A/N: Graphic violence. Reader discretion advised.

Chapter 45

Three lackeys. Brigandine. Maces at their hips. Ready for action. Howe carried his sword with a dagger as a companion. He looked smug. He had every reason to be. The man had done it all, as far as he was concerned.

"I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here... but then again, I never thought you'd live either." He chuckled to himself, the actions of a man firmly believing he is in control of a situation. "Is this about your family? Still? Haven't yet fit into your father's armour, eh?"

Aedan undid his sword belt. The Cousland family blade he'd taken from their armoury at his mother's insistence would finally drink the blood it so desperately thirsted for.

But not yet. Not just yet.

He put it down on the ground tenderly and proceeded to unstrap his greaves.

"Your parents died on their knees, your brother's corpse rots in Ostagar, his brat was burned on a scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife," he went on. "I made your mother kiss my feet as she died. It was the last thing your father saw. And what's left? A fool husk of a son, likely to end his days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You're the last of nothing. This is pointless. You've lost."

Having removed the greaves from his left shin, Aedan moved on to the right.

"Your family squandered glory that was rightfully mine. How suitable then that their deaths should raise me to the ear of the king!"

Now clad only in his trousers and tunic, Aedan stood up and rolled his shoulders.

Rendon Howe snarled. "There it is," he said. "Right there. That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back."

"Are you going to talk all day?" Aedan asked. "Or are we going to fight?"

"A heroic last stand, boy? Your father would be proud. I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever. Get him."

Three men. Armoured. Charging in unison, maces raised high. The problem with weapons with all their weight placed on one end was that they all required a backswing. Axes, maces, clubs, bats, they were all the same. The bigger the backswing, the greater the force, and the greater the blunt trauma inflicted.

So Aedan darted forward, moving faster than he'd ever had before. He grabbed the raised right wrist of the man with his left before the downswing could even begin and snatched away his weapon. He fractionally bent his knees to lower himself, right arm cocked, fist vertical, and drove it into the man's breastplate, the metal folding against his knuckles, crushing and bending until Aedan felt he made contact with the man's abdomen, and with a flex of the hips, he dug his feet into the ground and drove it in further, resulting in the man flying backwards into one of his comrades, and they both crashed into the back wall.

Black veins stood out against the skin of his rock steady fist, the spider-web network running up his arm and disappearing under the folds of his tunic. The corruption flowed freely through him, reinforcing his skin and bones and muscles, strengthening what was already there into something inhuman. Aedan glanced at his third would-be assailant, who stood gaping at his compatriots who lay in a heap, either unconscious or faking it. He then looked at Aedan, raised his hands and let his mace fall.

Letting him go wasn't an option. He would raise the alarm. So Aedan threw the captured mace at his face. The man raised his shield to block the projectile and so successfully, giving Aedan enough time to cover the distance between them. He lowered himself like before, dipped his right shoulder, and threw a vicious uppercut into the man-at-arm's abdomen, the breastplate folding around his fist like cloth. The power of the punch took the man off his feet, and his back smashed into the ceiling before he came crashing back down to earth, groaning and spitting blood.

"What are you?"

Aedan turned slowly upon Howe, who seemed mortified. He glanced at his men, then at Aedan, and then at the door: actions of a man who knew he'd lost control of a situation.

"The monster you created." Aedan advanced on Howe, who unsheathed both of his blades, but kept backing away. "You're wrong. My father wouldn't be proud of me. The things I've done to get here... proud is the last thing he'd be. But we'll never know because he's dead." He smiled widely. "And here's the funny thing about the dead. They don't give a rat's ass about what those living have to say or think."

Howe lunged half-heartedly as he kept backing away and circling, but the blade never reached Aedan. He didn't even care if it did. He just wanted to take his sweet time, enjoy Uncle Rendon Howe's panic. He knew Howe was a coward, that even in panic he was plotting. Probably to keep circling until he had himself between the door and Aedan. Then he would make a run for it.

And he did. Ran like a bitch. Threw his weapons aside and ran. This amused Aedan, who gave pursuit. He was infinitely quicker, and caught up to Howe before he even reached the door. Being a nice guy, however, Aedan decided to give the man what he wanted.

