not stand with us, not even you will be able to survive."

"Foolish child," Loghain says, shaking his head. "The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him."

He turns around and gestures for Arl Howe and Cauthrien to follow. As they head for the doors of the estate, Dulcia calls after them. "Next time I see you, Rendon Howe, be sure to have reconciled yourself to the Maker and Andraste. You're a dead man walking, and your time is running out."

"Dulcia," Alistair says gently, keeping her held firmly against him as the three traitors leave the room with their backs turned to her. "Keep calm. The time will come, I swear."

"It can't come soon enough," she chokes out, her body trembling. "The Maker teaches us forgiveness, but Andraste help me, I cannot do it. There are some evils in the world that I could perhaps be able to spare some pity for, but what he did to me, to my family, I cannot, cannot forgive."

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As they make their way through the Arl of Denerim's dungeons, Dulcia remembers her mother and father in their final moments. They had known what was coming, and though they had accepted it, she could tell back then that they were afraid. It hadn't been their time to go, and they were well aware of everything that had been lost, everything they were losing. They would never see their grandson grow to adulthood, lift his first sword, or fall in love. They would never again comfort their son or hold their daughter, or witness what they would make of their lives as they came into their own. Her mother would never laugh again with Lady Landra, and her father would never ride his horse beside Ser Gilmore through Highever, surveying the lands he had worked so hard to make happy.

But in spite of this, Dulcia knows that there was some happiness in their hearts before they passed. She had been spared, after all. They loved her, more than they loved even themselves, and they were content that she at least would not have to undergo the blades of Howe's men and have her life cut short before she ever did anything worthy of pride. Whatever dying hopes they had, they placed onto her along with the enduring belief that she would not disappoint them or let their hopes fall. As her father had said, it was their parting gift to her. Use it well, and never again fear to follow the path you were made to follow.

Dulcia is sickened by the memory of her parents' death, but that they were able to find contentment even through their fear of dying and losing the precious things in their lives gives her peace. They had died for her, but their death wouldn't be in vain. She has lived on for their sakes, and now she will settle the score and set their spirits to rest. She will not shame herself or fail them now, after all this time. She is strong because of them, and because of the faith they had that she would not allow their sacrifice to go to waste.

"Look what we have here," Howe chuckles to himself as she at last finds her way to where he is hiding. "Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, still playing the man. I never thought you would be foolish enough to turn up here, but I never thought you'd actually live either."

"More the fool you, then. I lived, and lived for this very moment with all my heart. If you thought I'd cower when I saw you prancing around like Loghain's favorite little lordling, you were sorely mistaken."

"You really think you can keep your family's honor by doing this? I wiped the Cousland name from Ferelden history, and you, the only one left to carry it, will provide the final funeral for it here. Even if you do live, which you won't, you'll end up dead in the Deep Roads one day, and that will be the legacy of your precious family. You are the last of your line, and the last of nothing. Your grudge against me is pointless, a folly you will soon regret."

"Regret this? Ha! There is very little I will value more than relieving this world of a spineless murderer who cannot even get a title on his own without kissing the ass of people more powerful than him."

Arl Howe bristles at this, but does not yet draw his weapons. "Say as you will, but this murderer tore down the mighty Couslands, and reduced your father and mother to shrieking children before I slaughtered them. And your nephew and sister-in-law? I burned their bodies on a trash heap along with the commoners and all the other refuse from your beloved Highever. By the Maker, if you could have seen it! That foolish and proud family I have always been forced to be second to, destroyed by my own hands!"

"Gloat if it helps you sleep at night, Howe, but you are nothing more than a coward," Dulcia says, smiling sadly at him. "My family worked for what they earned in life, and struggled as hard as laborers in the field in order to be strong and truly understand our people. And how did you defeat them? By slaughtering them in the night while they fought in defense of the defenseless, the children and women and innocents you killed. How can I not mock a man who gave himself glory through the death of those who could not even lift swords to protect themselves? Your nobility is nothing but a sham, and your words are just bluster I will not rise to anymore. Ever since my parents died, I thought of your face every time I felt myself getting weak or losing my resolve. You, Rendon Howe, are responsible for fueling my fire and making me stronger than I ever would have been on my own. And now that strength you inspired in me will be used to kill you. I don't care anymore what you did to defile my parents' bodies, or Oren's or Oriana's. They'll have their revenge through me, and you will regret that you ever harmed them a million times over when you die by my sword."

"There it is, right there," Arl Howe whispers, all of his former bravado seemingly sucked out of him. "That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success over me. It seems you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud. I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."

"But not," Dulcia smiles, drawing her blade, "as badly as I want you dead."

With a roaring battle cry, she lunges at him, allowing the others to take care of his guards and mages as the hunter and the prey face each other one-on-one. Howe is a strong fighter, and his body is sturdier than her own, but what Dulcia lacks in physical power, she makes up for in force of will and relentlessness. Every ounce of energy she has been saving for this moment unleashes, and she hounds him until he is backed up against the wall, fighting her alone and with fear and cowardice displayed plainly in his eyes. She knows his weaknesses all too well. He is no hero and has never been, and all his attempts at glory have been vain and selfish, on behalf of his own ambitions rather than for the good of anyone else. He fights for his name alone, and with nothing else to live for and no one else to protect, his sword has no feeling, no motive for matching the passion and fervor with which she attacks him. When she presses forward, he flattens himself against the bars of his dungeon with nowhere left to go. In a moment, his blades are knocked from his hands and sent spinning to the floor.

Dulcia reaches down to where her dagger is strapped against her thigh and plunges it into his heart over and over again until he is limp at her feet, his wide and unseeing eyes locked upon her, the final Cousland who would thwart his twisted path.

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Coming Up: As the final conflict approaches, Morrigan begins to realize her feelings for Hannon are more than she thought. Will her hatred of love end things between them forever, or will she welcome the hated emotion in her heart even in spite of the consequences?