CHAPTER 12

..x..

Loghain set his fork atop an empty plate and wiped his mouth with a cloth, hard gaze focused on the decorative piece of armor at the other end of the dining hall. The royal banner hung over the walls, swaying with the cold breeze flowing from the windows. A fire burned at the center of the room, providing some needed warmth within the frigid insides of the palace. He adjusted the cuffs of his black and grey tunic, the sword at his hip clanking against his ornate chair.

The castle's private dining area was ten times more spacious than the tiny village hut in which he'd been raised in his youth. And it was almost obscene how much wealth nobility owned when compared to the peasants, to the point where they were not once concerned about going without a meal. But although he'd risen above those days, he still cared about the countrymen who lived what he'd lived before his life changed. Though it appeared many of the privileged didn't think the same. The situation in Ferelden was worsening, and his campaign against the banns who opposed him continued without the results he anticipated.

Thoughts and memories drifted through his mind, sending him back to a time that still felt all too recent. If there was something he learned during his travels with his old friend Maric, it was that, at times, matters needed to become worse before they could get better. And back then, when all Fereldans were nothing short of slaves to a tyrannical usurper, worse was the norm. He recalled the many times he and his father had to flee those Orlesian forces along with the rest of the rebels, seeking any semblance of normalcy in a chaotic world filled with cruelty.

Many a time they had to fight for their lives, watching those they cared about die and even more of them dragged away to be jailed and possibly tortured. But regardless of the consequences, those who'd followed them kept on fighting, risking everything for freedom. And when he'd met the then Prince Maric, he'd both lost and gained.

His father perished giving his life for Maric, seeing in him a beacon of hope despite the young man's lack of nerve, focus, and military prowess at the time. And from his death, Loghain had found a clearer purpose: to work together with a runaway prince and bring the Orlesians to their knees.

They had both been young, each raised in two different worlds in spite of the usurper's constant persecution of Maric's mother—the legendary Rebel Queen. And by the Maker, they broke through the divide in social class and brought down the enemy. It took blood, sweat, and many deaths to place Maric in his throne. Great sacrifices many younger than himself have forgotten.

But he would remind them of this. Again, Loghain Mac Tir would unify Ferelden, even if by force. Just as back then.

The dining hall doors opened, drawing his attention away from the memories of past battles, and to his only daughter—Anora. He watched her enter, concern etched upon her brow while her purple dress flowed at her ankles, long golden hair hanging over delicate shoulders. She resembled his late wife in beauty and poise. But her eyes held his calculated stare, her mind his equal smarts, and her heart the same pride.

"Good morning, Father," she greeted, her tone polite, but underneath there was an edge. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she took a seat across from him on the long banquet table. Servants promptly served her breakfast, each one avoiding her gaze with heads held low. They could tell their queen was unhappy, and so could he.

"Good morning. I see you remain... discontent." His gaze softened as he regarded her, leaning back in his chair before taking the chalice of wine in his hand. Loghain knew his attempts at shielding her from what was happening around them weren't welcome. But they were necessary. Anora had to take over the throne when this was over, and he would make certain only he would be held responsible for his own actions.

"Leave us," she sharply commanded the servants. The elven maids were all too pleased to comply, bowing before they scurried out of the room, leaving the rest of the food trays for later.

With a deep sigh, she glanced up at him, her fingers pinching a piece of bread from the roll on her plate. Anora ate and swallowed with disinterest, pinning him with a firm stare. "Yes... Why wouldn't I be? Ferelden's state of affairs is dire, and you have yet to allow me to take part in the decisions made thus far."

His expression was severe, but he kept his tone gentle, trying to reassure her. He was not very good at expressing his feelings, but for her, he made every effort. "The current state of affairs is something only military strategy can resolve, Anora... You should trust my judgment and be patient."

Anora frowned, frustration hinting her voice. "I may not have had feelings for him any longer, but my king lies dead. And now civil war ravages my lands during a Blight that threatens all. You cannot fault me for doubting you, Father."

"How many times must I tell you?" A tired breath left him as he leaned forward, facing her scrutiny with unwavering resolve. "Cailan was responsible for his own death. He never listened to anyone and was too engrossed in his fantasies to make competent decisions. "

"That may be so, but Ferelden now has no king and no heir..."

