The next day's march had just gotten underway when Wynne at last decided to break her silence.
Moira saw her approaching out of the corner of her eye, and, mindful of the cool reception she'd received from the upright mage ever since the Landsmeet, she decided that it was best to let Wynne break the ice. Wynne fell into step beside her, and, after a few moments of silence, leaned in closer to Moira, careful to keep her voice low.
"You spent a great deal of time with Loghain last night." Her words were a barely-disguised accusation. "I admit, I was nervous when I saw him follow you into the woods. Are you certain you can trust him? You know what he did at Ostagar. If he would betray the king, I fail to see why he should not betray you too."
Moira suppressed an exasperated sigh. She had become close to Wynne in the preceding months; the kindly woman had become something of a surrogate mother to her, offering advice and comfort when she felt utterly alone and daunted by the task before her. She knew the old woman meant well, and she understood why Wynne, in particular, would despise Loghain for his actions at Ostagar; the mage had lost a great many friends at that ill-fated battle. Wynne certainly had every rational right to be concerned; how, then, could Moira possibly explain why she believed that concern to be misplaced?
"He won't betray me," she said. "I know you don't like him, Wynne –"
"Don't like him?" The mage no longer bothered to disguise her displeasure. "That is rather an understatement, don't you think? Surely you can't 'like' him after everything he has done?"
"I didn't say I did," Moira replied testily. "But… I trust him. He gave me his vow," she said, realizing as she said the words that Wynne would not be so easily swayed.
"His vow?" Wynne repeated skeptically. "What is the word of a traitor worth, Moira?" Moira opened her mouth to retort, but Wynne shook her head and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I am not trying to make things more difficult for you, believe it or not. I have made it clear that I do not agree with your decision to accept Loghain, but it was your decision to make, and I will abide by it, whether I like it or not. I only came to tell you to watch your back around him. The man knows no honor – he would not hesitate to stab you, stab us all, in the back, if he thought it would serve his agenda."
"Loghain's only agenda is to protect Ferelden," she said, unable to believe the words were actually coming from her own mouth. "He made some terrible mistakes, it is true, but he wants to end this Blight as much as I do. He is not like Howe."
Wynne stared at her as if she'd just turned into a hurlock. "You cannot seriously be defending him," she said, horrorstruck. "You were there! You saw what he did! You saw what he did to those elves in the alienage – " Abruptly, she stopped, and the way she stared at Moira broke the younger woman's heart – as if she, too, had betrayed the mage's trust.
"I am sorry, Moira, but I cannot approve of this," Wynne said gravely. "I will aid you in ending the Blight, but I cannot simply pretend that I can accept Loghain as you apparently have. I will never, ever forget what he did at Ostagar, nor what he has done since. If you insist on defending him in spite of all that, then we have no more to say to one another." Without a backwards glance, Wynne turned and stalked away, leaving Moira alone, with only the dust of the road and the soft keening of the wind to keep her company.
A deep melancholy welled within Moira, and even though her companions were not far behind her, she felt more isolated than she had since that dreadful flight from Highever all those months ago. She had already lost so much – and since sparing Loghain at the Landsmeet, she had also managed to lose two of her dearest friends. All for the sake of a man who had been her mortal enemy.
You'd better be worth it, she'd said to him in the Landsmeet chamber the night she'd dragged him off to submit to the Joining. Had he been? He'd cost her two relationships, and possibly more. And yet, she thought back to the oddly intimate moment they'd shared yesterday at the fire – his affinity with Dane, and his own heartbreaking story about the mabari he'd loved. In the darkness, she had even sensed that there might have been something there, between them – something of the 'camaraderie' that she had offered, and that he had so scornfully dismissed, the night of the Landsmeet – but perhaps that had just been a trick of the shadows.
She was aware, at once, of a presence immediately beside her, and she jumped involuntarily, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she whirled about to face the threat, only to find herself gazing into Zevran's bemused eyes.
"Maker's breath, Zevran, don't sneak up on me like that!" she chided, though in truth, she could never be angry at the winsome elf – and she was more than a little grateful for company to distract her from her own swirling thoughts.
"Ah, but you make it so easy, mia bella," he replied, suave as always. "You would make a very poor assassin."
"Then it's a good thing I've got a day job, isn't it," she retorted. "At least until the Blight is over, at any rate."
Zevran laughed, the sound as musical as ever. "Pithy as always, my dear Warden. It is my favorite thing about you. Well, my second favorite thing, behind your ravishing auburn tresses, your striking hazel eyes, and your impossibly toned legs. Truly, you should not hide such treasures beneath that unflattering armor. A finely-tailored set of Antivan leathers would be just the thing to properly showcase your innumerable assets."
"You know, after that exhaustive list of all your favorite things about me, I think my pithiness actually rates fairly low," she quipped. She had missed his banter – Zevran always seemed to know just how to cheer her up. "You're irrepressible, you know that, right?"
He laughed again. "You are not the first to tell me this. Perhaps it is your favorite thing about me, no?"
