Chapter 56

Alistair knew the rules. It was standard pugilistic etiquette: first one to yield or be incapacitated lost; there were an unlimited number of rounds, which ended when any part of the body below the hips touched the ground; and fighters had a count of up to thirty to get back to their feet or be declared incapable of continuing.

Simple enough. He'd worked within these parameters all his life. What wasn't simple was that he was facing Loghain one-on-one. The man was a legend and had been around for a while. Who knew what sort of wily tricks the bastard had up his sleeve.

Leliana had told him to use his speed and end it as quickly as possible. Dictate the pace.

He'll want it slow. It favours him. Don't let him get comfortable. Keep him on his toes.

Alistair didn't know how to go about it. Sure, a speedy beatdown would be good for everyone involved, but... but he just wanted to stomp on Loghain for hours.

"Are you ready?" the umpire asked him and he nodded. Loghain answered the same way, and the umpire ushered them forward to meet and start the bout.

But Alistair didn't rush in. He stepped to his left, and Loghain stepped to his right. Getting a feel for the other person was important. A lot could be learnt from a fighter's stance and how they moved, and Loghain's movements were seamless. He never crossed his feet, never took his eyes off his target, never lowered his hands. He kept staring straight at Alistair as they circled each other, the circle getting smaller and smaller with every few steps.

Alistair fought the urge to rush in. An angry mind is a narrow mind. The Templar credo. He made sure to keep his breathing steady, staying on the balls of his feet.

But then, almost like a mage's lightning spell, Loghain darted in and Alistair expelled his breath, caught off-guard. The circling had lulled his mind into complacency and the sudden shift in rhythm caused a bubble of panic to form in his chest. He lashed out with a left jab, hoping to keep his opponent at a distance, but Loghain slipped his head to the left and threw a straight right over Alistair's left hand: a well-timed counter-cross.

It barely grazed Alistair's cheekbone but that was enough to cause that little bubble of panic to explode. He jerked away from it, but Loghain was suddenly everywhere, taking up his entire field of vision. There was nowhere to go. Alistair instinctively raised his arms to protect his face after the first contact.

Then he felt the hardest punch he'd ever experienced. It was a short right hook, and Loghain hammered it into his ribs, knocking the wind right out of him. Alistair automatically bent at the waist to recover, making the costliest mistake of his life.

As he was bending forward, Loghain pulled out his fist and with a jerk of his back and hips, sent it up in a vicious uppercut that caught Alistair's nose as he was lowering his face, breaking it and snapping his head back as spit flew from his mouth.

The impact was devastating, and having his own momentum turned against him made stars explode behind his eyes. Alistair felt his legs give way as his head swam, and he dropped to a knee.

The first round was over.

It took Alistair a few seconds to realise this, but he looked up when he did. His head was still swimming, and he couldn't hear the umpire's count, but he saw Loghain: the man stood at a safe distance, waiting for him to get up. There was a look of almost bored detachment on his face, as if this was just some pesky little problem he had to deal with before he went and dealt with the real issue.

That pisses me off.

Growling, Alistair shot to his feet, all stance and etiquette forgotten, pulled back his right hand and darted towards Loghain as fast as his still-recovering legs could carry him. He wanted to punch that fucker's face out of his ass.

And he got close, too. Close enough to throw that punch. It was loaded, and would have ended the contest if he'd landed it.

Instead, Alistair stumbled forward and threw a gigantic, wide right haymaker which anybody not completely blind could have avoided. He was repaid with an elbow strike aimed at his left temple, quickly followed by a left hook to his right cheek.

The two shots coming in from two separate directions rattled his brain completely, and Alistair dropped first to his knees and then fell forward on his face.

What just happened?

He had trouble breathing. He still couldn't hear properly.

It's Loghain. I imagined kicking his arse every day.

He placed his palms on the ground and lifted himself up.

I can do this. Go in hard and fast. Dictate the pace. Right.

Loghain had raised his guard slightly to protect his head better. That meant his body was ripe for the taking. Alistair lurched to his feet and brought up his fists to signal that he could continue.

When the umpire started the third round, Alistair took to the offense. He darted in and pummelled Loghain's torso with punches both straight and round. Loghain kept moving back, but he was absorbing every blow. It was as if his muscles were sponges. Alistair felt that there was no effect at all, like his punches were being smothered against boar fat.

All the movement left him gasping for breath which surprised him, seeing as how stamina had not been a problem for him in a while. Probably from the flurry of punches, he rationalised. It was normal and could happen. But then something happened that he couldn't explain away.