"Ferelden has you. Your leadership will bring back order once this crisis is over."

"Provided there is any land left to rule…" Anora focused on her food, but her stiff posture told him her mood towards him was not improving. "You have yet to act on the Blight while the number of refugees arriving in Denerim grows with each passing day. The people need hope, and we have given them none."

Loghain felt his own irritation grow, struggling to accept her doubt in him was justified after all he'd sacrificed for her sake. "The darkspawn will be defeated. I have already begun taking measures that will ensure our success in this war."

"What measures, exactly?" Anora gazed at him, brows knitting inquisitively.

The seasoned veteran took a drink from his wine, tasting its bitterness before speaking once more. "I have sent some of my men to Orzammar to help gather the help of the dwarves... They are an ally. We can use their aid to rid ourselves of this threat."

"Are you certain of this? The dwarven military is small when compared to what is left of ours, and that of the nobility combined. It doesn't seem possible that only their help will suffice."

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "You worry too much."

"And you worry too little, Father..." Anora gave her head a disapproving shake, eyes almost pleading. "Times have changed in these thirty years. It is no longer the Orlesians who are the threat. The Blight, however, is much greater than those old grudges. Please seek their aid… You risk losing your beloved homeland to the darkspawn when we could be working together against them."

A look resembling sadness crossed his face and he stood, drinking what was left of his wine before slamming the cup upon the table. He stared at that cup for a moment, jaw set, before he closed his eyes and released a breath. He quietly stepped away from his chair and crossed the distance towards her, steps steady and back straight. Without saying a word, he leaned over to kiss the top of her head, before gently caressing her cheek. "Your words come from a place of ignorance, my child…"

He then turned his back to her and headed for the door.

"Father…"

He paused.

"You know that I love you and that I respect you above anyone else…" she said, staring at his back with hard eyes of her own. "But be aware that I shall not remain idle for much longer... Not while my kingdom burns. Should things continue as they are, I will do whatever it takes to take back the throne and my lands, even if I must eventually defy you."

"I know…" Loghain glanced over his shoulder, a small, proud smile on his lips.

Anora watched him walk away without another word, leaving her with only her thoughts for company.

.x.x.x.x.

It was time to head for the study, where he knew Howe waited for him. Loghain didn't much like the man, but he couldn't deny that the new Teyrn of Highever was more trustworthy than any of the other nobles currently taking arms against him—this despite the way in which he obtained his title. They'd known each other for almost as many years he'd known Maric and had even fought together against their oppressors. That was the sort of experience he needed. The kind of people who would help him gain another victory and ease his daughter's fears.

Opening a large oak door, he entered as if he'd always owned the place, while the hawkish man turned his attention from a window to him.

"Ah, good morning, Your Majesty."

"Good morning." Loghain strode to the desk and took a seat, going straight to business. "How are things on the field?"

Howe stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. "Several nobles have surrendered their support to us. Soon the Bannorn will have no other choice but to join us, or continue fighting and risk not having enough resources to defend themselves against the coming darkspawn raids."

He nodded. "Good… And what of the darkspawn?"

"They are crawling towards Redcliffe as we speak, stopping along the way to destroy minor villages and homesteads." Howe stopped for a moment, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "The reports say that their numbers are... significant."

Loghain scoffed and scowled derisively at the news. "People tend to exaggerate when fear clouds their judgment… But it is a shame Eamon is in no shape to fight them when they arrive."

"Indeed," Hawe uttered with a quiet smile. "On a separate issue, sire… The preparations to begin the trade of the alienage elves have been completed. Soon, they will no longer be a concern to you."

"Well done… The sooner it is done, the better." Loghain's hardened gaze fell upon the map that lay open over his desk. His strategies were at full display upon it, all planned to the last detail against the rebellious nobles, and soon against the darkspawn. It was just a matter of time before all the pieces fell into place. And although he was still filled with remorse over his hand in his son's passing, he found himself wondering what Maric would have done had he been in his place.

Surely nothing so vile and treasonous. Yet justified.

Anything for my country...