A/N: I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but once again, my apologies for the long wait for this chapter. Life, writer's block, blah blah, excuses. I'll try to get the next one out faster, but I've got to apply for the bar exam first, so wish me luck. The application is more intimidating than the exam itself, I think. Gross. I will work on the next chapter of FtA as soon as I have some time - but the good news is, this is the last "transitional" chapter before we kick into the next phase of the plot (although I did manage to get some nice developments in place in this one, as you'll soon see :D). Thank you as always for all your support!
Moira stuffed another tunic in her traveling pack, her mind making a quick inventory of the items already inside. Hardy clothes for the road, provisions of bread and cheese, a spare blade in case anything should happen to her sword – enough gear to see her safely to Haven and back. Settling the pack across her shoulders, she made her way silently through the corridors of the palace, deserted in the predawn hours, hoping to find a good horse in the stables and get on the road before any busybodies could question her absence.
Loghain knew she was leaving, though he'd argued with her the night before. She shook her head at the thought of her stubborn, bull-headed lover. He'd continued to insist that Moira should not make such a trip just for him, that the taint was the penance she'd issued him at the Landsmeet and that he was therefore duty-bound to bear it. Silly man! Did he think that she would be content to allow him to suffer the Grey Wardens' poison, now that she knew that there was a cure?
She'd wondered at the time why he hadn't simply grabbed a pinch for himself, but she reminded herself that neither he nor Leliana could have known that the ashes were capable of curing the taint. And even if they had known… would he have? She couldn't tell how much of his bluster was because he really believed he owed the Wardens his service, or because he did not want Moira making a dangerous trip just for his sake.
She wondered what she would have done if she had known the ashes could cure her taint when she'd first ventured to the temple to retrieve them for Eamon. Would she have taken some for herself, then? Would she have used them, even in the midst of the Blight? The thought sobered her.
As much as she hated what Duncan had done to her, how he'd forced her to abandon Highever and lied to her about what the Joining would do to her… she had to admit that the Wardens did serve a purpose. Without her – without their sacrifice – the Archdemon would have continued its rampage unabated, the Blight left unchecked to spread its devastation across Ferelden and beyond. Her homeland would have been laid to waste, its picturesque verdant hills blackened and spoiled forever, stripped bare of all life. Because of her… because she'd been a Grey Warden… she'd been able to save her beloved Ferelden. She could never regret that, as much as she resented the Wardens for their deception.
But she had done what had been required of her. She'd killed the Archdemon and ended the Blight. And now, thanks to Loghain, she was free of the taint, free of the chains the Wardens had bound to her at the Joining – free to make her own life, her own future, free to live out her days without fearing the inevitable doom of the Calling. And the man she loved… she had the power to free him from such a fate, too. How could she ever live with herself if she condemned him to die slowly of the same poison that no longer polluted her veins?
Andraste would understand, or, at least, Moira hoped She would. She knew that she had to be careful – if word of the ashes got out, there would be an endless stampede of pilgrims to Haven, and even the Maker's Bride had a finite amount of remains to go around. The sleepy village of Haven would become the most hotly contested acreage since the Dales – and in the aftermath of the Blight, would Orlais see Ferelden's weakened state and decide to "reclaim" the Frostbacks in the name of the Empress, in order to "properly secure" such a holy site in the name of the Chantry in Val Royeaux? Moira was not keen to find out.
That was why she had told no one except Loghain and Fergus that she was going back to Haven. Only a few knew about the miraculous properties of the ashes, and she needed to keep it that way. Perhaps someday Thedas would be ready to learn of the final resting place of the Lady, but Moira did not think that day had come.
She entered the stables quickly and quietly, and selected a sleek, muscular horse who looked hardy enough to capably endure a journey to the mountains. She made her way towards the tack room, seeking a saddle to prepare her mount for the journey, when her eyes caught a flash of swift movement in the shadows. Hand dropping warily to her traveling blade, she froze, eyes searching for the source of the disturbance.
A soft, accented chuckle reached her ears, and Leliana stepped out of the darkness, slipping a cowl from her head. "You're awfully nervous, even here in the safety of the royal stables. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I understand completely."
Moira released a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Oh, Leliana, it's just you," she said, relieved. "Forgive me. I'm… well, I was trying to get out of here before anyone noticed I'd gone, to tell the truth."
