Thanks as always to the awesomeness of beta Suilven for her help in keeping me on the straight and narrow. :) Those of you that have read "The Stolen Throne" will recognize the first scene. Some of the dialogue is from TST but I have also added some of my own.

Maric.

A profound sense of relief swept over Loghain at the tired, battered form of Maric standing within the great hall of Kinloch Hold. Two of the Grey Wardens were nearby; the dark haired elf stood before Maric while the young thief was only a few paces away.

The sense of relief was fleeting however, quickly followed by a sense of profound annoyance. Loghain snorted to himself, likening the scene to one between a parent and child, where the child had committed some outrageously foolish act; once the parent made sure the child was alive and unharmed, it was time for the switch. It would not be a physical switch in Loghain's hand, but he had no intention of letting Maric off easily.

After the quick look at Maric, Loghain noticed the overpowering smell of corruption in the air, the same smell that had permeated the Deep Roads and had bored itself into his memory years before. Scanning the room, Loghain saw that there was a... creature... standing over a decapitated body dressed in fine—if now gore-streaked—robes. The creature looked eerily similar to the darkspawn Loghain had encountered in the Deep Roads on that desperate journey to Gwaren years ago, yet this creature made no hostile moves toward anyone. In fact, the creature had not moved at all; rather, it had remained still, its blood-red eyes downcast.

Loghain quickly snapped himself out of his reverie. The first order of business was to make sure the King was in no immediate danger from the strange creature or anything else. With the wave of his hand, Loghain's men followed the unspoken command to secure the hall and this level of the tower. After the King's safety was seen to, a floor-by-floor search of the tower could begin in earnest; they were not finished with the Orlesians just yet, Loghain surmised. He would not leave the tower until every last one of them was either stretched by the neck or imprisoned.

With long strides, Loghain crossed the floor of the hall to stand before Maric. The King appeared unharmed from a distance, but Loghain had to be sure. As he approached, he identified the headless body on the floor as that of First Enchanter Remille, the head lying nearby and staring lifelessly into the distance. In a way, Loghain felt disappointed that he could not interrogate the man before throwing him off the tower himself. All things considered, however, Loghain was not sorry to see the Orlesian dead; one less Orlesian lickspittle in the world was a good start.

"Well, Maric," Loghain began, sweeping his gaze over the King, "I see you're not dead." Loghain's gaze noted the tears in the simple shirt and fine breeches he wore, saw the dirt caked on his face and his mussed hair. He appeared to be relatively uninjured despite the ragged appearance. "Though that looks like luck more than skill."

Maric laughed, a tired and humorless sound. "It's good to see you too, Loghain." He turned to the elf before him—Fiona, if Loghain's memory served. "Though it wasn't luck that saved me this time. It was the Grey Wardens."

Loghain scoffed loudly, not caring about the exasperated look he received from the elf that was now in Maric's arms, nor from the deep scowl the young Rivaini thief favored him with. There was work to be done here before Loghain could pack up the King and take him back to Denerim where he belonged. The first orders of business involved the strange creature that stood before them and making sure Kinloch Hold was truly freed from Remille's Orlesian cronies.

Maric has a lot of explaining to do.

The sounds of fighting drew closer.

Lhiannon was huddled into a corner of their small room; Anders, Jowan, and Tallia all crowded around her as they stood watching the door warily. The smell of fear surrounded them and she felt her stomach pitch uncomfortably. Enchanter Sari was standing in front of them in a futile effort to protect them from whatever was approaching. Two Orlesian templars were in the room with them, one watching the mages closely as the other guarded the doorway.

An older Orlesian mage with intricate robes and a waxed mustache and beard had recently joined them. He and his Orlesian templars growled orders to each other in their language as they patrolled the hallway outside, suspicious eyes falling onto their Fereldan prisoners every few moments. Their movements were becoming more agitated as the minutes passed and the sounds of fighting drew closer. Lhiannon's fear grew. What would keep the Orlesians from harming them if they felt threatened by whatever was approaching?

A loud crash resounded in the hallway beyond as the barred door at the top of the stairs gave way, the sounds of metal clanging and shouts in Fereldan reaching the room where the mages huddled.