"Well, it's right up there with your flowing blonde locks, your soulful eyes, and that lovely accent, anyway."
Zevran grasped his chest in faux agony. "Oh! You tease me so! You are truly the cruelest of mistresses, to so toy with my heart," he said dramatically.
"Are you sure it's your heart you're worried about?"
Zevran threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, you are a singular woman." They enjoyed the familiar repartee and the much needed sense of levity it brought, but as their laughter faded, he turned to her with a serious mien.
"All jesting aside… I must admit to being a trifle concerned for you," he said quietly. "I observed your conversation with Wynne. Well, I did not hear it, but it was plain that it did not end well. And I must confess that I too harbor my doubts about accepting my former employer into our ranks."
"Your former employer?" she said. "I thought your employer was the Antivan Crows, and that whatever contract Loghain had taken was through them, not with you specifically?"
"That is true," he said. "And do not worry that I will feel compelled to, ah, 'finish the job' for him." She raised an eyebrow – that truly hadn't occurred to her, and now she wondered at why she was so willing to trust both an assassin and the man who'd hired him.
"Zevran, I accepted you into our company after you tried to kill me," she said bluntly. "I'm not sure why you are concerned that I should do the same for Loghain."
"But don't you see? I was merely the instrument of another's desire. I never personally wanted you dead. I did not even know you. The Crows tell me to kill, and I kill. It is never a personal vendetta. But Teryn Loghain?" He looked at her, and she could see the uncharacteristic worry in his eyes. "He is the one who paid the Crows to ensure that I was sent to kill you. That makes him rather more complicit in the plot than me, do you not agree?"
"I never said that he wasn't guilty of trying to kill me," she said, annoyed by how frequently she found herself apologizing for Loghain. "But he conceded defeat honorably at the Landsmeet, and he has sworn to follow me against the darkspawn. I trust him. I appreciate your concern, Zevran, but there is nothing to worry about."
"If you say so, mia bella," he said, but he sounded far from convinced. At least he didn't appear disgusted or upset with her, as Wynne had. "Well, rest assured that if he tries anything, he will not get far. Zevran will watch your back."
Moira smiled, grateful for the companionship of her loyal, if overly flirtatious, friend. At least she still had a friend. "Thank you, Zevran. That means a lot to me."
"But of course. You need only call and I will answer." With a courtly bow, he disappeared behind her, no doubt to better keep an eye trained on Loghain for any hint of possible treachery.
Moira trekked on, lost in her thoughts. It had not escaped her how often she found herself championing not only Loghain's trustworthiness, but his essential character. She had told herself that she had spared him only for his usefulness as an ally, and that she neither trusted nor forgave him for his role in fomenting Ferelden's civil war. And yet, she'd had the opportunity to say exactly that to both Wynne and Zevran, and she had declined to do so. What was compelling her to come to his defense?
Dane trotted up to her, able as usual to sense his mistress's distress. He nudged her gauntleted hand with his nose, and she gave him an obliging scratch. "It's nice to know that I've got at least one person… well, dog… on my side no matter what," she murmured, to which Dane uttered a woof of agreement.
Suddenly, she felt a thrumming in her blood, like a hive of malicious insects buzzing inside her skull. A sense of vileness, of something deeply wrong, overwhelmed her. It could only mean one thing. She raised her hand, motioning for the party to halt. Looking behind her, she saw her companions regarding her with expressions that varied from wary to curious, knowing that she would have only called a halt for a good reason.
Her eyes met Loghain's, and she saw at once that he felt it too. He approached her, ignoring the resentful stares that followed him as he fell in beside her with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to leading from the front.
"Something foul stirs in my blood," he said without prelude. "It is the darkspawn corruption, isn't it?"
"Yes," she affirmed. "They are near. We can sense them through the taint – but so too can they sense us. Be ready."
He smirked, and she wondered how his small half-smiles could have such a profound affect on her. "I am always ready, Warden," he said laconically.
"Good," she said, smirking back. She unsheathed her sword, turning to address her companions. "The darkspawn are somewhere near us – be ready to engage at any moment." She heard Oghren's low, deep chuckle of delight – sometimes the dwarf's zest for battle bordered on the disturbing, but she had to admit that she'd far rather have him at her side than not.
"Stay with me," she instructed Loghain. "We will be able to sense them before the others can see them – soon we'll have a good idea of where they are coming from and how many there are."
"I did not realize Grey Wardens could seek out darkspawn with such precision," he said. "I can discern nothing specific – I merely feel a general impression of evil, for lack of a better word."
"It comes with time." She reflected on the first time she had sensed the darkspawn through her blood, the foul wickedness of their proximity permeating through her being, nearly overwhelming her with despair. "I could never sense them as well as Alistair could. The longer the taint festers within us, the more we become corrupted – and the better we can perceive them. Essentially, the taint is slowly turning us into darkspawn, bit by bit – our 'gift' and our curse all in one."
"How charming," he said drolly. "That detail is rather noticeably absent from the Grey Warden recruiting pitch. Though I suppose it's still marginally preferable to summary execution."