His left eye suddenly burned and he found that he couldn't even open it properly. This stopped him momentarily, and Loghain responded by bending at the waist and snapping down to land a headbutt on the bridge of his previously broken nose.

Stars exploded anew in Alistair's eyes, but this time he was given no respite. Loghain pressed in, alternating strikes between head and body. It was a pattern Alistair knew well. Head-body-body-head. Bring the guard up to strike the body and vice versa.

It was never funny to be on the receiving end of it, though.

Alistair knew he could take the punishment, but he was blind in one eye and was having trouble breathing. Between all the pummelling, good sense prevailed and he knelt quickly, bringing an end to the round and thirty seconds to recover.

Breathing heavily, Alistair looked up at Loghain. The man, also breathing fast, looked down at him, sneering, before turning and walking away. Such contempt Alistair had never before seen in another face. Perhaps all the body shots had gotten to him.

He looked to where Leliana was standing, found her, and offered a smile. She didn't smile back. Instead, she pointed at her nose and her eyebrow before using her index fingers to make a T-shape.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The T-section was formed by a horizontal line connecting the brows, and a vertical one running down to the nose. Attacking this region was standard procedure. A broken nose made it difficult to breathe and sapped stamina. A tear in the temple or forehead bled profusely. This got into the eyes and burnt, hindering vision.

So Alistair took a deep breath, placed a hand over his nose, clenched is jaws and wrenched it back into place. He'd had it broken before, but it never got easier. Or less painful. He wanted to black out then and there, but decided that there were more important tasks at hand. Covering his right nostril with his thumb, he blew out the blood and snot from his left nostril. He repeated this with the other one, clearing up the air passage as best he could.

The cut in his temple he couldn't do much about, but he dabbed away the blood. He could feel his right cheek swelling, and if his right eye closed while his left eye was all bloody... well. That would not end well.

Still having fifteen counts to go, Alistair waited and took stock of the situation. He was hurting, and he knew that Loghain would be, too. He wasn't superhuman. His body was still normal, and Alistair had hit him enough to cause a dent. Now he had to find a way to enlarge it.

Go be a Grey Warden. Aedan had told him. He shook his head. Grey Wardens take help wherever they can and do whatever needs to be done. Easier said than done. Can't just up and hit him in the ding-ding in front of everybody and claim to have won fairly.

He glanced at Leliana again and she patted her thigh. Alistair stared at her a long while and then smiled again. He got up to scratch at the count of twenty-nine.

All right, then.

The umpire called them both forward to continue the bout. Loghain came in fast. Alistair switched stances, presenting Loghain his right side, took a hopping step forward, raised his front leg and shoved his foot straight into Loghain's sternum, sending the man tumbling back and onto his rear.

The round was over. Alistair tasted victory. The soul-melting glare Loghain levelled his way didn't even affect him.

But he was the Hero of River Dane. He got back up. And Alistair was ready.

He switched back to an orthodox stance and as soon as Loghain was in range, lashed out with his rear leg in a high round kick aimed at Loghain's head. The man raised his guard and Alistair's shin smashed into his forearm, but it did nothing to stop the force from being transmitted straight into Loghain's head.

Alistair pulled his foot back and then aimed another scything blow, this time to the outside of Loghain's lead leg, just a bit above the knee-cap.

Stings, doesn't it? Leliana had asked him upon doing the same to him and Alistair smirked to himself. Yeah, I'll bet it does.

Loghain scrunched up his face and Alistair shot out a quick left-right combo, which was blocked, before returning his attention to Loghain's leg. The man grunted and backed away with a visible limp. Alistair stepped in with his lead leg, twisted on the ball of it and smashed his left shin into the inside of Loghain's leg, eliciting a grunt.

Now, Alistair smelt blood. Now, he was getting instant gratification. He was making the fucker suffer and could see it before his eyes. He closed his mouth and expelled all the built up blood and snot out of his nose as Loghain slapped some life into his injured knee.

Thank the Maker for Orlesians and their crazy kicks.

When Loghain approached now, he was cautious. He wasn't putting much weight on his lead leg. He was wary, and Alistair wanted to make him just a bit more comfortable. So he stepped in and led with a jab, which Loghain slapped away. He threw another, and then a straight right aimed at his gut.

Loghain moved his head out of the way, slipping to the outside. Taking advantage, Alistair threw a round blow aimed at his face.