Leliana smiled. "You'll have to try harder than that if you want to keep secrets from a bard," she said. Her countenance sobered as she regarded Moira thoughtfully. "You're going to Haven, aren't you?"
"How did you –?"
"I've been expecting it ever since the Sacred Ashes cured you of your taint," Leliana replied. "You're going to get some for him, aren't you?"
Moira opened and closed her mouth several times before she realized it was utterly pointless to obfuscate to a friend who was clearly one step ahead of her as it was. "I can't let the Blight take him, Leliana," she said quietly. "I love him. Now that I know the ashes can cure Grey Wardens of the taint, I can't let him – I can't let it poison his blood and turn him into a monster."
"I understand," Leliana replied gently. "But there is no need for you to go to Haven."
Moira stared at her, baffled. "What? But I can't let him suffer – you said you understood –"
"I do," Leliana said. "But what you seek is not in Haven. Not anymore." Leliana's eyes were strangely bright as she slipped a hand into a pouch at her belt and withdrew a tiny bag, tied tightly with a leather strap. She handed it to Moira, who took it with a slowly dawning comprehension.
"You took the ashes?" Moira's voice was a whisper as her fingers closed reverently around the small bag, hands trembling as she realized the sacred significance of what she held.
"When I returned to the temple, with Loghain, I remained in the chamber after he had taken the ashes, to pray in the presence of Andraste. I had another vision." There was an urgency to Leliana's voice that Moira had never before heard from her friend. "Moira, you cannot trust the Grey Wardens. I saw Warden mages performing a dark ritual in the chamber of the Sacred Ashes. They were sacrificing a woman… and there was a monster with them. A darkspawn lord, perhaps, if the darkspawn have such things." She fixed Moira with a penetrating gaze. "I think the vision was trying to tell me that the Grey Wardens will desecrate the ashes. I did not recognize the woman, but she was in the chamber of Sacred Ashes – I think she was meant to represent Andraste, and that this Warden ritual will use Her ashes as part of some dark sacrifice."
Moira felt a chill of dread apprehension creep along her spine. She had never been entirely certain whether she believed in Leliana's vision in Lothering – she believed that Leliana believed in it, certainly, but she'd never made up her mind whether she really believed it to be "true." It had never seemed very important – whether or not Leliana had had a "real" vision from the Maker, she had always been a loyal and true friend, and that was what mattered to Moira. But now… she could see that Leliana once again utterly believed in the veracity of her vision. And Moira knew as well as her friend that the Sacred Ashes were indisputably real – she was living evidence of that. She remembered how, in the temple, she'd felt so serene, so peaceful, as though she had truly been in the presence of the Maker's Bride. If the ashes were real, then why not Leliana's vision?
"You're sure?" Moira said, her hand curling protectively around the ashes in response to her friend's words. "I mean – not that you had a vision, but about what you saw? It was definitely the Grey Wardens? And they were desecrating Andraste's ashes? How can you be certain?"
Leliana shook her head. "I cannot be certain about the meaning, but how else to explain it? I am certain the mages were Grey Wardens – they wore griffon armor across their robes. What else could such a thing mean in a vision?"
Moira had no answers. "So you're saying that Haven isn't safe?"
"Not for the ashes. Not anymore. I have to believe that I was given the vision for a reason. And if the Grey Wardens are not to be trusted, then… I have to keep them safe. I have to keep Her safe."
Moira's eyes widened as the implication of Leliana's words hit her fully. "You're going to hide them."
Leliana's eyes flashed. "You mustn't tell anyone, Moira! Loghain will figure it out once he realizes you didn't need to go to Haven to bring the ashes for him, but too many people already know – Brother Genitivi, the rest of our companions, and everyone who knows how you were healed from your sickness. It will not take long before others move in – the Chantry, Ferelden, Orlais – and if that happens, then it will not take long before the ashes disappear, stolen by anyone who seeks to use them to further an agenda. Perhaps even by the Grey Wardens. If the Maker tasked me with keeping the ashes safe, then no one can know that I took them. You have to promise me you'll keep this secret, Moira. Please."
Moira realized the importance of the confidence with which Leliana had entrusted her, and her throat tightened with a knot of emotion for her friend. Leliana could have departed and taken her secret with her, and if her vision was true, she risked much by confiding in anyone, even Moira. Moira was touched that the bard trusted her so completely.
