Chapter 18: A King's Dilemma
Denerim
The sun had not quite risen, and the sitting room of the estate was bathed in the gray light of pre-dawn. They were the first two up, and Cailan suspected that Alistair had slept as little as him. Even after being with Anora, feeling her and loving her in a way that he hadn't since they were younger, he'd spent the dark hours staring at the walls while sleep eluded him. Anora slept quietly beside him and the sound of her breathing, the feel of her arms around him, was comforting, but he still could not sleep. When the dawn drew near he slipped out of bed, making sure Anora was covered with the blankets. He meandered down to the kitchens, where he found Alistair sitting, sipping tea.
"There's still some water in the kettle if you want a mug," Alistair whispered. "Jowan survived," he added. "Fianna did the ritual, since she's the youngest Warden." He chuckled softly. "She's actually older than me, but I've been a Warden longer. Funny." He leaned on the table, a faraway look in his eyes. "I saw her through her Joining, and now she's helping other Wardens Join." Cailan nodded and poured his tea. "And she still wouldn't give up her idea of fighting Loghain."
"Maybe you should let her," Cailan suggested. "She's determined enough, has a good reason to, and if she's handled herself against so many darkspawn so far, she can probably handle Loghain."
Alistair nodded with a smile. "I see that. I just worry is all. Besides, you'll have more trouble convincing her brother. I've had trouble getting a word in with him; I'd really like to, given our relationship."
"Well, if it helps, you have the king's blessing," Cailan said with a grin. But his expression faded as he considered what the rest of the day held. As the rest of the household woke and people began to file through the kitchens and dining areas, his expression changed from the warm relaxed feeling he'd had since being here. He kept a bright smile pasted on, the same smile he'd gotten very good at flashing in the years of his reign. He only allowed himself the frown he was feeling inside when he was alone with Anora, choosing their formal finery.
"This is the right thing," she said to him as she combed his hair and brushed it out of his face. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek before opening the tied parcel he'd brought all the way from Ostagar. "You saved these?" she asked. She shook out the heavy velvet and held it up to his shoulders. The robe flowed down and piled on the floor in a sea of purple velvet. She attached the robe at his shoulders and he stared into the looking glass. He looked like the king he had been, but harder. Like part of his soul had been stolen away.
Just as his father had said would happen.
Fianna and Alistair processed to the Palace at the head of a column of Redcliffe knights with Arl Eamon and Fergus. Zevran and Leliana accompanied them, with Sten, the Qunari, at the back. Viviane and Morrigan had not yet reappeared; Cailan wondered about that, but he surmised that Viviane was just uncomfortable in the city. Cailan and Anora watched the procession from a high window in the estate, and then headed to the back door through the servants' quarters with Teagan, Oghren, and Wynne. Riordan joined them with a pale and groggy Jowan.
Their journey through the streets of Denerim was tense. Cailan wore another ratty cloak over his regal robes, and Anora had wrapped a simple cloak over her and pulled the hood over her blonde hair. Teagan led the way through alleys, sometimes backtracking, sometimes pausing so they could evade anyone tracking them. By the time they climbed the stairs of the palace Cailan was feeling like he'd been all over Denerim.
He paused and stared up at the massive oak doors, reinforced with iron, and inhaled deeply. He smelled hints of spring, smelled the faintest hint of wet dog, and knew he was home.
The doors opened to the empty foyer. Teagan peeked inside the slight crack between the doors into the Landsmeet chamber. "Eamon's confronting Loghain," he whispered. "Alistair and Fianna are doing well. I was worried about him at first, when we first saw him in Redcliffe. But he's holding his own. Wait… Riordan, quick."
Riordan pushed past Cailan, dragging Jowan with him. Jowan had just enough time to flash a desperate look at Cailan, who smiled, trying to encourage the mage. Now Cailan glimpsed through the crack in the door to see Riordan lead Jowan in. "This is the man who hired me to poison Arl Eamon; he said he was a threat to the throne of Ferelden," Jowan announced, but his voice was trembling.