"Are those soldiers?" Jowan asked, pressing himself further into the corner behind him.

Sari turned her head toward the apprentices. "Quiet, Jowan."

"Are they, do you think?" Tallia asked, her voice little more than a whisper in Lhiannon's ear. Magical fire began to erupt in the hallway, prompting Jowan to gasp in fear from behind them.

"I hope so," Lhiannon said, her eyes trained on the doorway. The templar standing there was becoming more and more agitated as the moments passed, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword and pulling it slightly from the scabbard. The templar in their room watched them warily from behind his full helmet, hand never leaving his sword.

Anders shifted from where he stood next to Lhiannon. She felt magical energies begin to slowly coalesce around him. "No," she said, grabbing his arm. "Don't."

"We have to do something," Anders said, his voice a low hiss in Lhiannon's ear. "We have to try and help the soldiers. We can't just—"

The Orlesian mage scampered into the room, his robes singed and cut from the battle raging outside in the hallway. The templars drew their weapons, preparing for the fight that was coming to them. The mage looked toward the apprentices in the corner, quickly moving toward them and snatching Tallia by the hair. The little elf squealed in pain and surprise as the mage pulled her along, positioning her in front of him like a shield as he dragged her into the hallway.

"Come, dog lord," the mage said, his Orlesian accent little more than a snarl.

From her vantage point in the room, Lhiannon could not see the soldiers in the hallway, but there was apparently a standoff as the Orlesian mage held Tallia before him, her body the only thing between him and the approaching soldiers. There were shouts in Fereldan of "let her go, coward," but the Orlesian mage and his templar allies stood their ground. Tallia struggled in the mage's grasp, her hands clawing frantically at the mage holding her in front of him as her fear began to give way to a desperate anger.

"Let me go, stupid shem!"

As Lhiannon and the others watched the scene before them, there was a slight shimmer in the air behind the Orelsian mage. The mage moved backward with Tallia in his grasp as the armored footsteps of Fereldan soldiers grew closer. Suddenly, the shimmer coalesced into the lightly armored form of a small soldier, daggers plunging suddenly into the neck of the Orlesian mage as he pulled both the mage and Tallia backwards. Blood sprayed in all directions and Tallia screamed as the mage's blood struck the back of her head. At the man's sudden appearance, several Fereldan soldiers rushed forward to engage the Orlesian templars. Tallia dropped to the floor and scampered away from the fighting.

Enchanter Sari raised her hands as the templars in the room were distracted, tendrils of white lightning shooting forth from her outstretched hands. The arcs landed on the armor of the templars in the room, snaking around the metal plates as they began to convulse. One of the templars began to draw his own power, preparing to smite the enchanter. Sari groaned and pulled more magical power to her, the white of the lightning growing so bright that Lhiannon and the other apprentices had to close and shield their eyes.

The sounds of battle quickly fell silent amid the stench of magical lightning and scorched flesh. Lhiannon opened her eyes to see several Fereldan soldiers enter the room, followed by two templars that Lhiannon recognized as Fereldan men. They flanked a shaken but otherwise unharmed Tallia, who quickly rushed over to the other apprentices to be gathered into a tight hug despite the gore covering her.

"What's happened?" Sari asked, looking at the lead Fereldan soldier that entered the room. "Are the others all right?"

The soldier glanced at the senior templar, who nodded his approval. "I'm part of the Fereldan army, led by the Teyrn of Gwaren to Kinloch Hold."

The templar stepped forward to speak to Sari and the apprentices. "Come with me. The Teyrn and Knight Commander want us to take a head count. We need to find the missing…" His voice trailed off as he looked toward the apprentices, apparently considering his words carefully.