"You didn't have to tell me," Moira said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on Leliana's shoulder. "You didn't have to give me a pinch of the ashes – you don't owe Loghain anything. You came back for me – for him."
Leliana shook her head. "I know how much he means to you. And he is a good man – I was with him in the temple. He loves you so much, Moira." She smiled shyly. "I suppose I'm still a romantic at heart. If I can help two of my friends have a good life together, then I will do whatever I can."
Overcome, Moira drew her friend into a tight embrace, not trusting herself to words.
"Thank you," she whispered into Leliana's hair. She had just pulled back from the embrace when a thought occurred to her.
"Where will you hide the ashes, if you've taken them from the temple?"
Leliana offered her a coy smile. "Now that is something I think I will keep to myself. For your sake as well as mine." Her smile faded. "I don't think I should wait any longer. I need to take the ashes out of here before anyone starts to ask questions. Don't worry," she said, her smile returning. "I'll be sure to return in time for the wedding." With a wink, she turned, slipping silently towards the stable doors.
"Thank you, Leliana," Moira said, her heart hammering at the implications of her friend's jest.
"Of course. Now go and take care of Loghain, before you accidentally misplace Our Lady."
Moira stretched languorously, her legs twining against Loghain's as she brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from her eyes. "I'm glad that Andraste decided to preserve your impressive Grey Warden stamina," she purred appreciatively, placing a kiss against his shoulder.
"Hmph. Who said anything about the Grey Wardens?" he said slyly. "Being rid of the Warden curse has hardly abated my passion for you."
"I'm glad to hear it." She sighed and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. Loghain had been surprised and somewhat reluctant when she'd shown him the ashes, and it had taken some convincing from her to persuade him to accept the gift Leliana had given them. He had not wanted to undermine Moira's judgment from the Landsmeet, but she would hear none of it.
"Loghain, I sentenced you to join the Grey Wardens to fight for Ferelden and end the Blight. You've done that," she argued. "The Blight is ended, and Ferelden is saved. Anora gave me the authority to decide your fate at the Landsmeet, and it is my decision that your oath is fulfilled." Her mood had softened, then, and she'd taken his hands in hers. "And I want the man I love at my side, for as many years as the Maker sees fit to give us. Is that so wrong?"
That, in the end, was what had persuaded him.
Moira had watched, entranced, as the ashes of Andraste cleansed her lover, heart and soul; she keenly recalled the sensation of the taint being drawn from her, the poison leaching from her blood and leaving her pure. Loghain's eyes had closed, though he did not seem to be in pain; she wondered if he felt the same odd tugging sensation as she had, as if the impurities were being wrung from his soul by the healing hands of Andraste Herself. At last, his face relaxed, and he opened his eyes, and his expression held a mixture of amazement and wonder.
"It's gone," he murmured. "I feel… clean. Like a dark shroud has been lifted from me."
Moira brushed away the tears that had sprung uninvited to her eyes. "The Grey Wardens don't own us anymore. You belong only to me, now, as I belong to you."
Those had been the last words spoken for some time.
Now, as Moira snuggled against Loghain's warm and muscular frame, she allowed herself to indulge in fantasies that the Blight and the Grey Warden curse had previously denied her. What would it be like to wake up every morning like this, nestled in Loghain's arms? To fall asleep in those arms, sated and contented, after a passionate night of lovemaking? To share a bed, a room, a home, a life with him? To bear his children?
Moira shook her head and snuggled deeper against him. One thing at a time, she scolded herself. There was time enough for all of that. Time was something they had, now.
"I had a thought," he said, after several moments of silence.
"Oh? Just the one?" she teased, poking him playfully in the ribs.
"Har har. What a rapier wit you have." His hand drifted down her side to plant a gentle pinch against her bottom, turning her self-satisfied chuckle into a yelp of feigned indignation.
"Well?" she prompted, refraining from a retaliatory jab. "Do I get to hear this profound thought of yours or not?"
"I was thinking that perhaps it is time for me to return to Gwaren," he said. "I have been away for too long. I shamefully neglected my teyrnir during the madness of my regency, and though I have sent Threnn and Cauthrien to begin setting things to rights, I cannot continue to abdicate my responsibility to play at politics in Denerim."
Whatever Moira had been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that. She was beset by an unexpected wave of disappointment.
"Oh," she said. Realizing she'd done a poor job of concealing her reaction, she quickly rallied. "I mean, that's wonderful! I'm sure your lieges will be happy to see their lord."