"Apostate!" Loghain snarled. It was the first time Cailan had laid eyes on Loghain since being back in Denerim. He felt cold and empty seeing the shadow of the man who'd been his father's most trusted friend, closer than a brother sometimes. "You'd dare return? Grand Cleric! You see that these Wardens will stop at nothing! They flaunt their treachery in the face of the Chantry itself!"
"You interfered in the templar's sacred duties," the Grand Cleric said from her space in the upper gallery. "But you are also a confessed maleficar," she accused. "I can let neither stand in Ferelden. Templars! Seize the mage!"
"The mage is a Grey Warden now, of his own free will. He passed his Joining last night, and is now one of us, sworn to defeat the Blight by any means necessary," Riordan said, his voice clear and stern, eyes shining dangerously. "You will not lay a hand on him."
Loghain's cold eyes narrowed, and Fianna stepped forward. "The Teyrn of Gwaren also was responsible for selling Alienage elves to Tevinters as slaves," she said. She stood tall, her eyes flashing with rage. She was every inch a noblewoman, and did not shy away from Loghain's gaze.
"There's no slavery in Ferelden!" Arl Bryland of Southreach shouted from the gallery.
"I've only done what is necessary to save my country!" Loghain shouted. "But let's not ignore your crimes, Warden," he snarled. He trained his icy glare on everyone staring down at him. "This woman stole into the Arl of Denerim's estate and murdered Rendon Howe."
"Rendon Howe stole into Highever Castle and murdered the Cousland family to a man, woman, and child," Fergus said, striding forward. "I am Fergus Cousland, rightful Teyrn of Highever. I stand by the Warden Fianna Cousland, my sister, and charge you, Loghain Mac Tir, with high treason."
Loghain chuckled. "Charming, young Fergus. But your sister is no angel; never has been, and hasn't been any better as a Warden. And I wasn't finished. She murdered Howe in his own estate, and then killed those guards who were set to watch and protect Queen Anora." He strode toward Fianna and stabbed his finger at her chest. She did not flinch. "Where is my daughter?"
Cailan backed away quickly as Anora strode in, confident and calm as always, even as she went to confront her own father. "I believe I can speak for myself," she said, and there was a collective gasp at her appearance. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Landsmeet, my father is not the man you knew. He is no longer the Hero of the River Dane."
Loghain shook his head and actually looked sad. "Anora. I am relieved to see you safe, but you too have been deceived by the Wardens." He looked back to the people. "I have always tried to keep Ferelden safe, and still would strive to keep Ferelden safe. The Wardens say they'd do anything to save this country? Well, so would I and I have sacrificed everything I have and all I am in order to see this country saved."
Anora stood tall and stared her father down in silence for a time. "You have sacrificed everything. Including King Cailan," she accused.
"King Cailan's vanity demanded that this be a Blight. He led Ferelden to destruction, and while his passing is regrettable, it cannot be undone."
He hardly needed a better cue. Cailan shook his hair over his shoulders, stood tall, and walked in, Teagan behind him. "I don't sense much regret in you, Teyrn Loghain," Cailan announced. Silence reigned in the chamber as Cailan strode from the door to the center of the floor and stood before Loghain. He met Loghain's pale eyes. Stared into those depths and smiled. "Hello, Loghain. I missed you at Ostagar. You were supposed to flank the enemy and you never showed up; I was worried until Bann Teagan explained that you'd quit the field. And taken advantage of the apostate's desperation by interfering with the templars… and taken over for Queen Anora, who was beyond capable… and sold Fereldan citizens into slavery." He turned to face the nobles. His people.
"My people," he said. "You have heard the evidence against Teyrn Loghain, and I stand before you, alive. I was left for dead by this man, and only a miracle has returned me to continue my service to Ferelden. As the King of Ferelden, I hereby charge you, Loghain Mac Tir, with high treason and strip you of your titles from this point forward."
