We are in the home stretch, guys! Next chapter might be the last one!

I'll most likely write a short sequel, but I'm not sure yet.

But it's all thanks to you guys that I've made it this far! I would not have done it without you. Your support means everything to me.

WARNING: This chapter was painful to write, so it might be painful to read.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, and send me more support for a quick update!

Avina

How does someone prepare for something like this?

She feels like a little girl, trying to get everyone to listen to her again.

But... she's not a little girl anymore. She's a Warden, proud and strong, with an army of an entire nation at her back. More than that, she has her best friends beside her.

Still, coming up to the doors of the palace, she hesitates.

She is about to face one of the greatest heroes Ferelden has ever had, and she's doing it with less than a year of experience versus Loghain's lifetime.

A hand squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. She looks over to see Daylen smiling at her, giving her a thumbs up. "Hey," he tells her. "If you can't do it, we never stood a chance."

She can't help but smile back. Part of her marvels at how much he's changed from the giant prat he was at the Circle.

And he's right. She's made it this far; if she can't do it, she'd like to see someone else who could.

So she straightens her shoulders and pushes the doors open.

Only to come face-to-face with ser Cauthrien.

"Wardens," she says evenly. "I am not surprised it has come to this. And Alistair," she points towards him. "If you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn't you?" She turns back to Avina. "You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom. But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest. Once you are gone."

Daylen readies his staff, shifting his stance, but Avina raises a hand to stop him.

She knows Cauthrien is a smart woman. She has to understand, and know what is truly going on.

"Cauthrien," she says. "Do you really not see what Loghain has become?"

Cauthrien's eyes lower with doubt. "I have had... so many doubts of late. Loghain is a great man, but his hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness. He has done terrible things, I know it, but I owe him everything. I cannot betray him, do not ask me to."

"Then I will not," Avina assures her. "Just stand aside and let me stop him."

Cauthrien bows her head. "I never thought duty would taste so bitter. Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he once loved. But, please... show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend."

And they can finally enter the chamber.

With one final deep breath, Avina pushes the door open and walks into the chamber, followed by the people she holds most dear.

Arl Eamon's voice rings through the room. "My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?"

The room applauds him as he takes a step back.

Then a new voice echoes through the room. "A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it."

Loghain has reared his head.

"You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, 'Who will pull the strings?'"

Avina pushes through a few absent-minded nobles, meeting Loghain's cold gaze with one of her own.

"Ah!" He booms. "And here we have the puppeteer. Tell us, Warden: How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?"

Avina raises an eyebrow. Orlais this, Orlais that. How has no one noticed his madness?

"What did they offer you?" He continues. "How much is the price of Ferelden honor now?"

His guards prevent her from closing the distance and socking him in the jaw. But it's fine with her; her swing isn't that good anyway.

"The Blight is the threat here, Loghain!" She snaps back, making sure her voice is loud enough for all to hear her. "Not Orlais!"

"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," Bann Alfstanna adds.

Arl Wulff leans over the railing above them. "The south is fallen, Loghain! Will you let darkspawn take the who country for fear of Orlais?"

Loghain's eyes narrow. "The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask us to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"

Avina's fists clench. "You sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your war," Avina reveals.

The entire hall gasps.

"What's this?" Sighard demands. "There is no slavery in Ferelden! Explain yourself."

"There is no saving the Alienage," Loghain starts. There are many more gasps as he admits his guilt. "Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here." He turns back to Avina. "Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."

Avina takes a step forward, confidence bolstering her. "Was sending an apostate to poison Eamon your duty as well?"

Every head swivels towards Loghain at these accusations.

Loghain huffs. "I assure you, Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

As Avina knew she would, Alfstanna speaks. "Indeed? My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"

The Grand Cleric rises from her corner. "Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain. Interference in a templar's sacred duties is an offense against the Maker."

"Whatever I have done, I will answer for later," Loghain grumbles. "At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter."