He snorted. "I highly doubt it, given how unceremoniously I abandoned them during the Blight. The truth is that I have much to do to regain their trust. I think it is time for me to absent myself from Denerim for a while. Maker knows Anora's fledgling reign is fragile enough without my meddling. She needs to shore up her support among the nobles, and that will be easier accomplished without her pariah of a father underfoot."
Moira's heart hammered in her chest. Had she set him free from the Wardens' chains only to lose him to his other duty? She of all people knew how demanding the obligations of a teyrnir were. "I understand," she said quietly, hoping her distress was not evident in her voice.
"I was hoping you would come with me."
Moira, caught up in her own cresting sense of disappointment, took a moment to comprehend his words. When she did not respond, Loghain tensed beneath her and cursed.
"I'm sorry. I did not intend to ambush you," he said. "I just thought… you are under no obligation, of course. But Moira… I am not a casual man. I do not keep mistresses or dally with women for my own pleasure." He shifted uncomfortably, propping himself up on his elbow and avoiding her eyes. "If I am to continue an intimate relationship with you, I do not wish to sneak in and out of your bedchamber like a furtive lover. I do not want our relationship to be unclear or undefined, and thus subject to all manner of malicious gossip. I couldn't care less what the fools in the Landsmeet think of me, but I will not cheapen you by giving any man cause to call you my mistress, or worse."
Moira's heart continued to pound against her chest, no longer with dread, but rather anticipation. "Loghain, are you trying to say what I think you're trying to say?"
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to make such a hash of this – all the times I rehearsed it in my mind, and it always went better than this. Maker's breath! Moira, if you do not wish such a commitment, I understand. I only ask that you tell me true. I despise uncertainty, and I cannot live a life of half measures."
She stared wildly at him, daring to hope. "Loghain, are you asking me to marry you?" A sudden fear that she had drastically misinterpreted his words gripped her, and she was seized with the terror that he would crush her heart with an embarrassed, stammered retraction as he tried to explain that no, that was not what he had been asking, but in fact, that he no longer wished to be entangled with her at all –
"If you would have me," he said gruffly. "If not, I want you to know that I bear you no ill will. I would never – "
Whatever declarations of honor he might have pledged were stifled by Moira's lips as she grabbed his head and pulled him roughly against her in a crushing embrace, her mouth seizing his in a frantic kiss. Moira was heedless of the warm tears that dampened her face as she clung to her lover, her hands roaming across the firm musculature of his back as she kissed him until they were both breathless.
"Maker, you are truly a fool, Loghain Mac Tir," she gasped against him. "How many times do I have to tell you I love you? How many times do I have to assure you that I want to share my life with you? How many ways must I say it?"
He chuckled ruefully, his face pressed into her sweat-damp tresses, and she detected more than a hint of relief in his rumbling laughter. He pulled back to regard her, and she was startled at the solemn sincerity in his eyes.
"I don't think I will ever truly accept my good fortune," he said simply. "It continues to amaze me that you want anything at all to do with me, let alone –" He broke off abruptly, and Moira thought, for a moment, that she saw a glimmer in his eyes, before he closed them with a small shake of his head.
"Maker's breath! I swore I would do this right, and now I've gone and completely ruined the whole moment." With a restless sigh, he sat up in the bed, drawing Moira with him. Taking her hands in his, he regarded her with a serious expression.
"Believe it or not, I'd planned on asking you the proper way," he said gruffly. "That's why I asked you to accompany me to Gwaren. There is a little spot a few miles away from the village, along the cliffs overlooking the sea. You can see the coastline disappearing into the mist to the north, and the sea waves crashing ceaselessly against the rocks below. It is a sight that would stir the Maker Himself to awe." He harrumphed to himself. "I was going to buy a ring here in Denerim, take you to the cliffs of Gwaren, and ask you there. But I suppose this will have to do, now that I've gone and bollocksed everything up." He straightened his shoulders, and Moira could not breathe in anticipation of his next words.
"Moira Cousland, will you do me the inimitable honor of becoming my wife?"
Moira looked into the face of the man she loved – the man who had just asked her to marry him. His was not a face most young women would find especially appealing. He was all planes and angles, a strong jaw and a furrowed brow framing features that many would call severe – his eyes, the color of an early spring morning, brooding and intense; his hawk-like nose, as prominent and craggy as the rest of him; his bow-shaped mouth, whose lips were often curled into an expression of impatient exasperation.