Missing? Lhiannon thought to herself. Who could be missing? Unless he means something else…

Soon enough, it became apparent to Lhiannon that it was not just the missing templars and mages soldiers were looking for, but the dead as well. The apprentices and Harrowed mages were ordered to the main audience hall, where a head count could be taken to determine who was among the missing. Soldiers and templars moved through the halls with a purpose, checking rooms and calling out commands to each other. As Lhiannon walked the hallways of Kinloch Hold, she saw the scars the usurping of the tower had left behind. Walls were blackened with soot and scorch marks from spellcasting. Lhiannon recoiled in revulsion at seeing spatters of what looked like crimson paint dotting the walls and floors in numerous locations. The smell of copper and magic lay heavy in the air. Lhiannon found herself gaping at a peculiar mark on the wall as they came to the main staircase leading down; a silhouette of what appeared to be a human figure surrounded by blackened soot adorned the wall. Looking down, she saw what appeared to be two footprints on the floor surrounded by more soot. She cried out as she realized she was looking at the last stand of a mage who had been immolated in battle. She quickly brought a hand up to her mouth, fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to vomit.

"Lhi, don't look at that," Anders said, pulling her toward the staircase. Lhiannon turned to look at Anders, whose face had taken on a pale pallor. Apparently, he had come to the same conclusion at seeing the marks on the wall.

Deep voices filled the hallway as the apprentices drew closer to the main hall. Upon entering the large chamber, Lhiannon and Anders both gasped at the battle scars that ringed the room. A tuft of Lhiannon's hair waved in a gentle breeze. She looked up to see several Tranquil men and women on the staircases and balconies of the chamber, opening small windows to allow fresh air into the tower. The smell of magic—and something Lhiannon thought was far more sinister—hung in the air despite the efforts of the Tranquil.

Fereldan templars watched over their charges, many looking haggard and bone weary to Lhiannon's young eyes. Many wore armor in sore need of cleaning and repair, while others tended to injuries. There were also a number of soldiers in the room, the greatest concentration of which were near the great double doors that served as the main entrance. Lhiannon felt Anders gently pull her to the side, his neck craning to get a better look at those gathered. Tallia and Jowan moved to a nearby bench, sitting down and quietly watching the activity around them.

Lhiannon followed his gaze toward the soldiers, moving her head and standing on her toes to peer into the group. She recognized two of the individuals right away; they were the Grey Wardens that had come to Kinloch Hold not long before. Her brows knitted together. Where are the other Grey Wardens? There were more than two that came here.

In the center of the circle, Lhiannon recognized a tall, blond man as Maric, King of Ferelden. He, too, looked haggard with torn trousers and an ill-fitting, dirty shirt. Had she not seen him previously, Lhiannon would have thought him a beggar. The King was speaking to the two Grey Wardens, both of whom also looked tired and dirty. What in the Void have they been doing?

Next to the King stood a tall, black haired man in imposing dark armor. He held a scowl on his face and when he spoke, his gestures were ones of exasperation and anger. While he gave the King a dark look, he apparently saved his true scorn for the Grey Wardens; his gestures bordered on hostile when he spoke to them.

"Wow," Lhiannon said, her voice a low whisper toward Anders. "Whoever that is, he looks really angry."

"Who are you talking about?" Anders asked, standing on his toes and looking in the direction that Lhiannon indicated. "I see the King and the Grey Wardens… " Anders paused, snorting lightly. "Ah, now I see who you're talking about."

"What?"

Anders pointed toward the tall man in dark armor. "That's Teyrn Loghain."

Lhiannon felt her brow furrow once more. "Who?"

"Oh, come on Lhi," Anders said, scoffing and rolling his eyes at his friend. "Were you born under a rock? Or in a small, isolated village or something?"

Lhiannon smirked, giving Anders a playful punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, Andy, I was born under a rock. Just tell me who he is."

"All right, Lhi, here's your history lesson for today," Anders said, pulling Lhiannon close and wrapping an arm around her waist. "That man, there, is Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren and Hero of River Dane. He, King Maric, and Queen Rowan were the ones who drove the Orlesians from Ferelden not so long ago. He and the King are best friends."

Looking toward the King and the Teyrn, Lhiannon snorted lightly as she saw the Teyrn snap at something the King said. "If that's the Teyrn being friendly, I'd hate to see him when he's unfriendly."

"Lhi! Andy!"

Turning around, Lhiannon and Anders saw the relieved form of Rigana pushing through the crowd toward them. There were several angry shouts and sneers as Rigana approached, but she ignored them. Once she reached Lhiannon and Anders, she threw herself into their arms, simultaneously laughing and crying as they held each other.