Avina crosses her arms. He was on the defensive, now. "We're discussing your crimes here."

"You took my daughter - our queen - by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?" He demands.

Right on time, Anora appears in the doorway. "I believe I can speak for myself."

Gracefully, she moves to the center of the room to face the Landsmeet. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treahery. I would have already been killed, if not for this Grey Warden."

Avina sighs in relief. "The queen speaks the truth."

Loghain's shoulders sag sadly. "So, the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?"

"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens."

"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!"

"Dragon's Peak supports the Warden!"

"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens. Maker help us."

"I stand by Loghain!" Ceorlic calls. "We've no hope of victory otherwise."

One of the nobles standing on the floor with the others speaks up, his voice being the final. "I stand with the Warden! The Blight is coming; we need the Grey Wardens!"

Avina beamed with pride. "The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully."

Loghain's eyes blaze with anger. "Traitors!" He snarls. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?"

Loghain's men snap to attention, awaiting the order to attack.

"Call off your men," Avina snaps. "And we can settle this honorably."

Loghain seems to calm, backing off from his aggressive stance. "Then let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would come to this. A man is made b the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me." He shakes his head. "Enough. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

"It shall be fought according to tradition," Bann Alfstanna declares. "A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

Loghain nods in understanding. "Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?"

Avina shakes her head. "Alistair is my champion; he is our rightful king."

Loghain's eyes narrow. "Then let us test the mettle of our would-be king. Prepare yourself."

It is one of the hardest things she has ever done to watch Alistair face their biggest enemy alone.

Of course she knows he is more than capable; if he wasn't, she wouldn't have risked him.

But it would not have been fair. A mage against a non-templar man would never be a fair fight, unless his sword was bathed in mage's bane.

Every time Loghain's shield knocks Alistair down, Avina flinches, but cannot tear her eyes away.

Alistair always regains his feet.

He meets Loghain blow for blow, matching skill with skill, and anger with anger. They dance around each other endlessly, and over the sound of swords and steps and the frantic beat of her heart, she can hear the nobles cheering.

Another smash of Loghain's shield against Alistair's armor almost makes him lose his balance, and for a moment Avina fears he will fall.

Then he spins around it, catching Loghain full in the chest with Duncan's shield, crashing against the side of his jaw.

Loghain falls to his knees, and everyone can tell. He will not be able to continue.

He drops his sword. "So, there is some of Maric in you after all. Good."

"Forget Maric," Alistair says. "This is for Duncan."

And he raises his sword to deal the finishing blow.

"Wait!"

Everyone turns.

Riordan joins them. "There is another option," he tells them.

Alistair frowns, but stays his blade.

"The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

But Avina has no mercy left for the merciless killer the Hero of River Dane has become. "No!" She cries. "That's insane!"

Riordan crosses his arms. "There are too few of us. It's not a matter of what we like; it's a matter of what we must do. Our duty is to slay the archdemon. We aren't judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits; anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us. There are four of us in all of Ferelden. And there are... compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."

"The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" Anora pipes in. "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

"Absolutely not!" Alistair explodes. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He torture you! How can we simply forget that?"

Avina's lips are a firm line. "I cannot forgive what he's done to me and my country. He has to die."

Daylen's brows lower. "Avina, surely he has a good reason for suggesting -"

She whirls on him. "No, Daylen. He must die for his crimes. If not, the civil war will only continue when this Blight is over!"

Daylen raises his hands in defeat. "Alright."

"You can't do this!" Anora protests. "My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

"Anora," Loghain whispers, as if out of breath. "Hush. It's over."

"Stop treating me like a child. This is serious!"

Loghain shakes his head at her. "Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

"Father-" Anora's voice shakes as she covers her face with her hands.

He turns to Avina. "Just make it quick, Warden. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

Avina looks at Alistair. "Your life is not mine to take. It is Alistair's."

Alistair nods. "I will. I owe that to Duncan."

He raises his sword once more.