To Moira, it was the most handsome face in all of Thedas.
"Maker, do you even need to ask?" she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. With a laugh, she recalled the convolutions that had led to his proposal. "Yes, I suppose you do, after all that. Yes, Loghain, I will marry you. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, you big oaf. Yes."
He laughed, and this time, there was no trace of self-deprecation – only joy. He gathered her into his arms and held her close, his large hands resting against the smooth planes of her back.
"Moira." Her name was a sigh, a prayer on his lips. "You will never truly know how happy you make me. Again and again I give you cause to be rid of me, and yet every time you refuse to see reason. I will never understand what about me you find so compelling, but I will never take your heart for granted. I swear it."
Moira sniffed, wiping away a stray tear as she curled into her lover's – her fiancé's – arms. "You'll have to try harder than that if you want to scare me away," she said. "I've lost so much in the past year, but when I'm with you, I feel…" She closed her eyes to the wave of pain that crashed over her, at the sudden and jarring realization that her parents would not get to see their only daughter's wedding.
"You've given me a future," she whispered against him. "You give me hope."
She felt his arms tighten around her, and his lips pressed a soft kiss against her hair. "You've given me that and more," he said. "I love you, Moira."
"And I love you, Loghain." The emotions of the day washed over her, and for the first time in many, many months, Moira felt an unbridled sense of hope. The Blight was over, she and Loghain had survived, and now they were both free of the Grey Wardens – free to make a life and write out their own future. Together.
"You can ask me again in Gwaren, by the way," she said coyly, pulling away to fix him with an impish grin. "I'd like to see this beautiful seaside vista. The ring would be a nice touch, too."
He harrumphed good-naturedly. "Yes, I suppose a proper romantic proposal is the least you deserve. I shall have to work on my wooing skills. You'll have to forgive me – they're a bit rusty."
"That's quite all right," she said, pulling him in close with a sultry look. "We have a lifetime to practice. And there's no time like the present."
Moira shrugged into her traveling tunic while Loghain filled his rucksack with supplies for the road. The seas were rough this time of year, and so they had decided to travel by road to Gwaren. The trip would take several days, and much of it would traverse the thick woodlands of the Brecilian Forest, where villages were few and far between. Fortunately, both Moira and Loghain were adept at packing for long, arduous journeys.
"I'll miss the palace," Moira lamented, as she stuffed a block of hard cheese into her pack. "I've rather enjoyed having roast mutton and pies for dinner instead of hard tack and weeks-old cheese."
"Well, I'm certain Gwaren will be something of a disappointment to you, then," he said. "The castle is hardly as well-apportioned as the palace or the keep at Highever." At Moira's darkened expression, Loghain grimaced.
"Maker, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of what happened at Highever."
She shook her head. "Don't apologize. You didn't set fire to the keep or slaughter everyone inside the walls. Howe did that, and I sent him to the Void for it." She sighed, stuffing the last of her provisions into her pack with a final shove. "I'm going to have to go back there eventually. Maybe once Fergus gets everything set to rights, and it looks less like a charnel house. But I'm not sure it will ever feel like anything other than a grave to me. It will certainly never feel like home again."
"I'm sorry, Moira," he said quietly. He sighed. "Gwaren isn't grand, and it is not as elegant as you are no doubt accustomed to, but I hope in time it will be a home to you."
Moira shook her head, fixing Loghain with a grateful, if exasperated, look. "I don't care how fancy it is, Loghain! You'll be there, and that will make it home for me."
Loghain returned her smile, but whatever he was prepared to say was interrupted by a firm knocking at the door. Frowning, Loghain strode to the door and opened it to reveal a serious-faced young royal courier.
"Apologies, milord," the lad said. "Queen Anora requests your presence at once." His eyes darted into the room to notice Moira standing there. "And the Hero of Ferelden, as well." If he found it odd that Moira was in Loghain's chambers in mid-afternoon, he was too versed in courtly politesse to comment. Instead, he gave both of them a perfunctory nod of deference, and retreated as swiftly as he'd come. Loghain closed the door behind the courier and met Moira's confused gaze with his own.
"Why do you suppose the queen needs both of us?" Moira said. "Surely Eamon's not up to more tricks? I thought I'd nipped that problem in the bud at his 'tribunal.'"
