Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Author's note: Again, filler chapter because having two mushy chapters together wasn't agreeing with me. And I missed writing Loghain.
In this chapter: Not all lies are harmful.
009.
They sit without worry or rush. The party is still going on, it will go for more hours and it is a pleasant time to rest from the crowd of well-wishers, those curious or simply awestruck. Her husband keeps them occupied like a good proper noble, his wife stands back and tries not to laugh at his expense. Why she chooses to rest by his side, that's anyone's guess. Tasha could be with the King, the one who keeps glaring at him like he will fall dead from the sheer pressure. With the Orlesian, the elf or the dwarf – Leliana, Zevran, Oghren. It's fine though. Loghain sits by his Commander and keeps his peace, accepting the calm that comes after a great storm.
She's happy but he knows it to be fleeting. It never lasts, this kind that survives in difficult times. They look around, watching the war that isn't over just yet. Rebuilding is necessary, the black blood in their veins shouts at them both, in peace vigilance and their task will never be done.
It is the second time Loghain faces this type of setting, also by a new King's side. But Maric. Maric had been so different. He had been his King. A boy when they first met, a friend fighting side by side, the man who had taken the woman he wanted for himself, it was needed. Maric had been a king above any other in his mind. Cailan had been the opposite. A good man playing with his chess pieces, wishing to become the man his father had been. Loghain should have told him. He should. He couldn't do so because Maric had been tempered steel, by suffering and tears and hunger. Cailan was soft as silk, prickles on his skin, shallow cuts and a sheltered battleground. Cailan had been nothing.
This Alistair. He reserves judgment and keeps silent. He is a Kingmaker. They both are. It's not his place to say who should rule – and now he can admit it – or how.
"I received a letter from the Anderfells." Tasha's voice is quiet, barely heard above the commotion of the main group. It's not completely by chance. Though, by the Maker's name, it's her wedding. There are more appropriate moments to speak of these matters. He's also a hypocrite for thinking so when he would have done no less. "They want you to leave Ferelden. They say your presence here will undermine my authority. That no clear line of command can be established due to your reputation as the hero of River Dane."
Bullshit. Ferelden followed her, not him. Tasha made it loud and clear in the Landsmeet that he was nothing more than an armed man at the Wardens' service. They just want him out. Punished. Probably wondering why she didn't have him killed by the Archdemon, as it would keep their hands quite clean of his blood. But to leave. The former Teyrn can't deny something in him hurts at that. It is a punishment fit from Celene herself.
"I haven't sent my reply yet," the elf informs in between sips of her drink, tranquil as if talking about someone else's fate is something inconsequential. "Thought you would like to read it first. It isn't just my life on the line."
She has yet to learn the meaning of the word party. And so has he because Loghain wastes no time to take the vellum she extends to him, her familiar messy handwriting somewhat tamed, the missive short and to the point. Formal. The general has to read it twice, then once more, then another. The words have obviously been misread. They cannot be truthful.
"To the esteemed First Warden of the Grey Warden Order." Exactly why he reads them out loud to the person who was insane enough to write them. "I extend greetings in my name and my brothers dwelling in Ferelden. Your help and words were much anticipated and, for both, you have my personal gratitude. Also, of your words over my promotion, I gratefully acknowledge and will depart for Amaranthine at my earliest convenience. With me, I will take senior wardens Loghain and Jowan as King Alistair is otherwise engaged. Further correspondence should be addressed to Vigil's Keep at the Pilgrim's Road. Maker keep and guard you, your Grace. In peace, vigilance."
Even out loud, it is no better.
"Are you mad? This." His hand tries to crumble the vellum between its fingers, throw it at the stupid child he follows. Tasha ignores his annoyance with an irritating smile, hidden badly behind her cup. "This is little less than a declaration of war. Much anticipated? At my earliest convenience? I will take my senior wardens? Your Grace? You have added enough barbs for the man to retract his promotion by sheer irritation."
Another sip is accompanied by the same calm manner Tasha seems to have adopted since the battle with the Archdemon. She wrote this while drunk, it is the only explanation Loghain can find. He almost stands, almost shakes her like he would do with Anora would she be this stupid, almost calls her husband and father together since this is little less than political, if not literal, suicide.
"He won't," she speaks reassuringly, a chess game and a perfectly move in the words he holds. "This is public news. He might dislike me from now on but why would that matter to me?"
"You must obey him," Loghain tries to convince her, to teach her. This a girl from the streets, not Cauthrien, not someone born and bred for the lines of an army. In this, she is so ignorant. "Have you never followed orders, girl? He is your superior in command. You have no choice while in the order."
Tasha begins to become annoyed, her mask slipping with the tightened fingers around her cup. "No, I won't and no, he isn't. I must follow his directives and attempt to judge their importance inside Ferelden. I serve the country, not some figure up wherever who didn't bother to come down when we were about to die." Her words are snapped, angered with all the tone of the alienage elf he met in Ostagar. Raised hackles and sharp claws. It sounds almost as if she speaks of another human. One who she has to call family. "He won't do anything against it. He can't. We ended a Blight, Loghain. Alistair rules here and he can throw us out as easily as he let us in. No Ferelden Warden will allow a foreign Commander. See? I know what I am doing."