One step forward, and he slashes it quickly over Loghain's throat.

And it is over.

"So it is decided," Eamon says. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

Alistair looks up in surprise. "Wait, what? When did we decide that? Nobody's decided. Have they?"

Anora jumps in eagerly. "He refuses the throne! Everyone here has heard him. I think it's clear then, that he abdicates in favor of me."

Avina scowls at her.

Eamon sighs. "I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora. Warden," he asks Avina. "Will you help us?"

Her eyes widen, and she fights the urge to point to her own chest to make sure it is her that he means.

"Um," she stutters. "Yes, I can settle this." Timidly, she steps forward, aware of all the eyes on her.

"As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Anora smirk in triumph.

A smirk of her own slips into place on Avina's lips. "Alistair will lead us."

Anora's smile falls apart like a house of cards.

Alistair scratches behind his ear. "This is where I wake up, usually. Or everyone points and laughs because I have no clothes on..."

"Anora," Eamon says. "The Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our king, and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs."

Anora throws a murderous glare at Avina, who smiles innocently back.

"If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon," she grits out. "You know nothing of me."

"Anora," Avina says calmly. "Be reasonable."

Anora curls her lip at her. "Reason clearly had nothing to do with your choice, Warden."

Maybe it had to do with the fact that you were a bitch, Avina thinks to herself.

"We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war," Eamon points out. "We must have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all."

"Put her in the tower for now," Alistair orders. "If I fall against the Blight, then she can have her throne. If not... then we'll see."

Anora looks at him in surprise. "Thank you, Alistair. You show me mercy that I... would not have shown you."

Eamon signals the guards at his sides. "Very well, then. Guards, take her away."

The guards lead Anora out of the Landsmeet Chamber.

Then Eamon turns to Alistair. "Your highness, would you address the Landsmeet?"

"Oh," Alistair starts. "That would be me. Right." He clears his throat. "I never knew him, but from all I've heard of my father, what defined him was his commitment to protecting this land."

Daylen nudges him with his elbow playfully. "Get to the Blight, already."

"I was getting there," Alistair hisses. "Anyway, the Blight. Yes. I may be Maric's son, but I am also a Grey Warden. I took an oath; I swore I would stand and fight darkspawn, no matter the cost to myself. I can't break that oath just to wear the crown. I have to go with my fellow Wardens to face the Blight. When the Blight is over, I'll come back and take up my duties... whatever they are... as king. Until then, I think Arl Eamon will have to be my regent."

Arl Eamon bows. "Then I can do Maric's memory no less honor than you do. I accept. And may the Maker bless your efforts against the darkspawn."

Alistair smiles. "My fellow Grey Warden will, I hope, take Loghain's place as the leader of my armies." He looks to Avina. "Shall we finish this thing together?"

She is so proud of him.

She bows her head to him. "I could do no less, my king."

He turns at last to face his people. "Everyone, get ready to march. It's going to take all of Ferelden's strength to survive this Blight. But we will face it. and we'll defeat it."

The crowd cheers wildly.

"We'd better get going," he tells her. "Ferelden is depending on us."

The royal guard escort their group back to Arl Eamon's estate. On the way, she chats excitedly with Leliana, the bard telling her about how well her story about them is going.

But Alistair seems to be avoiding her.

She doesn't see him again until later, when they're all settled back into the estate.

The door opens, and Avina instinctively turns to watch Alistair enter the room.

His face is drawn with sad seriousness, and he comes right up to her.

"We... need to talk." Avina waits as he takes a deep breath to continue. "I'm not going to question why you made me king. I even think I'm starting to come around on the idea, anyhow... it could be an interesting future for me. But..."

And this, she suspects, is the hard part.

"Being king, that raises some questions about us. About you and me."

Fear starts to grip her heart. "What sort of questions?"