Loghain shook his head. "I don't know, but if my daughter wished to pay me a personal visit, she wouldn't send a palace courier, which means that whatever is going on, it concerns our responsibilities to the court and to Ferelden." He looked ruefully at the packed travel bags laying on the bed. "Which means that you'll probably have to wait to see the seaside cliffs, after all."
Moira sighed and ran an agitated hand through her hair. Just when it seemed that they were about to get some peace…
"Well, we shouldn't keep Her Majesty waiting."
Moira was surprised, when the steward ushered her and Loghain into the queen's parlor, to see her brother there as well.
"Fergus! What are you doing here?"
Fergus rose and wrapped Moira in a warm embrace. "Oh, nothing important. The queen's asked for my help with some of the rebuilding efforts in Denerim and around the country. It gives me something to do." Moira heard the unspoken meaning behind her brother's words, and nodded in solemn agreement.
Instead of being surrounded by the ghosts at Highever.
"That's good," she managed evenly. "I'm sure the queen appreciates your assistance."
"Your brother is going to make an excellent teyrn, Lady Cousland," Anora chimed in, carrying a pot of tea to the sitting table from the serving table in the corner. The servants were absent, leading Moira to wonder what matter required such secrecy that Anora had not wanted even the presence of her most trusted personal staff. "He has a quick mind and a slow temper, and he has been invaluable in securing the trust and assistance of many of the more… recalcitrant… nobles, who, though they dare say nothing to my face, believe my rule to be illegitimate. Having the full support of the rightful Teyrn of Highever has allowed me to move forward with a vision to rebuild a stronger Ferelden out of the ashes."
Fergus blushed, and shot a furtive glance at Anora, who returned his look with a small smile. Was she imagining things, or did her brother and the queen seem to share some kind of personal affinity… even friendship? That was something she'd not exactly anticipated.
"The Queen is too kind," he said. "All of the good ideas are hers. Did she tell you about the university? She plans to found a center of learning, on the grounds next to Fort Drakon. I'm going to make the rounds in the bannorn in a few weeks, to secure funding from the banns and arls whose lands didn't suffer as badly the ill effects of the Blight. We have to rebuild Denerim anyway – why not rebuild it better, make it a capital to rival Val Royeaux? Maybe we can lure in all the prestigious academics who don't have any interest in playing Orlais' Grand Game."
Loghain snorted predictably at the mention of Orlais. "As long as you don't bedeck everything with garish gilded lions. Such ostentatious foppery has no place in Ferelden."
Anora rolled her eyes. "Oh, Father, really. Gilded lions? Give me a smidgen of credit."
"I think the university is a grand idea, but I can't imagine that is why you summoned us here, Your Majesty," Moira interjected as tactfully as she could manage, before Loghain went haring off down the rabbit hole of his loathing for all things Orlesian.
"You are perceptive as always, Lady Cousland," Anora said, eager to move past Loghain's grumping about Val Royeaux. "I have summoned you here because, unfortunately, it appears that the Blight has not entirely been vanquished."
"What? That's not possible," Moira said, her heart dropping into her stomach. "I killed the Archdemon. The darkspawn have retreated to the Deep Roads."
"Not all of them," Anora responded grimly. "There have been reports of incursions along the coast of the Waking Sea, near Amaranthine. Of course, a few raids here and there are to be expected from stragglers, but if the reports are correct, these attacks appear to be somewhat more coordinated. They are not random attacks by isolated groups, or so it seems." Her expression, though firm, carried a measure of remorse. "I know it is a bitter tonic to find yourself pressed into service so soon after the war has ended, but I fear I must call upon you as Grey Wardens once more. Ferelden cannot survive a recurrence of the Blight, and if that is indeed what these attacks portend, then we must put a stop to them at once."
This can't be possible. I slew the Archdemon. The Blight is over. It has to be! Panic welled in Moira's chest, and she realized, with a grim and sudden anxiety, that Anora did not realize that she and Loghain were no longer Wardens.
Maker – is this our punishment? For renouncing our oaths as Wardens and freeing ourselves of the taint? Has the Maker seen fit to punish our faithlessness with a new Blight? Moira did not believe that the Maker was such a harsh taskmaster, and yet guilt overwhelmed her. She had thought her duties as a Warden ended, and when she realized that the ashes had not only revived her from her deathless sleep, but also cured her of the taint, she'd been overjoyed to be free. But now what would Ferelden do?