After a moment, Rigana pulled away, sniffling and wiping tears off her face with her fingertips. "Where's Tallia?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Is she safe?"

"Yes, Rigana, she's safe," Lhiannon said, motioning to the bench where Tallia and Jowan sat watching the activity around them. "She was with us on one of the upper floors."

"Thank the Maker," Rigana said, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hand. "I was in the library when the Orlesian templars came in and took us up to the barracks. There were fourteen of us crammed into a room made for six. They wouldn't tell us what was happening in the tower and they wouldn't let us leave." Rigana paused, her eyes widening in fear and apprehension. "Have you two seen Vivian at all?"

"No," Anders said, "I haven't seen her."

Lhiannon shook her head, dread settling in her stomach as she watched Rigana's face pale considerably. "I haven't seen her either."

Rigana brought her hands to her face, sighing heavily into them. "That's what I was afraid of. When the Orlesians came, she wanted to fight with the Harrowed mages." Rigana's breath hitched before she continued, her voice little more than a choking sob. "The last I saw her, she was casting spells at the Orlesians and screaming at me to run."

The dread intensified in Lhiannon's stomach as a lump formed in her throat. She quickly looked to the doorways where mages continued to enter, hoping against hope that she would see Vivian's familiar face in the crowd. Surely, if she were here and saw the Grey Warden Duncan, she would make her way over to him, if only to catch a quick glance of the dark and swarthy Warden and maybe a second chance to steal away with him into a dark corner somewhere.

"There are still mages coming into the chamber," Lhiannon said, trying to sound optimistic for the sake of her friend despite the dread crawling in her gut. "We'll keep watching for her. She'll be here. "

"I don't think so, Lhi," Rigana said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just don't think so."

Maker help me, if Maric doesn't wrap this up soon, I'm going to grab him by the ear and drag him back to Denerim.

Loghain stood in a small circle, arms crossed over his dark armor as Maric spoke with the Grey Wardens. As far as Loghain was concerned, this entire mess could be laid squarely at their feet. If they had not come to Denerim with stories of their missing Warden and their fear-mongering, Maric would not have felt the need to run off with them on some fool's errand in the dead of night. There had not been a true Blight in a great many years and there would not be one now. A missing Warden was their problem. Loghain felt his face scowl even more deeply as the words of the Witch of the Wilds once more rose to the surface of his mind, her ghostly laughter echoing through him. He would never betray Maric; he would rather fall on his own sword than betray him. She had used the threat of the Blight to win some sort of concession from Maric and of that, Loghain was certain.

"We may be able to track the Architect within the tower," Fiona said, grasping her staff so tightly her knuckles were white. "But we must do it quickly before he and Utha escape."

"I have already ordered the tower sealed," Loghain said, not bothering to hold back the contempt he felt for the mage; just her Orlesian accent made his skin crawl. "Your little battle was still going on when I led the army into the tower. This… Architect… could not have ventured far. The army is under orders to allow no one to leave without my express word."

"Loghain, let the Grey Wardens look for them," Maric said, holding a hand up to try and stay Loghain's anger. "I trust that they will find the Architect and Utha—Fiona and Duncan know what they're doing."

Loghain bristled. "Yes, I'm sure they know a great many things. For example, they knew how to try and throw Ferelden into chaos once again by encouraging its King to run off in the middle of the night on a fool's errand."

"This isn't a fool's errand, Your Grace," Duncan said, his young face darkening as he attempted to stare Loghain down. "The Architect is extremely dangerous and having Utha as an ally…" Duncan's face twisted in what Loghain thought was grief for a moment before he regained control of himself again. "We just have to find them."

Loghain rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly before Maric spoke once again. "Loghain, I'm going with the Wardens to search the tower for the Architect and Utha. Take the men and continue searching for—"

"No, Maric," Loghain said, his voice a growl through gritted teeth. "I'm not letting you go anywhere with these Wardens, not without me and an army behind you." Maric opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again. Clearly, he was not about to argue with Loghain considering the events of the recent past. The Grey Wardens looked at the exchange with equal parts concern for the King and disdain for Loghain. I don't give a bloody damn what the Grey Wardens think of me. I'm not letting Maric out of my sight until he's safely back at the palace in Denerim where he belongs.

