Loghain wished that damned Orlesian Warden would stop staring at him. As if it wasn't uncomfortable enough, what with the feeling like his stomach had been torn to pieces by the darkspawn blood and the noise as it was. For some unholy reason the Warden and the bastard prince had decided to scream at each other in the room directly above them. Loghain wondered if they had any dignity at all.
He didn't want to listen, but the words echoed off the stone walls with crystal clarity. Duty, honor, treason with an over liberal use of the word love.
It was obvious there was an entanglement there, one far beyond the comradery of two Grey Wardens. One would have to be blind to not notice the looks they gave one another. But clearly their love was conditional. Loghain heard his own name used a few times, prefaced by adjectives that he was surprisingly unoffended by. Traitor, murderer . . . well, he knew what he had done and unlike some, he was under no illusions that he was anything other than what he was.
He wasn't proud of it, but the ends seemed to justify the means. Or it had seemed that way at the time. Of course, if he'd known just who this Warden really was, perhaps he would have done things differently. Or maybe not. It was folly to debate it with himself now. What was done was done, and no amount of self flagellation would change that.
Alistair's voice rang out clearly. "There is no us! Only the woman who stabbed me in the back and her pet traitor. And my soon to be wife that will remind me of her father every time I look at her!"
Loghain cringed inwardly at that. Anora was his daughter and he didn't like the idea of her marrying that fool. Not one bit. But then again, Anora had ruled both Ferelden and Cailan with an iron fist; this second marriage was unlikely to be different. Anora was her own woman, and every bit as ruthless as Loghain himself was. She would rein him in soon enough, over emotional temper tantrums or not.
They fell silent for a moment. Loghain sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. He looked up again and the Orlesian was predictably still glaring at him.
"Did you want something?" Loghain snapped.
"I was just considering," Riordan replied, his strong Orlesian accent immediately putting Loghain's teeth on edge.
"Considering what?" Loghain asked.
"Exactly what your part to play in what is to come will be," he said cryptically.
Loghain sighed. He considered replying, but thought better of it. He had no interest in conversing with Riordan, Grey Warden or no. At least the girl was a Ferelden, albeit a mage. He could accept her calling him brother. But despite this Riordan's claim of Ferelden heritage, the Orlesian stink was as thick on him as one born within its borders.
"I am also pondering," Riordan continued, "If you will ever be able to see past your hatred of Orlais to see the true threat that faces us."
"Do you think me blind?" Loghain growled.
"Perhaps," Riordan said thoughtfully. Before he could continue the door flung open banging against the stone.
It was her. The Warden, as he had come to think of her, Kya Amell. She was angry, which was not what he expected. Although inordinately pale with two bright flushed spots high on each cheek, her eyes were dry. Loghain felt a surge of respect. Perhaps the fool who was to be King had no dignity, but this one certainly did.
"We're leaving," she said tersely. "Now."
Loghain raised an eyebrow at her.
"Don't," she spat. "I am quite sure it has been some time since you were expected to follow anyone's orders other than your own, but I suggest you get used to it quickly."
Loghain couldn't help but be impressed. He stood and nodded sharply. "As you say," he replied.
Kya spun on her heel and stalked out of the door, not looking behind her to see if he followed. With one last fractious glare at Riordan, Loghain followed. Behind him, he heard Riordan chuckle. Loghain gritted his teeth.
She moved with purpose, taking confident strides as she stalked through the long hall toward the door. Nonetheless, with his long legs, Loghain easily caught up with her. He looked over at her, surprised to realize she was actually rather short. She had a commanding presence, and he recalled her being larger when she defeated him. Although that might have been vanity. Even Rowan had never managed to best him despite being as tall and as broad shouldered as he had been at the time. But this mage had managed it effortlessly and with far more restraint than he had expected. It was clear that she could have easily killed him, but here he was.
She did not look up at him until the doors of the royal palace closed behind them with a thump.
"Although I am certain there is room available in the city, we have a camp just outside. It will be less awkward if we go there," she said tonelessly.
"Awkward?" Loghain asked.
She snorted. "I doubt you'll receive the hero's welcome you have become accustomed to anywhere in Denerim tonight," she said. Her tone wasn't accusatory, only matter-of-fact. "Not that my companions are likely to accept you any more warmly, but they are less likely to murder you. And that's even considering the fact that one of them is an Antivan Crow."
"You don't say," Loghain replied.
"Yes," she said. She snapped her head in his direction and met his eyes for a split second before looking away again. "The Antivan Crow you hired to kill me."
"Ah," Loghain sighed. "Money well spent, apparently."
She looked at him incredulously. "Did you just make a joke?"
Loghain raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged.
She pressed her fingers against her mouth as if she was trying to prevent herself from smiling. "Wonders never cease."
Despite her warnings, her companions, with the notable exception of the old mage, looked at Loghain with more curiosity than malice. He recognized the Antivan elf, just as he suspected he would. The elf, for his part, looked faintly amused by Loghain's presence although he was clearly distressed by the state Amell was in.