Loghain had apparently arrived at the same realization, and he fixed his daughter with a remorseful look. "Anora… Moira and I… are no longer Grey Wardens."
"What do you mean, you are no longer Grey Wardens? I thought the Warden oath was a life vow?"
Loghain explained, haltingly, about the ashes, while Moira fought off waves of dread. What would they do, if these reports were correct? It was true that Wardens were not strictly necessary to kill 'ordinary' darkspawn – any accomplished warrior could do so. But the ability to sense the presence of the darkspawn through the taint, and the fearlessness that came from knowing that the Blight sickness held no further menace, provided the Wardens with an inescapable advantage. If there truly were organized darkspawn attacking Amaranthine, they would need to enlist the aid of the Wardens.
Unfortunately, there were, as of this morning, no Grey Wardens currently in Ferelden.
"I see," Anora said quietly after Loghain had finished explaining the consequences of the ashes. "I am ashamed to admit that I am happy that such a sacred relic has been found, and that the Grey Wardens no longer hold any claim over my father and Lady Cousland. Unfortunately, that also leaves the country in a rather precarious situation, with no Wardens left to defend us. I shall have to send to the nearest Warden garrison. I know you did not want foreign Wardens to come to Ferelden," she said, with a sharp glance at Loghain, "but we no longer have any choice."
"Absolutely not," Loghain said. "I do not trust armed Orlesians to occupy a garrison in this country, Grey Wardens or no."
"Then you propose allowing the darkspawn to run rampant over Amaranthine?" Anora shot back. "Father, it pains me to say so, but your hatred of Orlais blinded you to the peril of the Blight, and it blinds you now. I do not trust Empress Celine any more than you do – as the Maker knows – but I cannot allow another darkspawn infestation to fester unchecked."
Moira, you cannot trust the Grey Wardens. Leliana's warning of only hours before echoed in Moira's thoughts and sent a renewed chill down her spine. In her vision, Leliana had seen Grey Warden mages desecrating the Temple of Sacred Ashes – if the Grey Wardens returned to Ferelden in numbers, would the prophecy come true?
But Leliana took the ashes – if the Wardens were meant to desecrate the ashes, then it is already too late. Perhaps her actions have already changed the future. But what if I'm wrong?
Moira shook her head – it didn't matter. Whatever Leliana had seen in her vision – if it were even true – was a possibility, something that would occur in the future, if at all. Meanwhile, darkspawn were raiding Amaranthine now, and if the Grey Wardens did not step in, too many more lives would be lost. Still, she understood Loghain's reluctance. However…
"What about the Free Marches?" Moira interjected, and all eyes in the room turned to look at her quizzically. "You're all assuming that the only nearby Grey Wardens are in Orlais. Why don't we call on the Marcher Wardens for assistance, at least until we can build up another garrison of native Fereldan Wardens? Surely Starkhaven, Ostwick, or Kirkwall has a Grey Warden presence. The Free Marches are closer to Amaranthine, and aid will arrive far faster from there than from Orlais."
Fergus grinned. "Sounds like a good compromise to me."
Anora nodded slowly. "Of course," she said. "Yes – that is a perfect solution."
Loghain grunted, but in his eyes Moira saw his undisguised admiration for her. "Yes, I suppose Marcher Wardens will do, for now. I think it imperative that Ferelden recruit its own complement of Wardens in our absence, however. As glad as I am to be free of the Warden taint, these attacks serve as an unfortunate reminder of the necessity of the Order."
Moira felt a wellspring of relief wash over her. Guilt still gnawed at her for failing to anticipate the consequences of renouncing her responsibilities as a Warden, but this was a solution that was best for Ferelden. "Then I should go. I was the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and I am the Warden who ended the Fifth Blight – that's got to get me somewhere with the rest of the Wardens. I will convince them to send a complement of Wardens to look into the situation at Amaranthine, and perhaps a permanent commander for the Warden garrison here."
"Which brings me to another complication," Anora said. "The arling of Amaranthine is currently without a lord. In recognition of the sacrifices of the Wardens, I had thought to grant the arling to the provenance of the Grey Wardens, to serve as their permanent garrison in Ferelden."
Moira felt as though slugged in the stomach by an invisible fist – she had entirely forgotten that Amaranthine had been Howe's arling, and rage and disgust welled up in her. She saw Fergus's jaw twitch, and knew he felt the same impotent revulsion.