With a curt nod, Maric turned his attention to Fiona and Duncan. "Then let us begin searching the tower for the Architect and Utha. They couldn't have gotten far."

Loghain walked at Maric's right side as they followed Duncan into the bowels of Kinloch Hold. Fiona walked at Maric's left, her staff in hand and glowing slightly as she had a spell at the ready for any encounters with either Remille's lackeys or the Architect and his minion. A number of soldiers, templars, and mages both preceded and followed their small band, checking rooms for survivors or enemies. Before Loghain allowed the search to begin, he insisted that Maric don a set of borrowed templar armor; there was no way Loghain was going to let Maric potentially walk into a fight in just a simple shirt and trousers. Maric tugged at the neck of the armor, the fit a little too close to his neck for his liking. His hand rested on the hilt of his dragonbone sword, ready for any attack that may come their way.

As the Grey Wardens led them deeper into the tower, the smell of corruption became stronger. Duncan's steps became quicker until those following him had to run to keep up with the swift Rivaini. As they descended the stairs to the first of the lower levels of the tower—where the docks were located—the first of the bodies appeared.

Loghain ordered the soldiers and templars to fan out in the chamber as he crouched down and turned the dead soldier over. Loghain recognized him as a young lieutenant, even with the left half of his face burned beyond recognition. The man's remaining eye was open wide in fear at what horror he must have seen in the last moments of his life. Other bodies littered the room, some felled by magic and others seemingly felled by hand-to-hand combat, their throats crushed by a powerful force.

Looking up, Loghain saw Duncan and Fiona standing at an empty dock. Apparently, whatever trail they were following ended there. Loghain stood and approached the dock, Maric at his side.

"What is it?" Maric asked, coming to stand next to Fiona and putting a hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking her lightly. Loghain felt his eyes narrowing at the gesture; it was far too intimate for mere acquaintances. From what he knew of the elf, she had a short temper and was quick to anger, so such a familiar gesture should have been unwelcome. As Loghain watched, she took a small side step closer to Maric. It was likely something she had not been aware of. Loghain felt his frown grow deeper. He did not like what he was seeing from Maric and the elf, as it brought back memories of another elf that Maric had been smitten with. Could Maric have fallen for this Fiona in such a brief time? Unfortunately, Loghain thought it to be very likely based on precedent. It would be best to put as much distance between Maric and the Grey Wardens as soon as possible.

"The trail ends here," Duncan said, slamming his fist into his open palm. "Blast!"

"They're gone," Fiona said, her voice a sigh of agreement. "Damn."

Loghain felt his anger boil over and he hissed angrily between his teeth. "All of this and all you Grey Wardens have accomplished is losing a creature you claim is a mortal enemy and having one of your own choose to return to the Deep Roads with it. You put the King of Ferelden in mortal danger with your foolish tales of lost Wardens and a nonexistent Blight." Loghain took a step closer to the Grey Wardens, his dark gaze falling first on Fiona, then Duncan. "By rights, I should have you thrown into the darkest cell in Fort Drakon before seeing you strung up—"

"Loghain!" Maric said, grabbing the Teyrn's arm. "Stand down!"

Loghain turned to look at Maric, a dark glare on his face. He pointed an accusatory finger at Fiona and Duncan. "Maric, their Order was banished from Ferelden for interference in the matters of the Crown, and before you argue that it isn't interference, think of the ramifications had you perished in the Deep Roads. Think of how they would have been instrumental in bringing fear and chaos to Ferelden. Apparently, the Grey Wardens are no different now than they were in Arland's time when they stuck their noses into affairs that were not their own. Say the word and I will personally escort them to the border—"

"No, Loghain," Maric said in the most stern voice he could muster. "Enough. We will discuss this later."

With an exasperated snort, Loghain glared at Maric, but held his peace, if only for the sake of appearance. Even Loghain knew he could only push Maric so far when it came to matters of the Crown, especially in front of others. When they were alone—and Loghain would make sure they were soon enough—he would let the King know what he really thought of these Grey Wardens; Orlesian Grey Wardens for that matter. If he had his way, no Grey Warden would step into Ferelden ever again.

