Loghain was proud of how fierce and comfortable Kya looked on her horse. She'd taken to riding quickly once he'd taken the time to teach her. She looked beautiful and commanding in her Warden plate. That he would admit to and tell her, ignoring the snide looks from the other Wardens.

He did however miss the feeling of her curled up in the saddle in front of him. He was also anxious and nauseous as the Royal Enclave came into view, a throng of huge tents pitched just outside the ruins of Ostagar. But he wouldn't admit that openly, not even to himself.

Focusing on the rhythm of the horse's hooves against the hard packed ground, he took a deep breath. Maker spit on anyone who would judge him. And judge him they would, he had no doubt. But he did what had to be done. Despite his self recrimination before they left Amaranthine, he did not challenge his own decisions. What was done was done.

As the distance between their position and the tents closed, he could see the familiar glimmer of the gold dragon armor in the wan sunlight. The King's armor; or a child playing at being King, as the case might be. Behind him was the blue and gold tent, decorated with banners flying the brisk wind. A part of Loghain hoped irrationally that they'd ride up to the tent, and instead of Alistair, it would be Maric standing there. He'd had that same amused, wry look on his face he always did when he dealt with Loghain. But for the first time, he did not hope for Rowan to appear at his side. He and Maric had both broken her heart enough already.

He looked up at Kya, sitting tall in the saddle. He mused on the way a few tendrils of her hair had fallen loose and curled at the base of her neck. But oddly, it felt like this would not have hurt Rowan. Not as all the other choices they made had done. Somehow he knew that these stolen moments of happiness for him would have made Rowan smile. It was a surprising conclusion, that.

He was distracted from his thoughts by Kya bring her horse back next to his. Her pace slowed and his mount followed suit until they were at a slow walk.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked.

Loghain grunted. "Is one ever ready for the noose?"

"Don't," Kya sighed. "Let's not go into this assuming they are going to lock us up in Fort Drakon, shall we?"

"I have no concerns in that regard," Loghain replied. "The King doesn't have the stomach for it."

"There's that," she said, reaching her hand out to him. Loghain took it, and heedless of her metal gauntlet, he leaned over and kissed her fingers.

"Practicing your courtly manors, milord?" she joked. Loghain frowned and she did in return. "Sorry," she continued. "Failed attempt at humor."

"Ah, don't mind me," he said, shaking his head. "I'm bound to be more irritable than usual, I imagine."

"Is that possible?" she replied, still trying to lighten the mood.

"We'll see."

And they would, sooner than he'd hoped. A pair of guards in the plated mail armor of the King's soldiers appeared at the trail head into the makeshift palace.

"State your business," the first barked. Kya squared her shoulders.

"Do you not recognize the Grey Wardens?" she asked. Her voice sounded suitably forceful, Loghain thought. She learned quickly.

"I apologize my lady," the guard replied promptly, looking sheepishly over his shoulder. Loghain followed the man's eyes in time to see Alistair's head snap up at the mention of the Wardens.

"Please, if you will," Kya said, "I am not a lady in that sense. If you wish to use a title, call me Commander or Warden. Although I would prefer you use my name. I am Kya."

"I am sorry, my l . . . Commander," the second guard stuttered, looking horrified. "We apologize for not recognizing the Hero of Ferelden."

"Yes, well," she sighed. "You can dispense with that appellation as well, thank you."

"As you wish," he said again. "The King wished to see you as soon as you arrived. Can we take your horses?"

Loghain swung down quickly, handing his reins to the flustered guard.

"Yes, thank you," he said. He came around to the side of Kya's horse, and glanced over his shoulder. Alistair was still watching them. In an uncharacteristically intimate move, he reached up and offered his hand to help Kya dismount. She looked at him dubiously.

"Seriously?" she whispered. "You want this to be obvious now?"

Perhaps it was madness, but he did and his hand didn't waver. He gave her a long look. She shook her head at him, but took his offered hand. She swivelled down from the saddle, and he grabbed her by the waist to help her descent.

"My, my," she muttered. "You surprise me every day, Loghain Mac Tir. Next thing I know you'll be kissing me in public."

"You never know," he replied, his voice low. She gave him a strange, worried look and then turned her head, she too spotting Alistair staring at them incredulously.

"Alright," she said. "You need to let go now before the King dies over there without an heir. You recall how that went last time?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Loghain nodded and reluctantly let his hands drop to his sides. She turned away from him and marched toward the King's tent.

Loghain alternately watched her and Alistair's eyes watching her as he followed. He felt the distinct desire to growl. It was absolutely insane, and he knew it. This man child was his daughter's husband. And more than that, Alistair was a fool and had let Kya go; but something inherently masculine reared its head inside of Loghain when he thought of their past entanglement.

Kya belonged to no one but herself, he knew that. He also knew that he should be far more concerned with the castigation that was awaiting him. But after a lifetime of reserve and self abnegation, he was allowed a bit of animal territoriality. It was as good an excuse as any.

"Your Majesty," Kya said, bowing slightly as they reached the King.

Alistair was standing behind a long table, his hands spread out on the top as if he was trying to steady himself. On the polished wood surface there was a narrow battered chest and various drawings of the layout of Ostagar. Loghain recognized them both immediately, the trunk and the maps.