"No," Loghain said. "Amaranthine is Fereldan sovereign territory. We cannot allow a foreign order, unanswerable to any Fereldan authority, to permanently occupy an entire arling, whether the Wardens in question are Orlesian or not."
"Father, you cannot continue to be so paranoid –"
"No. Loghain is right." To Moira's incredible surprise, it was Fergus who spoke. "As much as I loathe Howe for what he did to my family… Amaranthine belongs to Ferelden. The Grey Wardens will never owe their allegiance to Ferelden, or any other nation. I agree that we need a permanent garrison of Wardens, but the arling of Amaranthine must belong to Ferelden alone."
Anora sighed. "Yes… you are wise as ever, Teyrn Fergus." Moira saw Fergus blush, before the queen turned to her. "Then perhaps the Hero of Ferelden would consent to become the new Arlessa of Amaranthine."
Moira stared at Anora, flabbergasted. "What – me? You want to make me the Arlessa of Amaranthine?" With a burning face, she realized that Anora did not know of her and Loghain's plans.
"And why not?" Anora said. "The land and holdings have been stripped from Howe's heirs, should any of them survive. Amaranthine needs a lord. I can think of no one who has proven their loyalty to Ferelden and the Crown more."
Moira managed an awkward bow. "I am honored, Your Majesty," she said. "But… I'm afraid this wasn't exactly how we'd planned to tell you, but… I will be occupied elsewhere." She blushed as she realized that Fergus was about to hear her news as well. She'd have preferred to tell him privately, but the cat was well out of the bag now.
"Elsewhere?" Anora arched a skeptical eyebrow, while Fergus regarded her with puzzlement.
"Teyrn Loghain has asked me to marry him. I accepted." She could not resist a smile upon speaking the news aloud.
Moira wished she could have frozen time and preserved an image of Anora's and Fergus's faces for eternity. Anora looked, for the first time in Moira's acquaintance with her, utterly startled, while Fergus's expression held a mixture of alarm, disbelief, and astonishment.
"You what?" he sputtered, looking from her to Loghain. "I mean, I knew you were… with him… but already? Marriage?"
"I… did not expect to be taken by surprise by this news," Anora said, casting a very pointed look at her father.
Loghain, to Moira's endless amusement, simply shrugged. "Nor did I, but life rarely proceeds according to plan. Nevertheless, it is true."
"Are you sure?" Fergus blurted out. Loghain cast a consternated glare in his direction, which Fergus countered with a combination of embarrassment and defiance.
"Yes, I'm quite sure," Moira laughed. "You don't need to be such a big brother."
"Of course I do," he protested. "That's my job." Apparently satisfied with the contentment that shone through in Moira's expression, he relented, his shoulders relaxing, and he turned to Loghain with a mock stern face.
"You'd better never hurt my sister," he warned. "You'll have to answer to me if you do."
"Noted, and understood," Loghain said. With a sigh, Fergus made his way to Moira and wrapped her into a hug.
"I… wow," he murmured. "I can't pretend I understand what you see in him, but if you're happy, I'm happy."
"I am," she said, squeezing her brother tight. "And thank you."
Anora, having evidently shared an unspoken conversation with her father while Fergus had enfolded Moira in an embrace, cleared her throat.
"I offer you both my congratulations, but unfortunately, your wedding plans will have to suffer a delay," she said. "The situation in Amaranthine cannot wait. With the land devastated and the arling vacant, I need someone I trust to resolve the situation. I had intended to dispatch the two of you because you were the only Wardens in Ferelden, but even though you no longer belong to the Order, I have no one else."
Loghain nodded briskly. "Of course." He offered Moira a wry half-smile. "It appears the cliffs of Gwaren will have to wait, after all."
Moira nodded, disappointed but resolute. She had known, deep down, that her duty had not ended with the Blight. She just hadn't expected to be called to it again so soon. If the darkspawn were returning, then Ferelden needed Wardens. And Amaranthine needed a lord.
Well. She'd resolved a dwarven civil war, rooted a cabal of blood mage abominations out of the Circle, banished a demon from Redcliffe, and healed a rift between Dalish elves and human villagers in the Brecilian Forest. Oh, and slain an Archdemon. Finding some Marcher Wardens and securing an arl for Amaranthine would be child's play.
Or so she hoped.