"Yes, there are a lot of details that are rather noticeably absent from the Grey Warden recruiting pitch, as I found out the hard way," she said, the old resentment bubbling up within her anew. She was bitterly reminded of how Duncan had conscripted her into the Wardens, wringing a promise from her dying father and giving her no choice in the matter – and he certainly hadn't bothered to fill her in on any of the nitty-gritty details, such as the poisoned chalice, or the taint, or the Calling. Ah yes – the ultimate fate of a Grey Warden was another detail she would have to share with Loghain sooner rather than later. But that would have to wait for another time. She could feel them coming, through the taint in her blood, the seething mass of evil spilling out from just beyond the hill ahead. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, she nodded at Loghain, and found herself reassured by his firm nod in response. He was clearly in his element, sword drawn and raised for battle, and she found herself grateful, as the darkspawn began to pour over the hill, that he was at her side.
An arrow, loosed from Leliana's tautly-strung bow, felled the hurlock at the head of the charge, and a gout of flame from Morrigan's staff burned through the ranks, sending more of the darkspawn shrieking to their doom. Then the main body of the force was amongst them, and Moira lost herself in the simple test of her battle skills. Her sword sang as she scythed through the foul demons, and she began to understand why Oghren lusted for battle as he did. Here, there were no politics, no personality clashes – only a pure test of her strength and resolve, her skill and prowess, against that of her foes.
She let out an exultant cry as her blade connected with the skull of a charging genlock, cleaving its head in two, before she noticed a small band of four hurlocks closing in on her, led by a mighty alpha hefting a massive two-handed battleaxe. She parried a violent blow with her shield as her blade thrust forward into the guts of the first hurlock, and she pivoted about to slice her sword through the neck of the second, decapitating it neatly. Then the massive hurlock leader was upon her, and she was barely able to raise her shield in time to catch a bone-shattering blow that would have hewn her cleanly in half. Staggering backwards from the force of the blow, she took note of the other hurlock raising its sword-arm, readying a killing strike – but before it could swing its weapon, Dane bounded forward with a howl of rage, bowling the hurlock over and proceeding to maul it with savage ferocity. She shifted her focus back to the alpha hurlock, which swung its mighty axe at her again, her swift parry catching the weapon just in time and rattling her sword-arm with the force of the blow. With a curse, she stumbled to the ground, her arm numb and tingling, and again she lifted her shield scarcely in time to block a savage strike from the war axe. The hurlock choked out a series of guttural, mocking grunts, and a burning hatred for the foul beast surged through Moira's blood. Off-balance and on her knees, she lunged forward, her blade sinking into the monster's leg, eliciting a bellow of rage. It lashed out with a savage kick and caught her in the shoulder, flinging her onto her back. With a howl of triumph, the hurlock raised its axe –
Only to drop the weapon from senseless fingers as a finely-wrought blade thrust through its chest from behind. The blade slid out with a jerk, and the alpha hurlock collapsed with a bloody gurgle, revealing to her the blood-soaked and battle-worn figure of Loghain Mac Tir, standing before her like a victorious god of war. She didn't think anyone had ever looked so incredible.
He approached her, sheathing his sword and slinging his shield across his back, and offered her a wordless hand. She took it, wondering dizzyingly that the man who'd tried to kill her in single combat mere days ago had now just saved her life. Truly the Maker moved in mysterious ways.
"My hero," she said wryly, as her eyes met his. He held her gaze, and a peculiar feeling percolated in the pit of her stomach as he held her eyes for perhaps a beat longer than was ordinary; but then he turned, breaking the spell and scoffing lightly.
"I hardly think I should be your hero for doing what anyone in this party would have done," he said. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
"Well, I'm glad you were," she said, more sincerely. "Thank you, Loghain."
He frowned, as if preparing to deflect her gratitude with more sarcasm, but seemed to reconsider. "You are welcome," he said, relenting, as his face eased into an expression that was, if not expressly friendly, at least decidedly cordial.
Her shoulder ached dully, and her arm still tingled with residual numbness from the hurlock's axe-blow, but she was otherwise unharmed; a quick survey of her companions showed that they too were in one piece, though they all looked a fright, armor and weapons covered in blood, and some had begun to gingerly tend to wounds of varying severity. The road was littered with the bodies of fallen darkspawn, and, though her friends had emerged mostly unscathed, the day had grown long, and Moira knew that the best thing she could do now was find a place for them to rest, recover, and clean themselves before they resumed the long trek towards Redcliffe.
"We should find a suitable place to set up camp," she said, removing a gauntlet so she could wipe the blood from her face. "We'll tend to our wounds and rest up before setting out again tomorrow."
"Be nice to find a real tavern out here," Oghren grumbled. "It ain't that I don't have plenty of drink on hand, but I could go for a wench right about now. Since none of you ladies have been willing to take a tumble with ol' Oghren… though I should add that the offer is always open," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as Morrigan made no attempt to hide her gag of disgust.