Loghain had a feeling there was an entanglement there that Amell herself wasn't aware of.
He'd taken to thinking of her as Amell instead of The Warden during their walk from Denerim to the camp. He expected it might be rude to only call her by her title, if he intended to fight at her side. That was what she spared him for, after all. He wondered if that was appropriate, since the Warden left their names and their old lives behind.
He was once Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, Hero of River Dane. Now he was simply Loghain. Yet he couldn't bring himself to call her by her name. It seemed somewhat too familiar, after all that had happened. By using her family name (did mage's have families?) he tried to remind himself that he didn't know her at all. She'd become a nemesis to him in the last year, even before he knew her name. But all he really knew of her was what Howe had funneled to him, and he suspected that impression was more fiction than fact.
Howe. Loghain was glad he was dead. The weasel had led him down dark paths he'd never expected to tread. He thought of the carnage that snake left in his wake, all in Loghain's own name and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. Once upon at time, Loghain had been worthy of being called a noble, despite his common blood. Not anymore. But none of that mattered any more. Grey Wardens only looked forward, not back. Whatever he'd done, whatever he might have deserved, he was a Grey Warden now. For good or ill; there was no turning back.
Loghain looked up through the flames of the camp fire. It was very late, but the fire burned brightly with orange and yellow tendrils licking the logs. Tiny embers arced up into the cool, still air. Amell sat opposite from him, her face equally lit and obscured from him by the fire. The rest had long since retreated to their tents, leaving Loghain and Amell on the first watch. Clearly neither of them would be ready to sleep for some time; they might as well be useful.
Loghain knew himself to be a reticent and generally uncommunicative man. He had learned to be more forthcoming in recent years, but it was still against his nature to break a silence, even one as blaring as this. Yet there were things that needed to be said. Things that must be brought into the open and dealt with before they reared up at an inappropriate time that would embarrass them both.
He had no idea where to begin.
"So," he said finally, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, "Why did you do it?"
Her eyes snapped up to look at him. The fire was reflected in them, hiding what he recalled as grey-blue in a haze of orange. "Did what?" she asked.
"Spared my life," he said dispassionately.
"It seemed like the sensible decision at the time," she replied, her tone equally flat. "Four Grey Wardens are somewhat more useful than three. Although it appears that three is all we will have, despite my decision."
"Yes," Loghain said abruptly. He paused for a moment. "That wasn't entirely unexpected, was it?"
"I suppose not," she replied. "I had hoped Alistair would be more practical minded, after all that had happened." She laughed bitterly. "There's my reward for trusting an overemotional, noble-minded fool, I suppose."
Loghain snorted. "Maric's son after all," he commented, seemingly to himself.
"Is he now?" she replied, clearly not expecting an answer. "I think I knew what would happen. I saw how he reacted to my other more pragmatic decisions in the past." She sighed. "It honestly doesn't matter. Besides, there are things that I can do freely now that I have been erroneously neglecting."
"Such as?" Loghain asked.
"Such as blood magic," she said bluntly. Loghain's eyebrows raised at that. She gave him an icy smile. "Maleficarum," she said.
"I would expect it would not be wise to use such a skill in the presence of a Templar, or ex-Templar, as the case may be," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "And now I can unleash all my power against the archdemon."
"What of the circle mage that follows you then?" he asked.
"If she wishes to press the issue, I'll use her life force to power my spells," she replied brusquely. The look in her eyes was very cold indeed. Loghain recognized the expression. He'd worn the same one often enough.
"Fair enough," he said. "It would be highly inappropriate for me to make any comment about the means you use to achieve your goal."
"Yes, it would," she said tersely. "Seeing as I had to kill nearly every mage and Templar I ever knew due to your schemes."
"I confess; It was entirely my idea that Uldred consort with demons. I had a dastardly scheme in which the utter destruction of Ferelden's best weapon would benefit me, personally," Loghain said with the ghost of a smile.
She raised her eyebrows this time. "Humor," she said quietly. "Not what I expected."
"No?" he asked. "I am sorry to disappoint you."
"It's not disappointing; it is rather a surprising and welcome turn of events, actually," she said. She looked amused. "It might be pleasant to speak with someone, other than Morrigan, who appreciates sarcasm. However I had heard that it was difficult to get you to string more than a few words together, which seems to be untrue."
"That is, under normal circumstances, quite true," Loghain said. "But oddly enough, I find it agreeable to speak with you. Which is as unexpected as anything else is."
"Yes," she said. She gave him a long, strange look he couldn't read. It wasn't so different than when she first spoke as he roused after the Joining. It was a curious combination of expression he expected he did not have the emotional complexity to understand. Or perhaps he did, but had spent so many years burying his own feelings under layers of duty and ice that he had forgotten.
"Yes," she repeated. "Quite unexpected, all of it."
