Loghain's mouth was dry as a bone, and his head was aching, and not just because he hadn't had a single drop of wine since before going to bed the night before. No, it was the coming confrontation that had him on edge, as he stalked through the city with Arl Howe, Ser Cauthrien, and a party of guardsmen at his back, headed to the Arl of Redcliffe's estate just off of the Denerim market. He was not looking forward to confronting the arrogant Arl, though it was something he felt needed to be done. He needed to have a sense of how adamant the man was in his opposition to Loghain; there might still be some small chance that the two men could work together for the good of Ferelden, despite their long history of dislike. Arl Eamon was nothing if not a political creature, after all.
He wished Howe wasn't there; he hadn't planned to bring the man, but unfortunately he'd encountered him on his way out of the palace and hadn't had any reasonable excuse not to allow him to come along. Howe's presence made him... uneasy, the more so given what little he'd been able to learn since speaking with Sanga. He'd thought the hardest part would be getting out of the palace unobserved so that he could make seek out old contacts and make enquiries. Getting out had proved to be the easy part. Very few of his old contacts remained, and most of those had taken one look at him and turned and walked away. Only two had been willing to talk at all.
One, the daughter of one of his Night Elf archers, had said something short and bitter about how "at least under Vaughan, elves that disappeared usually returned", then walked away and refused to have anything more to do with him. Knowing what rumours said of Vaughan and his tastes... that single sentence was deeply disturbing.
The other, once an almost-friend but whose eyes were now cold and wary, spoke briefly and in hushed tones about other disappearances. People who'd spoke out too loudly about Tyrant Loghain. People who questioned the Teryn's word about events at Ostagar. People who protested the heavy taxes being levied to pay for the army and the hiring of mercenary companies. Someone was seeing to it that the more vocally opposed to himself and his rule were vanishing.
He doubted Anora would be fool enough to engage in such ruthless and above-all stupid activities. His prime suspects were the man and woman at his heels; Ser Cauthrien might do something like that out of misplaced loyalty to him. Howe... might do it for any number several reasons, from subtle sabotage to much darker reasons. Sanga's words about Howe haunted Loghain. That there were more dungeons in Denerim then at Fort Drakon and the city jail. Loghain knew where some of them were, of course, mostly forgotten under the noble estates that dotted the city. And Howe now lived in one such estate. He would have to investigate these disappearances further, if only he could find time to investigate further. But time was at a premium now, with Arl Eamon in the city and a Landsmeet due within days.
They reached the Arl's estate. Eamon's guardsmen were understandably tense on finding Teryn Loghain sweeping up to the main entrance with a party of guardsmen at his back. Loghain scowled in annoyance at them as they wavered between admitting him or blocking his entrance.
"Don't worry," he snapped. "I'm here to talk to your master, not arrest him. My men will wait out here. Now open the blighted door and let me through."
"Yes, ser," one stuttered, and hastily did as told. The second gave him and his escort a worried look and hurried on into the house, doubtless to bring Eamon word of the unexpected guests on his doorstep. Not that he remained on the doorstep; he, Cauthrien and Howe followed in only steps behind the hurrying guard.
"Beg your pardon, sers," he heard the guard stuttering out somewhere ahead, "But the teryn..."
He passed through a doorway, into a hall, and found Arl Eamon there. And not just the Arl; the purple-haired dwarf was there as well, and Alistair. It hurt, the pain of sudden recognition and near simultaneous realization of not Maric. Hurt even more, seeing Maric's double looking at him with an expression of such dislike and distrust, an expression he'd only seen on Maric's face during the earliest days of what eventually became a life-long friendship. Life-long on Maric's side, anyway... his life still continued on, made empty by the man's absence.
"I can introduce myself," he snapped out, gritting his teeth and stiffening his back against the urge to drop to his knee before this man, address him as my liege, as he would have without a second though if it were Maric or Cailan.
"Loghain. This is... an honour, that the regent would find time to greet me personally," Arl Eamon said, his voice chilly, eyes cold with contempt and dislike.
"How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?" Loghain said, meaning to keep his voice light but unable to prevent a sneer from entering it, thinking how Ferelden was being shredded apart at the worst possible time by this man's power plays and petty politics.