"Ah yes, wenches," Zevran waxed in a nostalgic tone. "Though I daresay, no tavern maiden could ever be so fair as these beautiful ladies at my side," he added, lips quirking in a knowing smile that evoked an exasperated sigh from Moira.
"While I hardly share the one-track mind of my two… colleagues… I must admit, 'twould be nice to spend the night in a bed for a change," Morrigan offered. Moira resisted the urge to point out that they had, only a few days ago, spent many nights in rather comfortable beds courtesy of Arl Eamon's hospitality.
"Ooo, yes!" Leliana chimed in, and Moira, still standing next to Loghain, sensed his body tauten like a bowstring upon hearing the Orlesian's strong accent. "A real bed, instead of the cold, hard ground!"
"For the love of the Maker, we are warriors!" Moira burst, exasperated. "Not pampered milksops!" But she had to admit that the thought of a hot bath, of washing the darkspawn filth from her skin and hair and armor and sword, was appealing. As was a meal that didn't require her to catch, kill, and skin it.
They were on the Imperial Highway bordering the South Reach, a few good days' march from Lothering, but still too far north to worry about being overrun by the horde – the darkspawn they had just faced had clearly been a band of stragglers, or scouts. "I suppose we are not far from Dungate," she said, acquiescing. "It is merely a few miles down the road. There should be an inn there."
Her companions' spirits noticeably brightened as they resumed the march towards the little village, and she felt her own mood rise as well. A bed, a proper meal, and a nice bath was sounding better and better. Perhaps it would help her to clear her head after the chaotic past several days.
The village, fortunately, was situated north of the horde's current reach, and had thus been spared devastation, though the streets were deserted and most shops were shuttered up tight. The band of darkspawn that they had just slain had inexplicably failed to sack the village, for which she was thankful.
As they approached the village, the reason for the darkspawn reticence became clear: an imposing city wall, interspersed by watchtowers full of armored soldiers, rose into view as they crested the hill overlooking the village. A pair of ballista flanked the gates, ready to unleash hell on any who dared threaten the tiny settlement.
"Halt, there!" The gate guard called as Moira and her companions approached. "State your business, traveler."
"We are Grey Wardens marching towards Redcliffe to take up the battle with the darkspawn," she said without pretense. "We have only just dispatched a band of the fiends not five miles from your village. We would be grateful to for any rest and provisions you could spare."
The guardsmen brought his fist to his shoulder in a military salute. "An honor to have you, Grey Warden," he said stiffly. "You'll find that Dungate will meet your needs well enough, though our food supplies are not what they were, with no crops coming in from the south. The King's Arms is our local inn. They'll set you up right well enough with hot food and a warm bath." As Moira nodded her thanks, the guardsman seemed to notice Loghain for the first time, and he visibly started; if Loghain noticed, or cared, he did not show it.
The King's Arms was indeed a respectable, if small, tavern; the innkeeper seemed happy for the custom and eagerly shouted at a servant to fill baths for his weary guests. Moira was immensely relieved to strip out of her armor and scrub the filth of the darkspawn from her body. After, she cleaned and polished her armor with relish before her growling stomach told her it was time to head down to the tavern's common room for supper.
"Ah, there you are!" Zevran called out as she emerged into the common room. "As bright and beautiful as a blooming rose," he said grandly, grasping her hand and bestowing a soft kiss upon her knuckles. "And as fragrant as one too!"
"Oh, stop," she chuckled, swatting his shoulder. "I'd hardly say 'not smelling like darkspawn guts' is up there with 'blooming rose,' though it certainly is an improvement."
After obtaining a refreshing ale from the innkeeper, Moira observed that her companions were grouped loosely at several tables throughout the common room: Leliana sat near Wynne, Morrigan looked haughty and bored per usual, and Oghren was firmly ensconced at the bar, seemingly content with a liquid dinner. Loghain, however, was off by himself, sitting alone at a shadowed table in the corner. Moira wondered if it was because he preferred the solitude, or because he had sensed hostility from the others and had felt unwelcome. Against her better judgment, she walked over to his table.
"I hope you don't mind company," she said, deliberately refraining from asking permission as she sat beside him. He glowered at her, but his heart didn't seem to be in it, and he merely harrumphed in response. Moira wondered whether, if she spent enough time around him, she would eventually decipher the distinct meaning behind each of Loghain's various grunts, growls, and scoffs.
"I don't seem to have any choice in the matter," he replied archly, his countenance lightening ever so slightly. "But your companionship is… not unwelcome, Warden."
"From you, that's high praise," she said. "I'll take what I can get." The serving girl bustled into the common room from the kitchens, setting a bowl of what looked like stew in front of Zevran, who made a rather ill-fated attempt to catch the girl's eye. Loghain scoffed, and cast a suspicious glance at Moira.
"Is he your lover?" Loghain asked bluntly.
Moira had been in mid-swig, and a gout of ale spewed forth from her mouth. "What?" she choked out, around the remnants of her mouthful of ale. "Who, Zevran? My lover?"