Lhiannon sat between Anders and Tallia in the great hall of Kinloch Hold, watching as the Knight Commander, Mother Carolyn of the local chantry, and the senior enchanters presided over the ceremony installing Senior Enchanter Irving as First Enchanter. Her mind felt numb as she watched the ceremony, like she was looking at the world through someone else's eyes. King Maric and Teyrn Loghain sat off to the side with the Grey Wardens, watching over the ceremonies with solemn expressions. After Irving's installation, they would accompany the Circle outside, where a large pyre stood bearing the bodies of the dead. It would be a simple funeral for those who had been lost.

A number of mages and templars were missing from the ceremonies, excused by the senior enchanters and knight commander of the templars; those excused were either the healing mages or those recovering from injuries sustained in the battle with Remille's supporters. Others who were well enough were allowed to attend the ceremonies. There were a number of mages and templars that were bandaged or walked with the assistance of others. With so many people injured, healing poultices and lyrium were in short supply and used for only the most gravely wounded. Even then, there was barely enough to go around. The less seriously injured would have to let their wounds heal naturally or wait until the healing mages had recovered sufficient mana.

Lhiannon gasped at the sight of some of the mages. While several had run-of-the-mill cuts and bruises, others appeared to have been systematically injured. Rumors ran rampant within the tower that many of those taken prisoner by the Orlesians had been flogged, burned, cut, or in other ways tortured. Some were said to have been beaten for information or because they would not join the usurpers, while others were brutalized for no reason in particular. From what she could see before her, the rumors had a basis in truth. How could they do that? The Orlesians were mages and templars too!

One of the Orlesians' victims—which Lhiannon, Rigana, and Tallia had learned late the evening before—had been their missing friend Vivian. It was Senior Enchanter Sari that had delivered the sad news, staying with the young apprentices as they mourned their friend. Sari had been reluctant to explain exactly what had befallen Vivian, but sighed and told the young women what she thought would appease them.

"Vivian, two older apprentices, and several Harrowed enchanters were captured by Orlesian mages during the initial hours of the battle," Sari had explained, choosing her words carefully. The girls did not need to know about the suffering that Vivian had experienced before her death. "The Orlesian mages were... not kind... to Vivian and those she had been captured with." Sari paused, the image of those they had found dead flashing through her mind. Bound, burned, and ravaged bodies had been found tossed carelessly into an alcove just off the library where the fighting had occurred. Vivian had been among them.

As Enchanter Sari had told the girls about Vivian, Lhiannon's grief began to give way to anger. "She was just a girl," Lhiannon had said, her voice a growl just before her chest had hitched in her grief. "They didn't have to kill her!"

"Unfortunately, the usurpers likely saw her as a threat and treated her as such," Sari had explained, pulling Lhiannon close and giving her a gentle hug. "In war, most people will cast first and ask questions later."

Lhiannon's thoughts came back to the present as she felt Anders wrap an arm around her shoulders. He had been at her side almost continuously since hearing the news about Vivian, simply allowing her to cry and rage as he imparted his quiet strength. She was grateful for his support and friendship, thanking the Maker more than once for her friend.

Anders' arm tightened around her slightly, pulling her closer to him. As she turned to give him a small smile, her stomach fluttered at the look she received from him. It was warm and kind, but Lhiannon could sense something else behind it. She brushed her hand against his leg, a quiver of excitement rushing through her.

Maric had insisted that he and Loghain remain at Kinloch Hold for the night to both rest and attend the ceremonies elevating Senior Enchanter Irving to First Enchanter as well as to attend the simple funeral for those who had fallen during the battle. It was just as well, Loghain thought to himself; he wanted to personally tend to the executions of those who had been partners with Remille in his brief takeover of Kinloch Hold. Even Maric had agreed that justice needed to be swift and uncompromising in the aftermath of the battle that took place. Unfortunately, the two remaining Grey Wardens had insisted on attending the ceremonies as well, which irritated Loghain to the point where he nearly insisted that he and Maric take a contingent of men and leave immediately for the small village across the lake.