The silence was as thick and heavy as his regal robes. "Southreach stands with King Cailan and the Wardens," Bryland called out, slicing through the tension. "Dragon's Peak stands by the Wardens and the King," said Sighard. "Waking Sea with the Wardens, and for King Cailan!" shouted Bann Alfstanna. "Rainesfere for the King, the Wardens, and for Ferelden!" Teagan pitched in. "Redcliffe stands with the Crown now and forever," Eamon said.
"The Teyrnir of Highever stands with the blood of Calenhad," Fergus announced. "And with the Grey Wardens. We will see this Blight ended and the civil war, propagated by Loghain and his treachery, ended."
There were dissenting voices, of course; Bann Ceorlic dissented, which was no surprise. It had been his father that was responsible for betraying and murdering Cailan's grandmother, Moira the Rebel Queen. But most of the dissenting voices were drowned out by those in agreement.
"You've lost Loghain," Fianna said, but her voice held no contempt. "The Landsmeet has spoken, and you've lost. There's nothing left for you but to step down."
Her words and attitude were strong, and she had the backing of nearly the whole of Ferelden's nobility, and of the king himself. But Loghain was not about to yield to a girl even younger than his own daughter; nor would he yield before his son-in-law. "Let us settle this sensibly, then, Cousland. In the way all such questionable debates have been settled in Fereldan history."
Here it was: the duel they'd all known was coming. Loghain could not deny the proof against him, nor did he; he tried to justify it, which was all the more infuriating. But he also believed so very deep down that he was unequivocally right, and would not back down from his convictions. Cailan understood now why Maric had been a better king than Loghain could ever hope to be. While Loghain had his convictions and strengths, he was unwavering. If he'd been a tree on the riverbanks, a bad summer storm would be able to root him up. But not Maric, and now not Cailan, either. Their flexibility seemed like weakness, but their ability to bend with the violent storms made them stand longer and stronger.
"Will you duel me yourself, Cailan?" Loghain asked, turning to him with his arms spread in a gesture of invitation.
Cailan shook his head. "First and foremost, it is King Cailan, or Your Majesty. And I will not duel you, Loghain. I will not dishonor myself by dueling a traitor. I have no need to prove myself against you. I could have you taken out of here and hanged right now, if I wished it."
"Then do it," Loghain growled.
"I would rather let the Wardens decide," Cailan said.
"No decision? Again? You're weak, King Cailan," Loghain spat. "Weak and incapable. Before this I heard wind of the ploy to put this bastard on the throne," he said, flinging his hand out to point to Alistair. He didn't flinch, merely stood there in Cailan's golden armor, looking proud and dignified. "And Eamon would have been the puppeteer. Still."
"Enough," Cailan snapped. "I'll hear no more from you, traitor." Next to him Anora stood stiffly, and while he felt bad about it for her sake, he wanted to show Loghain no opening.
"You're little more than a child playing at war," Loghain said, before he turned to Fianna and Alistair. "So which of you will it be, Warden: yourself, or the Theirin bastard?"
Fianna shrugged, and before Fergus could intervene, she'd stepped forward. "I will fight you, Loghain," she said. She turned to Fergus quickly and winked, a cocky grin pasted on her face. She wiped it off quickly before turning to Alistair. "I will be fine," she said. "Andraste's arse, Alistair. I fought dragons, found sacred ashes, and killed the fecking broodmother in the Deep Roads. I think I can handle him." Her voice was bright, but Cailan saw the tension building in her. And he remembered that Bryce Cousland, her father, had been a close friend of Loghain's as well at one time.
Fianna and Loghain faced one another. He fought with his sword and shield, and she with her two wicked daggers. He was clad in the heavy plate he'd divested from an Orlesian commander at the Battle of River Dane all those years ago, she in her finely crafted, light Dalish leather. For anyone watching, it seemed the most mismatched, unfair ordeal by combat that could be imagined.
But Fianna was quick, able to dodge and lunge, twist, turn, and almost dance with her daggers, just out of reach of Loghain's sword. They paced about the hall for a long while, sometimes jabbing or swiping, but the battle heated up. Fianna got a critical jab in behind Loghain's knee, and he dropped, his craggy face even more contorted by pain. She rolled out of the way and again they paced, watching for an opening in the other's drastically different fighting style.