"Yes, your lover," he repeated, scowling. "Do not play the innocent chantry-mouse act with me. It does not suit you."
Moira goggled disbelievingly at Loghain. "No, he is not my lover! Though it was not for his lack of trying, I assure you."
Loghain scoffed. "He certainly seems to behave as though you are more than friends."
"Well, he is a bit flirtatious, but it's harmless fun! He's lovely, and it's nice to speak with someone who isn't so dreadfully serious all the time, who isn't fixated on the Blight or our impending doom." She paused abruptly as a very awkward realization dawned on her. "Are you jealous?"
It was Loghain's turn to splutter defensively. "What? No, of course not! Do not be foolish!" He took a sullen sip of ale, his glower returned to its full, surly glory. "I was merely concerned that you had formed an… attachment to a man whose loyalties cannot be fully trusted, and I meant only to urge you to proceed with caution."
Moira laughed, the irony of his words not lost on her. "You do realize that nearly everyone else has said the same thing about you?" She struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance. He surely isn't jealous. He can't be. Why would he be jealous, for the Maker's sake? He doesn't even like me! The very notion is absurd.
He snorted in disdain. "I doubt there is any danger of you forming such an attachment to me," he said.
Moira returned to her ale, dismissing Loghain's retort with a careless shrug, but her insides roiled. Of course there was no danger of her forming an attachment to him! She might have decided that he was trustworthy, at least insofar as she could count on him to fight alongside her, but the thought of actually – well, it was ridiculous, that was all there was to it. But why then did he sound almost… aggrieved at the thought that she would not feel such things for him? Was he jealous? She immediately dismissed the thought as foolish. She had been on the road too long, and now she was looking for something that was not there, imagining that he'd meant something he most certainly had not. And it was a moot point, anyway, because she certainly felt no such –
"Why are you really here, Warden?" His abrupt query silenced her inner musings.
"Excuse me?" She turned to glare at him, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. Whatever amiable mood he might have been in earlier was long gone, replaced now by a glowering displeasure that she was uncertain how she'd provoked.
"Why did you join me?" he grated. "Your friends are seated elsewhere. Yet you chose to seek out my company, even though we can barely tolerate each other. Why?"
Moira was stung by his words; they were not friends, it was true, but she had imagined that perhaps he thought a bit better of her than that, especially after the rapport they'd reached the night before. And yet ever since she'd sat beside him, he'd been almost unremittingly unpleasant. Her disappointment transformed almost immediately into ire.
"Perhaps I simply wanted to understand you a bit better, now that you're under my command," She subtly emphasized the last three words for his benefit. "I need to ensure that you won't suffer from the same catastrophically poor judgment as you did during your 'regency.'"
Loghain stiffened, at once assuming a mask of cold assurance. "Ah, here it comes, at last! I knew you would not long be able to withhold your contempt for me, Warden! Let's have it, then! What insults do you have for me? I am eager to hear them all."
"Very well." She was as angry with herself as with him now, for forgetting that she was dealing with the man who'd wanted her dead not so very long ago. "You want insults? I've got one for you: slaver."
He stared hard at her for a long moment, and she wondered if she'd actually struck a meaningful blow, before he snorted derisively. "Of all the things that I have done, that troubles me the least," he said, his voice hard-edged with defiance. "Do you know how many soldiers I was able to field for every single elf the Tevinters bought? Thirty, at minimum. Armies must be trained, fed, outfitted. Where, pray, do you think that coin was going to come from during a Blight?"
"And that justifies what you did?" Moira shook her head, incredulous. "To protect Ferelden's citizens, you'd sell those same citizens into slavery? What happened to defending our country from foreign influence?"
"The Tevinters had no interest in ruling Ferelden, unlike the Orlesians," he snapped. "What exactly do you imagine would have become of those same downtrodden elves when the Blight comes to Denerim? They are not allowed weapons, and you know as well as I do that the city guard will abandon the alienage to the mercy of the horde if it means saving the rest of the city. Is life as a Tevinter slave truly worse than death at the hands of the darkspawn?"
"You tell me," she shot back. "Is dying as a free man preferable to living under Orlesian rule? You certainly seemed to believe so."
"Orlais crushed all of Ferelden beneath its boot for nearly a century!" Loghain snarled. "Would I trade a few dozen elves to prevent that from happening again? Yes, without a moment's hesitation!" He narrowed his eyes, his brows furrowing intently as he glared at her. "Dark times require difficult sacrifices, of all of us. Can you truly tell me that you have never abandoned a single soul to his fate, if it meant saving more lives elsewhere? Can you claim that your actions have never had grave consequences – that no innocents were sacrificed to ensure the greater survival of a town, a city, a country? Can you?"
"This is not about me or my choices!" Moira rejoined, refusing to dwell on any painful memories his words summoned. "I certainly never sold any free men into slavery, whatever else I have done. I don't care how much gold you raised for Ferelden's coffers. It was unconscionable."