She is prodding a sleeping dragon with a very short lance, that's the idiotic girl's doing.
Teagan steals her attention for a moment, staring at them from the middle of the crowd, wondering about her mood, Loghain would wager. But she makes no movement to request help as usual. Her hands place the cup aside as the girl turns solely to him, lacking armor and weapons and still looking every inch the brat he met so long before. "How about we focus on the real issue?"
Her eyes are blue, dark blue. Not chips of ice, not metal, no important metaphor. They are just blue, hard blue, the eyes of someone he sees in the mirror every day. They do the hard tasks, foray in the hard ground and deal with all the scum, all the waste which can't dirty their leader's hands. And when that's done, they pull back and continue out of sight.
He should be out of sight. That is the heart of the matter. The real issue, as she aptly put it.
"When the Orlesian gave us the blood. He said I would be sent away when this was over. It is over now." He cannot stay. The First Warden is right. Here, he represents the old system, everything that failed. Staying will undermine Alistair's rule, remember everything done between Denerim and the Coustlands."
"That was after he was the senior in Ferelden and before he jumped out of that tower." On the bravest, stupidest move the General had ever seen. What a waste, she seems to say with tightened hands, what an awful waste. "I'm not allowing them to send you to Orlais."
She doesn't stop to allow him to question why. She's on a roll, just like on the Landsmeet, proclaiming her hatred for him to anyone who would hear.
"They weren't there, Loghain. For all their talk of aid, for all their congratulations, they weren't there. They knew something was coming, something big and dangerous and they did little because of politics. Duncan was aware of the Archdemon, do you want to tell me older warriors, more experienced, couldn't find their way inside a country going insane?" The roof, hundreds bleeding, so much that the ground below their feet was stained red for what seemed eternity. The Archdemon and her order to stand down even though he was older and a traitor. "We fought. We did our best. You were there and didn't run away. You tried saving me. Fade if I'll allow your punishment to fall to someone who doesn't give a damn about us. You will atone here, you will fight here and Maker hear me, you will die right here."
His sentence is spoken once more by this wisp of a girl and accepted willingly. His self, months before, would be outraged beyond words.
"Besides," breathe in, breathe out, hatred covered behind layers of denial before the elf forces a smile, the same smile he saw at the end of the Landsmeet. No, not the same. Similar, softer, with a blunter edge. "What makes you think I won't make you suffer better than they ever would? I know what you did. I saw what you did. I suffered through it. And I am a woman. No man can be more spiteful than an angered woman."
No man who has met Anora can doubt those words. He is about to tell her so, foolishly as the Warden makes no secret of her dislike for the other woman, when Teagan appears out of nowhere. As if summoned. A hand extends in invitation and his words are for her alone, not for the man who almost killed his family. It is perfect timing, shattering the awkwardness of his implied gratitude. "If I may intrude, wife. Enough work for today. It is our wedding and you should be enjoying yourself."
Tasha's head moves so she can look behind him where too many gather, gossiping like there is no tomorrow. A normal event. And her skepticism is visible. "Do I have to? I am no courtesan to keep villagers entertained." She complains but stands anyway, patting her dress away with a cautious gesture before taking the proffered hand. "I prefer the darkspawn. They don't chatter like chickens."
"And that message will be sent for them in the morrow," is his reply. "They will be most pleased. Until then. I am not dealing with this alone."
They bicker like children, the one who dared to face him and the one who dared to defeat him. Those images can't add up with the man taking her arm or with the woman pretending to be bothered.
"We should have stayed in Denerim. If you will excuse us, Loghain. It seems I have my wedding to enjoy."
Teagan sighs. He could be laughing, the feeling is the same. "It is not that much of a sacrifice, Tasha."
"Says the noble born," the woman retorts easily. "You were raised saying pleasantries. You can do it in your sleep, I swear."
"Are you going to test it?"
And so they walk away forgetting all about him. Tasha had been there solely for this, for the letter in his hands that tells him he's not about to be thrown out of the one thing he has always defended. Stupid girl. Even stupider with her parting words.
"Good night, brother." Stupid foolish chit.
And Loghain is left to wonder. If he had asked, do you still hate me, do you still wish me to suffer? Would she have answered yes?
Probably.
But she would have been lying.
Author's note: Reasons as to why the letter is insulting: 1) my name and my brothers, not our brothers. 2) Your help was much antecipated, only it didn't come so it was useless so her gratitude is null and the order in Ferelden owes them nothing. 3) She hasn't become a Commander because they say so, just acknowledges they know it now. 4) Disobeying the order to send Loghain away (which is, lets face it, a stupid order. One Warden for all Ferelden after a Blight? Thumbs up, Wardens). 5) the use of Your Grace, a formality and a title which shouldn't exist in the order. ... basically, everything one can get away without insulting directly the head of the order. Overthinking this? Probably have.