The trunk was Cailan's. He kept Maric's dragonbone sword inside; the sword he intended to use to slay the archdemon little did he know that he could not have done the deed. And Loghain recalled vividly using those maps to plan the battle he never took part in.

He felt a sting in his chest. It wasn't regret. Never regret.

"Commander Kya," Alistair replied. His eyes glanced in Loghain's direction for a moment, but he did not address him. "You have finally arrived."

"Indeed," she said, all cold formality. "I apologize for our delay. It is a long road from Amaranthine."

"Yes, it is, but the ceremonies are not scheduled to begin until tomorrow, so you have come in time," Alistair replied.

"Lucky us," Loghain said, half under his breath, but loud enough for Alistair to hear him. Kya shot him an annoyed look, but didn't say anything.

Alistair had the sense to ignore him. "I would like to speak with you about the ceremony, actually. I would like . . . ." Before he could finish he was cut off by Anora rushing out of the tent behind him.

"Father!" she said excitedly. She immediately looked shocked by her own outburst and composed herself quickly. "I am glad to see you," she continued, more quietly. She made her way around the table and took Loghain's arm

"Are you well?" she asked.

"I am," he replied. His voice lost its harsh tone. Politics aside, this was his daughter, and he loved her. Whatever else he might be and had been, he was always her father.

"Let us speak privately," she said, pulling him away. "I do not doubt the King and the Commander have things to discuss." She used Kya's title as if it was an insult. "As do we."

Loghain let her lead him away, glancing just once back over his shoulder at Kya. She watched them go with a bemused look on her face. Anora caught his look however, and she on the other hand, did not look amused at all.


"Is it true?" Anora asked him, her hands on her hips. She had dragged him into one of the smaller tents at the edge of the encampment, although the canvas would only provide limited privacy at best.

"Are you going to tell me what the question is, or do I have to guess?" Loghain replied.

Anora was incensed. "Don't play stupid, this is serious," she snapped. "Do you think word would not reach us about what is happening in Amaranthine?"

"What is happening in Amaranthine is that we are trying to rebuild the Grey Warden numbers and turn these new recruits into warriors," he replied factually.

"I'm sure it's very fascinating," she replied. "But you know damn well what I'm asking you father. Are you . . . fraternizing with her?"

"What does that matter?" Loghain asked.

"Are you mad?" she shouted. Again, clearly disturbed by her own outburst, she dropped her voice dramatically. "What does it matter indeed? How could you possibly trust her? She tried to kill you!"

"She chose not to," Loghain said, shaking his head. "I doubt she's going to have a sudden change of heart now."

"Change of heart is it?" she sighed. "So it is like that is it? Is that what it takes to get affection from you? Attempted murder?"

"Being bested in a duel is hardly murder," he replied. He watched as Anora's face wavered between anger and sadness.

"She destroyed you!" Anora shouted. There was no way they were not being overheard now, but she no longer seemed to care. "Before this began, you were the Teryn of Gwaren, the Hero of River Dane, the regent of Ferelden and the leader of her armies! Now you are Grey Warden who will probably die before you even reach sixty!" Loghain looked at her incredulously. He knew that the Taint would likely catch up with him, far sooner than most, but how would Anora know this? It was one of the many Grey Warden secrets.

She seemed to hear his question without him needing to speak. "Did you think I would not ask my husband?" She said the word with distaste. "Did you think he would not tell me what it means to be a Grey Warden? He is tainted, just as you are. I know what that means." She sighed hard and turned away from him.

Loghain couldn't see her, but he knew she was twisting her hands together. It was a habit whenever she was upset.

"Most of my life," she said. "Most of my life you were gone, leaving mother and I behind in Gwaren while you were in Denerim with Maric. You avoided us, like we were some horrible secret, instead of the family you were supposed to love." She sighed again. "Once I was Queen, I finally had my father. For the first time in my life. And now the Grey Wardens and their Commander are taking you away from me again."

Loghain stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Anora," he said, his voice quiet. He turned her to face him. Her eyes were red, but dry. Anora Mac Tir Theirin did not weep, not even when her mother died. Not even when Cailan died.

"Anora, I am sorry I was not the father to you that you wanted," he said. "But believe me when I tell you that my absence from Gwaren had nothing to do with you."

"How can I?" she said softly. "How could I think anything else? What else could it have been?"

Anora didn't know. And Loghain intended to keep it that way. She didn't know it was Rowan that came between him and his wife; between him and Maric. She wasn't going to know that it was jealousy and bitterness that destroyed him. But she needed to not live her life in the same way.

He had no idea she felt this way.

"I . . . cannot explain," Loghain said finally. "But I can say that you are my daughter. And I never wished to hurt you. I have only wanted for your happiness."

Anora looked at the ground. "I know," she said. "And I want the same for my father. No matter what that means."

"Then do not do this," he said, tilting her face up to look at him. "I am happy now. As happy as I can be, being who I am. I am finally free of the duty that stripped my happiness, and took your father from you."

She nodded. "Yes, you are right, as always," she said. "But as much as anything, it is odd to think of my father involved with a woman who is not my mother. Not to mention younger than I."

Loghain gave a half smile. "Daughters never grow up. They are six years old with pigtails and skinned knees, forever."

"Then I can assume you can forgive my tantrum?" she asked. "And . . . all the horrible things I said about you at the Landsmeet?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he said, folding her into an embrace. "Sometimes little girls do strange things."