"Then why did you not bring your evidence before the Landsmeet?" he challenged. "If you found my conduct so abhorrent, you could have easily ensured my eternal shame before all of Ferelden's nobility. And yet I did not know you'd managed to uncover that particular sordid bit of business until just now. Why keep such a volatile secret to yourself?"
Moira had wondered the same thing, especially in the immediate aftermath of the Landsmeet. She had primarily invoked Howe's barbarities to undermine Loghain's support, even though she herself did not truly believe that Loghain had ordered, or even been aware, of the worst of them. She shoved aside the uncomfortable notion that perhaps her desire to see Howe publicly disgraced had overridden whatever moral outrage she'd felt on behalf of the elves of the alienage.
"That hardly matters," she said, hoping she sounded more dismissive than she felt. "You had to know someone would discover such a terrible secret eventually. You couldn't have truly believed that selling Fereldens into slavery was the right thing to do, even if you did need to raise money for the army. Why did you really do it? I can excuse… well, I can understand, at least, everything else. But I truly cannot understand this. Fighting a war because you believe it the right course of action is one thing, but selling your people – our people – into slavery?"
Loghain lapsed into silence, and he cast his gaze down at his ale, staring into the murky depths for several long moments. When he spoke, his voice lacked the defiant anger of before.
"There had been… an incident, in the alienage," he said quietly. "While Cailan's army gathered at Ostagar. The Arl of Denerim's son… I forget his name."
"Vaughan?" Moira said, a slow sense of dread creeping into her gut. She had been hot with bloodlust, having just driven her blade into Rendon Howe's belly, when she'd encountered the foppish noble lord rotting away in one of Howe's prison cells. She'd quickly determined that the young lordling was, despite his imprisonment by Howe, every bit as nasty a piece of work as his captor. When the arrogant little bastard had dismissed the elves as animals who "sometimes mistook themselves for people," she'd thrust her blade into his guts without a second thought, earning horrified gasps from some of her companions.
"Yes, that's it. Urien Kendall's boy. Evidently, it was his custom to invite himself to elven weddings, and, ah, demand conjugal privileges with the bride, and all of the bride's friends and relatives. The young and pretty ones, at least." Thick, hot anger oozed through Moira, followed by a sense of vindication. She'd known Kendall was rotten to the core as soon as he'd opened his mouth, and she'd been right. Any doubts she harbored over murdering an unarmed man in his prison cell melted away.
"Unfortunately for him, his last victim was not so passive. The bride managed to subdue the men guarding her, and went on a rampage in the arl's estate. She killed everyone except Kendall himself – apparently, he only just managed to escape by sacrificing his little lordling friends and his personal guard to buy himself some time." Loghain's tone made it clear exactly what he thought of Vaughan Kendall's lack of valor. "Terrible riots erupted in the alienage. Kendall's latest provocation, the bride's defiance… it created a perfect storm. By the time I arrived in Denerim, Rendon Howe had assumed control of the arling. He informed me that Vaughan had been killed in the riots, and that order needed to be restored in Arl Urien's absence." He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Urien had been summoned to Ostagar, but he never made it there. I do not know what became of him. The victim of some plot hatched by Howe, or perhaps his viper of a son, no doubt."
"Vaughan wasn't killed in the riots," Moira said quietly. "I found him, in Howe's dungeon." She paused, wondering whether to reveal her role in the affair, then decided that if Loghain could be forthright, so could she. "I killed him there. He was one of those nobles who used his birthright as an excuse to inflict whatever cruelties he desired on anyone he imagined 'beneath' him. I'd had enough of arrogant, sadistic noblemen that day, so I stabbed him in his cell."
Loghain looked askance at her, and he seemed almost impressed. "Well, the world will hardly miss him," he said archly. "But… that is yet another matter about which Rendon Howe fabricated an utter lie. Knowing what I now know, I would disbelieve the entire tale, except that the riots, and their cause, were commonly known in Denerim." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "Regardless, Howe convinced me that, in the absence of a proper heir for the arling, he would accept the burden of ruling in Urien's stead while I attended myself to the business of securing our borders." Loghain snorted. "He assured me that he would get the situation in the alienage under control. A couple of weeks later, he came to see me with one of his advisors, a mage. He informed me that this mage had contacts in Tevinter, and that he could arrange an agreement that would solve both the problem of funding the army as well as quelling the unrest in the alienage. When he… explained the plan, I… could not argue with his logic. So I signed and sealed the agreement. I believe you know the rest." His voice had grown bitter, and he took a long, deep pull of his ale.
"Wait," Moira said. She remembered the fight with Howe in his dungeon. Howe had not dared face her alone – he'd been surrounded by bodyguards, and she remembered his pet mage, hurling all sorts of fiendish spells at her and her companions. "He had his mage with him? I remember killing a mage when I fought Howe. He was performing blood magic."
Loghain creased his brows in confusion. "I do not doubt it," he said. "I am not sure how that is relevant – it should hardly surprise you that Howe would involve himself with a maleficar. As you demonstrated for the benefit of the Landsmeet, I was not too proud to do business with such a one myself." She recalled Jowan, the hapless blood mage who'd been sent by Loghain to poison Eamon – but regardless of any initial ill intent, Jowan himself had proven to be a fundamentally decent person, who had truly regretted the harm he'd caused in Redcliffe. There had been no such sense of humanity, or mercy, from Howe's mage.