It seemed to go on for hours, though Cailan knew that wasn't the truth. He saw Fergus, wincing and keeping his eyes averted, only to glance up from time to time to be certain his sister was still alive. He saw Alistair biting on his lower lip, silently praying to the Maker for Fianna's safety and success. Next to him Anora was pale and trembling. He knew this would be difficult for her, but couldn't even imagine the inner conflict she was going through.
Fianna at last scored a crippling strike to the unprotected underside of Loghain's groin, while he stood over her with his sword pointed triumphantly at her nose. She jabbed up and he dropped his sword and doubled over in pain. She was bleeding herself, particularly from her nose, which looked odd and misshapen under all the blood. She kicked his sword out of the way and stood over Loghain, daggers pointed at his throat. "Yield," she said in a voice that carried power. It was the howl of the wolf, and the hunting cry of the hawk; most of all, it was the voice of one who has been vindicated. Loghain nodded. "So they can hear you," she hissed.
"I yield," he shouted. Even in defeat he was a force of nature, destructive and intense.
"And for your crime of treason, and my victory over you in battle, the sentence is death," Fianna pronounced.
"No!" Anora's scream made Cailan jump a bit, even though he was trying so hard to remain neutral, dignified, and composed. "He's a hero! You can't kill him!" She ran from her husband's side to her father's, and knelt next to him in front of Fianna who looked less like a noblewoman or even a Grey Warden, and like a swooping angel of death.
"There is an option!" This from Riordan, who stepped forward and drew the attention to himself. "The Teyrn is a hero and a general of high renown. Make him a Grey Warden."
There were murmurs from the crowd, and for the smallest fraction of a second it seemed Fianna was considering it, but Alistair shouted, "No!" Riordan looked at him in disbelief. "This man abandoned our brethren at Ostagar. He left his king to die, knowingly! He had you imprisoned and tortured! Riordan, this is insanity."
Anora stood again. "From what I know of the Joining, it can often be fatal. If my father did the ritual and survived, you'd have yourself another Warden, and a capable one at that. If he dies, you have your justice."
Alistair glanced between Cailan and Anora, and at Fianna. Cailan looked at his wife. Looked at Loghain, and at all the nobles waiting to see what he would do. He searched himself deeply and thought about all those times he'd had to make difficult choices. But none so difficult as this one. "Loghain Mac Tir," he began. "I can forgive you for leaving me to die. You believed you were doing what was right by my father's memory." Loghain sighed, almost relieved, but Cailan wasn't finished yet. "What I cannot forgive are the thousands of other lives lost because of you. And I especially cannot forgive what you did to the Grey Wardens. I turn your judgment over to them in this matter."
And again, all eyes were on Fianna. "I stand by my decision," she said. "Riordan, I know you mean well and know your job is to recruit and raise our numbers. I don't deny that he would make a good Warden." Loghain's expression was almost amused, and with her daggers still pointed at his face, the sight was amusing in a grotesque way. "But alas, that I am not the senior Fereldan Warden," she said, and turned to Alistair.
Alistair removed a beautiful sword from its sheath at his side. It glowed with pulsing yellow runes. Cailan recognized it as the sword of King Maric. He had no doubt what Alistair planned, and though Anora still remained at her father's side, he made no move to stop it. Loghain had committed crimes; he had to pay. "Please step aside, Your Majesty," Alistair said to Anora in a quiet voice.
She protested in an almost screechy tone that Cailan had never heard before, and it pained him deeply. "Hush, Anora, it's over," Loghain said, reaching out to touch her cheek with his gauntlet. He didn't even take off that one piece of armor in order to connect with her. "Daughters never grow up," he added thoughtfully. "They remain six years old with skinned knees and pigtails forever." He glanced up at Alistair, then at Fianna. "You show strength I hadn't thought to see since Maric died." And then he bowed his head to accept the killing stroke from Maric's sword.
Alistair brought the sword up. "For the Grey Wardens," he said, and sliced downward.
The only sound was Anora's sobbing.