So he grabbed the back of Howe's head with his right hand and smashed his face into the metal door. He heard Howe's nose crunch and splinter, and when he let go, the man tripped over his feet and fell back on his rear, covering his face.

Aedan kicked him lightly on the shoulder to make him lie down. Then he sat down on his chest so that Howe could see him clearly.

"You assumed I was dead," he said as he cradled Howe's head with his left hand. "You should've checked."

Then he smashed his right elbow into his head. Repeatedly. Frenzied, clubbing blows that cut away skin and shattered bones. Howe's skull dented from the blows, blood squelching out of his ears. He felt the vibrations shoot up his arm and shoulder, knowing full well the damage he was doing. He could've crushed his head but he stopped himself and let Howe's head go.

It resembled a squashed apple, but he was still breathing. Not bothering to undo the fastenings, Aedan got up and ripped Howe's breastplate off. Then he bunched up the maille and gambeson and tore those away as well. Howe made an effort to speak as he was ripping away the tunic and Aedan glanced at him.

"Can't hear you," he said offhandedly as he went and got his sword. He knelt down beside Howe, gripping the handle with his right hand and the centre of the blade with his left. He smiled at Howe. "Scream for me."

Then he plunged the blade into Howe's diaphragm and dragged it down along his stomach, ripping the skin open. The sword was no scalpel, and with the amount of thrashing Howe was doing, it was hard to make a symmetrical and surgical cut. But the pain had woken Howe up, so that was good.

Aedan cut him up to the navel, put away his sword and drove his hands into Howe's gut. He pulled out the intestines and wrapped them tight around Howe's throat.

Then he just squeezed and waited. It took him quite a while, but finally it was over. Howe's tongue pushed itself out, his sphincter failed and his eyes bulged out. The screaming ended. The thrashing stopped.

Uncle Rendon Howe was dead.

Aedan sat on the floor as blood pooled around the recently deceased body. He'd finally done it. He'd visited vengeance upon the man who'd ripped everything away from him. It was strange to think that it was done. Everything that was fuelling him to do everything that he had done was now squared away. Aedan Cousland had nothing more to do.

No, that's not true, he thought as he looked at his family sword. There was still one thing he had left to do.

He chuckled drily and shook his head. Not yet. He would leave that to the Archdemon. For now, there are other matters to attend to.

So he stripped one of the unconscious knights and exchanged his blood caked tunic and trousers for a clean set. Then he cleaned the sword, put his armour and sword belt back on and jogged up to the room where Anora was being held, only to find that the Queen herself was getting helped into a suit of armour similar to theirs by her handmaid.

"Disguise," Alistair explained as he reached them. "Doesn't want Howe's people or her own to recognise her." He then stared him up and down. "Your business...?"

"Concluded," Aedan replied. There was nothing more to say on the matter. "We'll move as soon as she's done."

But it turned out that was wishful thinking. Though shouting and screaming was common from the dungeons, Howe's voice had been distinct. Aedan wasn't surprised when he saw Ser Cauthrien barricading the way out with twenty arbalests and a mage.

"Wardens, in the name of the Regent, I am placing you both under arrest for treason, trespassing and the murder of Arl Rendon Howe," she declared. "Surrender, and you may yet be shown mercy."

Aedan glanced at Anora, who was staring pointedly at the ground. She was in disguise for a reason, and if he turned to her to speak for them, who knew what she would do? He knew absolutely nothing about her, and to use a piece he knew nothing about was likely to do more harm than good.

He looked at Alistair, his jaw set and ready to fight. Leliana was ready to loose at a moment's notice, her eyes flicking to the mage. Zevran was smiling to himself. Maker only knew what was going through his head.

"Fine," said Aedan. "We'll surrender."

"What?" Alistair hissed. "Why stop now? Cauthrien is the only one standing between-"

"That'd confirm all the lies Loghain's been spreading about us." Aedan shook his head before looking back at Cauthrien. "You said that you were placing the Wardens under arrest. I assume the others are free to leave?"

"Yes," Cauthrien replied immediately. "Loghain only wants you, and I am happy that the situation was resolved without violence."

"Well, there goes my lunch," lamented Alistair with a sigh. Leliana hugged him as the guards advanced on them.

"I'll be back for you," she whispered. "Both of you."

Aedan nodded. "Just get her out of here."

We'll see about the rest.