"Don't you understand?" she said. "If Howe was surrounding himself with blood mages – Loghain, it's possible that he coerced you into that agreement. Maleficars deal with demons – he could have exerted influence over you, forced you to do something you would not have done – "
"Warden. Enough." Loghain's voice was at once firm and very tired. "I do not know why you now seem so eager to absolve me of my sins, when you were so determined to hold me to account for them mere moments ago. But I will not accept that any decisions, or mistakes, I made were not my own. I made my choices, and I will answer for them if I must. That is why I accepted your judgment, and why I swallowed your Grey Warden poison and swore an oath to follow you. You do not need to offer any excuses for me. I will accept none."
She shook her head, amazed at the stubborn pride of a man who'd rather accept the shame of having committed a terrible crime over the possibility that he'd been tricked or coerced against his will. "Suit yourself. If you'd rather take the full blame for your sins than admit that Howe might have been manipulating you from the very beginning, I won't stop you. But I think you ought to at least consider the possibility. Howe was a snake, and he could be extremely deceptive."
"And that should bring me comfort?" he asked quietly. "I would prefer to believe that I made mistakes of my own volition than to imagine I was weak-willed enough to be led around by the nose."
Moira shook her head again. "As I said before… you would not be the first otherwise-honorable man to be deceived and manipulated by Rendon Howe."
"Otherwise-honorable?" he repeated with an arched brow, a trace of wry humor evident in his voice. "I do believe that is the highest praise I've heard from you yet, Warden."
Moira smiled weakly, and she felt curiously relieved that their disagreement had, if not entirely been resolved, at least subsided for now. Whatever sense of peace she enjoyed, however, was tempered by unease over Loghain's disturbing revelations – about the atrocious situation in the alienage, the Tevinter slavery plot and Loghain's degree of culpability, and Howe's preternatural – and possibly demonic – ability to manipulate and influence even the strongest-willed of men.
"What happened to her?" she asked.
"Who?" Loghain frowned in confusion.
"The elven bride," Moira said. "The one who killed all of Vaughan Kendall's men."
"She was executed, of course," he said, as if the answer should have been obvious. "It was done before I arrived in Denerim. Her death was what sparked the riots, or so I was told."
Before she could respond, the serving girl scurried up to their table, two large and steaming crocks of stew on her tray. "So sorry for the delay, sers! We ran out after that dwarf of yours ate three helpings. Had to cook up another batch. Hope you enjoy!" She bustled away as quickly as she'd come after unceremoniously depositing the crocks on their table.
Loghain nearly growled as he scooped up his fork. "Maker, I'm ravenous," he grumbled, shoveling a large and undignified forkful of stew into his mouth. Moira attempted unsuccessfully to stifle a snort of amusement, and he shot her a glare.
"I forgot to warn you about that particular side effect of the Joining," she said as she raised her own fork. "The darkspawn corruption will increase your appetite." She watched, bemused, as he devoured his stew with gusto. "I suppose it is altogether one of the least objectionable consequences of the taint." Her amusement faded as she recalled the one rather more objectionable consequence she still hadn't discussed with him.
"Loghain… there's something you need to know." Her tone must have been sufficiently dire, because he set down his fork carefully and turned to look at her with a solemn expression.
"I take it you're about to reveal to me another delightful benefit of being a Grey Warden?" he said wryly. "You know, you can hardly blame me for my antipathy against your order. If you Wardens weren't so damned secretive, perhaps the rest of us would stop wondering what dreadful mysteries you were concealing."
"Believe me, I had no idea either." The bitterness, never fully forgotten, roared back in full force. "I was conscripted against my will, remember? I only learned of this particular… benefit… a month or so ago, when Alistair offhandedly mentioned it to me around the campfire."
"Well?" Loghain prompted. "Don't keep me in suspense forever, Warden. Am I going to grow a pair of horns? Perhaps turn into a dragon? Do tell."
"You jest, but you're closer than you think," she murmured. "Do you remember how I told you that the taint is slowly turning us into darkspawn? Well… that wasn't an exaggeration. The taint corrupts everything it infects. Everything. The Joining ritual allows us to control the taint, use it to our advantage. But only for a time. Eventually, it will consume even a Warden. When that happens… I am told the Warden is aware that his time has come. It is known as the Calling. When a Warden feels his Calling, he usually retreats into the Deep Roads, so that he can end his days fighting the monsters before he becomes one himself." She snorted a mirthless laugh. "Well, the male Wardens do, anyway. I saw… I saw what happens to women in the Deep Roads. I will put myself to the blade before I suffer such a fate."
When she did not elaborate after several moments, Loghain released a long, slow sigh. His face was carefully neutral. "And this… Calling? How long after the Joining does it take?"