Alistair looks at his feet. "First, there's the fact that both you and I are Grey Wardens. It's not just a question of obligation, but of blood. You know Grey Wardens don't usually live to become old, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"The taint in our blood..." he swallows. "The taint we took in at the Joining... it will kill us in the long run. Grey Wardens may live to their forties at most, no longer. As king, I'll be required to have a child. Even more so because my death is assured. That's assuming that someone with the taint can or even should have a child."

"I... don't understand." Or, at least, she hopes she doesn't.

She hopes more than anything that she doesn't understand.

Alistair wipes a hand over his eyes. "I will need to find a wife, one who can bear a child. Who will live to raise it. I don't relish it, but... I will have a duty as the king."

Dimly, she thinks she hears something crack.

Maybe it's her heart.

But she is too numb to feel anything right now.

"I love you. More than I ever thought possible," he tells her. And she almost wishes he didn't say that, she almost wishes he would laugh in her face and tell her he used her. "But... I have to face what this means. I can't run away from it any more."

All she can think about, all she can remember now is his hands on her, their fumbling awkwardness as they touched parts of her that had never been touched before.

How can you do this to me?

The accusation is out of her mouth before she can stop to think. "You took my virginity... and now... that's it?"

"Please don't say it like that." He looks as broken as she feels. "Avina, please -"

Blinking rapidly, she takes a step back. She can't cry. Not here. Not now.

"I understand," she hears herself say. "I should not have assumed..." she stops herself. "I apologize."

He opens his mouth to speak, one of his hands reaching out to her. She flinches back before he can touch her. If he does, she knows she will not be strong enough to keep the tears at bay. "Please excuse me," she says stonily, and practically runs out of the room.

She briefly hears him calling her name before she manages to put a door between them. She doesn't stop, running mindlessly through the halls of the arl's estate. She runs until she tastes fresh air, feels wind on her hot cheeks, and runs further.

She doesn't know where she's going, only that she has to get away before her stone mask breaks.

When she stops, she finds herself in The Pearl. It's as good a place as any.

She manages to order a drink and find a booth in the shadows before she breaks down.

She isn't drunk when she feels a tap on her shoulder; just a little... floaty.

"Ey, Warden."

Stunned, she looks up at the ginger beard of her friend.

"Thought I'd find you here," Oghren rumbles.

"Avina, what happened?" Leliana asks, lowering herself until she's eye level with her.

With a soft cry, Avina throws herself into Leliana's surprised arms.

"I can't do it," she whimpers. "I can't... I was never strong enough."

"Avina," Leliana soothes, rubbing her back. "Why do you say that? You're stronger than anyone I've ever known."

"You didn't see the pike twirler before you went looking, didja?" Oghren asks. Leliana gives him a questioning look. "Aye, didn't think so. It's gonna be a rough night."

Daylen and Wynne are waiting for her when she came back, half carried by Oghren and Leliana.

Daylen looks worried for her, and in her tipsy state she's touched that he cares.

"What happened?"

"Alistair ended things with her," Leliana whispers, as if afraid that the slightest provocation will crush Avina.

"A king can't marry an elf," she says quietly. "Especially not a mage."

"I don't give a shit," Daylen snaps.

Everyone gapes at him as he storms out of the room.

Alistair

"You miserable bastard."

Alistair looks up from his tankard, only to see Daylen standing over him, furious.

Daylen grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. "Have you any idea what you've done?" He snarls.

Alistair is drunk. He honestly has no idea what this is about. He's not sure he wants to.

"What were you thinking? She adores you, you bloody oaf! Loves you! And you destroyed her!"

But Alistair already knows this. He looks down at his shoes, guilt and alcohol making his insides feel sick.

"I know."

"You know and you-" Daylen splutters. "You know, I'd really thought you'd grown a pair over the past year, but apparently I was wrong! You're a sodding coward!"

Daylen pushes Alistair back into his seat and stomps out of the room, leaving Alistair alone.

Alistair lets his head fall down onto his arm. How he will be able to face the others and... her in the morning, he'll never know.

Ir abelas.

Next Chapter: The Battle of Denerim