Loghain did what he expected: brought his guard up, both hands, to protect his face and absorb the blow. He smirked inwardly.

Alistair altered the course of his punch. Instead of crashing into Loghain's forearms, it sailed past in front of them. Then he rotated his wrist, so that his palm faced outwards, towards Loghain, and while he was pulling his arm back, he hooked his fingers around his right forearm, and pulled it aside, opening Loghain's guard and exposing his body.

He then stepped in, and delivered a contracted arm blow to the solar plexus. Vertical fist. A peg to the mark.

Loghain coughed. A punch to the mark always caused breathlessness. An instant match-ender. But Loghain didn't fall to his knees. He was bent over, and, realising his chin was exposed, guarded his face, crossing his arms. This was the Hero of River Dane, the man who'd beat back the Orlesian Empire. He would not go down so easily.

Alistair was more than happy to oblige for though his face was protected, his sides weren't. Alistair took a step to his left, dipped his shoulder and delivered another round blow, an open-handed palm strike to the liver. Leliana had hit him with one a long time ago, and it had fucked him up. Liver shots were like that. Merciless. The bout was as good as over, but Alistair wasn't done.

Oh, no. Not yet.

As Loghain was falling to his knees, Alistair brought up his right knee and drove it into Loghain's face. He then grabbed the man by the shoulder and held him up. Loghain was clutching at his side, unable to guard his scrunched-up face and Alistair smashed a series of elbows into it.

He'd waited a long, long time for this, and now that it was here, he just didn't want to stop. It was way too easy, way too satisfying, to just keep going and going and going.

So he held Loghain's chin between his thumb and index finger, pausing his assault for just a second. The gaping cuts in Loghain's forehead matted his hair with blood and he could scarcely keep his eyes open. His hands hung at his sides and he spat out some blood.

"You have... have a bit of Maric in you after all," he croaked. "Good."

"Fuck Maric," Alistair replied. "This is for Duncan."

Then he pushed Loghain away, raised his lead foot and thrust out with a high, straight side kick, catching Loghain under the chin with the sole of his foot.

The Hero of River Dane would not be getting back up to scratch. He lay on the ground, spread-eagled, bleeding from cuts all over his face. It didn't take the umpire long to decide that the man was unable to compete any further.

I win.

Though it didn't feel like it. True, Alistair had given back as much as, if not more than, what he'd gotten, but there was no sense of satisfaction. He thought that beating the shit out of Loghain would make him feel good. And it did, to extent, but it wasn't all he'd hoped and dreamed it'd be.

So he stood there, hands on hips and breathing heavy, staring down at his defeated foe, the bane of his existence, the one who had hunted him for a year and taken everything he'd cared about. At that moment, Alistair realised that even if he tap danced on Loghain's face, it wouldn't really matter. There was no way he could feel good about brutalising someone, no matter who it was or what they'd done. It just wasn't... him.

He remembered Ser Cauthrien, who had asked them to show Loghain mercy.

He looked at Anora, who was looking away from it all.

He looked at Eamon, appeared grim. Alistair wondered whether he felt good about what he just saw.

He then looked at Aedan. The man held his gaze, but his expression betrayed nothing. He appeared to be waiting for something.

Go be a Grey Warden.

Finally, he looked at Leliana, who offered a tight smile.

Whatever happens, I want you to make an informed decision.

Alistair closed his eyes and tilted his face skywards.

Oh, Duncan. I wonder if you're proud. I don't know how to feel about this. I only hope I'm making the right choice here.

He stepped up to Loghain as the hall grew silent once before. There had been much muttering following the umpire's decision. Alistair didn't know what it was all about, but he guessed they were already thinking about what punishment lay in store for Loghain. A grand execution would be more than he deserved.

Alistair took a deep breath. Nothing he would have liked better than to behead the fucker right there and then. But then Anora would probably make complications. That would help nobody.

Go be a Grey Warden.

Looking back at Aedan, Alistair nodded. Then he looked down at Loghain.

"Loghain Mac Tir," he said in a voice barely loud enough for all to hear. "In light of the ongoing Blight, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription and induct you, instantly and irrevocably, into the Warden ranks. We expect that every recruit shall fulfil their duty." He swallowed both his anger and pride. "Serve with distinction and honour, Warden-Recruit Loghain."

Then he turned and walked back to his corner, fists clenched. He caught Aedan smiling.

Time to be a bloody Grey Warden.