She shrugged. "Alistair told me that Wardens usually live no more than thirty years after the Joining. Sometimes less. I'm told that during a Blight, when the corruption is stronger, that time can be drastically reduced." She forced a humorless smile. "So we're likely to enjoy another ten, perhaps twenty years at the most, assuming we survive the Blight at all. Oh – one other detail, though I suppose it is less pertinent for you. The taint also dramatically decreases a Warden's fertility. So I'll likely never be able to have children, either." She picked up her mug of ale and swirled it around, pretending to be engrossed in the eddying flow of liquid. "So there you have it. The glorious life of a Grey Warden. Short, brutal, and alone. Now there's a good slogan for the recruiting posters, don't you think?"
Loghain said nothing for a long moment, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle.
"I am truly sorry, Warden," he said.
"Please, stop calling me that," she said. "I have a name. Moira. I'd much prefer you used it."
"Moira." The way he said her name – slowly, deliberately, as though it held great power – sent an unsolicited shiver down her spine. "You are named for the Rebel Queen. Maric's mother. She kept the spirit of Ferelden alive, when all hope was thought lost." He regarded her with a curious gleam in his eyes. "You are worthy to bear her name."
Only from a man such as Loghain could such simple words carry such indelible praise, and her face flushed hot in response. "Thank you," she said, fortunately able to speak the words around the sudden dryness in her throat. "That is kind of you to say."
He deflected her words with a soft harrumph. "It is not kind, it is true," he said, a bit too gruffly.
"A thing can be both kind and true, you know," she said, raising her eyes to his. A peculiar sensation percolated through her as she held his gaze, his ice blue eyes suggesting depths far beneath what she could see on the surface. The peculiar sensation gnawed at the pit of her stomach, warmed her blood, and she broke her gaze away abruptly, feeling an acute and inexplicable discomfiture.
"I believe I must admit that I was wrong, earlier," he said, the gruff tones softening somewhat. "I find you far more than 'barely tolerable.' You are more congenial than I expected, or deserve."
The peculiar feeling roared back to life at his oddly formal words, and Moira's heartbeat quickened, the way it did when she prepared to enter battle. "I… thank you. I never expected to – " She cut herself off abruptly. She never expected to what? To feel anything other than hatred for Loghain Mac Tir? But a mere lack of hatred did not account for the raw, unexplained ache in her chest.
"Nor did I," he said, leaving her to wonder what he meant. "But it has grown late. You should get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day."
She cast her gaze around the common room and noticed that the rest of her companions had left (except for Oghren, who was slumped over the bar, snoring loudly). She hadn't even realized that she was alone with Loghain, but now that she did, his presence seemed to agitate her even more than before. She rose from her seat and stepped away from the table, feeling a vague relief at the physical distance that now separated them.
"Yes, rest will do us both some good," she said, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. No doubt it was the ongoing stresses of battle, war, and the Blight that were affecting her so and upsetting her equilibrium. A nice, relaxing night in a bed would set her to rights, and calm her restive, overactive thoughts.
"Moira." Another tremor raced through her at the way he said her name, as if she were the Rebel Queen herself returned to Ferelden. "I know you did not choose this fate. Very few of us can claim to be the sole architects of our destiny. I believed that I alone could save Ferelden, and you can see where such hubris led me. You, on the other hand, committed no such sin, and yet you share my fate. It is not fair, but I learned at a very young age that life is rarely fair. All we can do is make the most of the chances we are given."
"I know," she said quietly. "Do not worry about me. I know my duty. But… I appreciate your words." She smiled softly at him. "Good night, Loghain." She turned and retreated up the stairs before she could dwell on the odd feelings he generated within her.
A/N: Well, this was another talky chapter, but Loghain and Moira have to bridge quite the gulf between them. However, dear readers, rest assured that the next chapter will kick the plot into a higher gear, so stay tuned.
I owe a debt and an extra special thanks to the lovely EasternViolet, who has graciously volunteered to beta this story. Her assistance has already wrought quite the improvement in this chapter, and I have no doubt that this story will be vastly better thanks to her! Any typos or errors that remain are, of course, entirely mine.
For those of you who have found this story by searching the Dragon Age archives on fanfic dot net, please be advised that I intend to raise the rating of this fic to M when I post Chapter 5, just to stay on the safe side (but don't read too much into that just yet ;) . The default fanfic dot net archive search automatically excludes M rated fics, so be sure you follow/favorite this story, bookmark the page in your browser, or adjust your search settings to include M rated fics, because otherwise you will not see any further updates become available through the default archive display.
Lastly: a huge THANK YOU to all my lovely readers and reviewers! Your feedback has been wonderful, and I appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time to read, favorite, follow, and/or review this story. (And I appreciate all of you lurkers who are reading along and enjoying it as well!) I want to especially thank Em for her lovely and gracious review, since I can't PM her: I am so glad you're enjoying this story, and I hope you like where I am taking Loghain and Moira as they come closer to their showdown with the archdemon.
Well, I've rambled on long enough. Future author's notes will not be this long-winded, I promise ;)