The Knight Commander, Greagoir, and the new First Enchanter guided Maric and Loghain to a guest room on the floor of the tower housing the templar barracks. Two beds occupied the room and a stone tub stood in the corner behind a folding privacy screen. There were several sconces lit, lending a soft glow to the room. Knight Commander Greagoir ordered several of his templars to stand guard outside the door, joining those of the Fereldan army that Loghain also ordered outside. As they settled themselves into the room, Loghain was secretly relieved to be amongst the templars. Though magic had its uses, Loghain did not entirely trust the phenomenon or those that wielded its power. He placed his trust in the metal and skill of his blade.

As Loghain removed his armor and cleaned it, he could sense Maric hovering nearby, the tension in the room between them nearly a physical presence. Dipping a soft cloth into his polish, Loghain ignored Maric in favor of working on his armor. Let him sweat.

"Um, Loghain…?"

The only sound in the room was the whisper of cloth against metal.

"Loghain, come on. Don't be like that."

Loghain continued to polish his armor, seemingly oblivious to the King's presence.

Maric sighed in exasperation, his hands outstretched in supplication. "Loghain, I had to do something. I couldn't just sit in the palace waiting…"

"That is exactly what you should have done, Maric," Loghain said, his voice a low rumble. "You were needed in Denerim by your country and your son. And what did you do? You snuck off in the dead of night—"

"I didn't sneak off," Maric said, his voice sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of nervousness. "Well, not exactly."

"Yes, Maric. Exactly. Like. That." Loghain punctuated each word with the pounding of his fist on the table he was working at. He raised his gaze to meet Maric's, an angry fire burning in his cool eyes. "You snuck out on your country and your son after I gave my word that I would escort the Wardens into the Deep Roads. What do you think would have happened if you had died down there?"

Maric ignored the question; he refused to think on what would have become of Cailan had he been orphaned. "Loghain, I had to act. If I can prevent a Blight from coming to Ferelden, I have to try."

Again, the words of the witch. The long simmering anger came to the surface of Loghain's mind once more, remembering how the witch had told Maric that Loghain would betray him again and again, each time worse than the last. So far as Loghain knew, he had never betrayed Maric; the witch was simply mad. Loghain stood, pointing an accusatory finger at the King. "There will be no Blight, Maric. When will you ever understand that that witch lied to you? There hasn't been a Blight in centuries and there will be no Blight now. She's nothing more than a fear mongering charlatan and you were a fool for listening to her and a fool for following the bloody Grey Wardens into the Deep Roads. Lost members of their long irrelevant order are not the problem of the King of Ferelden."

"They needed our help, Loghain."

"And your country does not? Your son does not? Did you ever think that they could have concocted that story and instead taken you to Orlais? The Orlesians have tried assassination before. This could easily have been a change in tactics, using the Grey Wardens—or their name—to do their dirty work." Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "You should have let me accompany them. I could have determined their true purpose and you could have continued to do your duty to Ferelden and your son. You are the king, Maric. Act like it."

Turning away, Loghain returned to the table and to polishing his armor, his face still carrying a stony expression. Maric walked to the brazier in the room and lit it, standing in front of the gentle heat in an effort to take the last of the chill from his bones.

There was no point in arguing with Loghain any further. When the man thought he was right, there was no changing his opinion. And, Maric had to admit, Loghain was right. Still, if a Blight could be prevented, Maric had to try. He might not live to see the next Blight according to the witch's prophesy, but that did not mean his direct descendants would be so lucky. He had to try and protect them, no matter the cost.

That was his duty.

I know in TST it's said that Loghain barely spoke two words to Maric on the way back to Denerim. I just couldn't see Loghain staying silent for so long. I could see him giving Maric the cold shoulder for a bit, but it just seemed highly improbable to me that he wouldn't say SOMETHING. So, in my world, Loghain does say something.

Loads of thanks go out to reviewers Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, cloud1004, Tyanilth, and naomis8329. You all rock!

Thanks to all the readers for taking a few minutes of your day to read my tale. Happy New Year!