He glanced again at the man's... guests. Alistair was hanging back, eyes hooded, an almost sullen look on his face now. The dwarf was standing calmly, eyes flickering back and forth between the Arl and the Teryn, a guarded expression on his face. For all his compact solidity, he carried himself lightly on the balls of his feet, ready at a moment's notice to use the weapons strapped to his back. As did the elf that had appeared from somewhere and now stood at the dwarf's back, eyes equally as wary. He'd seen that elf somewhere before... he almost missed Eamon's next words, caught up as he was in puzzling over the dwarf and the elf.
"The Blight is why I'm here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn," Eamon pontificated.
"Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies," Loghain snapped back.
"Considering Ostagar, perhaps we need a better general ," the dwarf said quietly.
Loghain glared at the dwarf, biting back fury at his words. "And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road? And here I thought it was only royal bastards you play the nursemaid to, not Orzammar's rejects," he growled.
"Well, you're admitting the 'royal' part. That's a start," Alistair muttered, drawing glares from both Eamon and Loghain.
The dwarf gave the boy a brief, amused glance, then looked back to Loghain. "I am Right, of the Grey Wardens," he calmly introduced himself, choosing to ignore the bastard's interjection.
"You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden," Loghain curtly told him.
"I don't accept the sympathies of deserters and regicides," the dwarf responded, the words all the more cutting for the flat calm in which they were delivered.
It was all Loghain could do not to shout in anger and draw his sword right then and there. By the Maker, he was neither a deserter nor a regicide, and that this damned dwarf would have the gall to stand there and calmly accuse him as such...!
"You should curb your tongue. This is my city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone," he snapped, then turned away from Right to look at Arl Eamon again. "There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden."
"'Illness?' Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these... sycophants." the Arl said, glance passing dismissively over Ser Cauthrien and Arl Howe.
"How long you've been gone from court, Eamon! Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, and Teyrn of Highever?" Loghain enquired with false civility, gesturing to the man.
"And current arl of Denerim, after Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar. Truly, it is an embarrassment of riches," Arl Howe said unctuously, an unpleasant smirk on his face.
"That's a lot of titles for one man to have," Right observed dryly.
"Don't interrupt, churl. Your betters are talking!" Ser Cauthrien snapped at the dwarf.
Loghain held up his hand, frowning at her. "Enough, Cauthrien, this is not the time or place," he said, then looked at Eamon again.
He knew it was useless, but he had to try, had to give the man a final chance to turn away from the dangerous game he was playing with the nation's future. He fought to keep his voice calm and even, not angered, and certainly not pleading. "I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne."
Even as he spoke, he could see that his effort was of no use; the Arl's rejection of any words he might possibly say clear in the man's defiant posture and cold stare. There would be no compromise with the Arl. This trip had been a waste of his time.
"What efforts can there be when you outlaw the Grey Wardens?" the dwarf interjected.
"Cailan depended on the Grey Warden's prowess against the darkspawn, and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Stories will not save us," Loghain snapped, angered by the interruption, even if he's already given up any hope of swaying the recalcitrant Arl.
Eamon shook his head sadly. "I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight."
"The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down," Loghain said, glaring at Eamon. "Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland," he added, then turned and stalked out, Ser Cauthrien and Arl Howe at his heels.
The three maintained silence all the way back to the palace, where Loghain dismissed Cauthrien back to her duties with the army. He was annoyed to find Howe following him right on into his office.
"Shall I do anything about the Arl or his house guests?" Howe asked quietly.
"No," he snarled. "Touch them at your peril; it would only serve to stiffen the resistance against us. We must defeat them openly in the Landsmeet. Now leave me be, I have much thinking to do," he spat, turning away and walking over to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of wine.
"Yes, my liege," the man said, and mercifully left.
He drank back the wine, then poured himself a second cup, sitting at his desk and brooding over the morning's events while he slowly sipped it, almost groaning in relief as his pounding headache faded somewhat. He sighed and put aside the half-drunken glass. He should tell Anora about his visit to the Arl, and its pointless outcome. He sent a servant ahead to announce him, and started off to her quarters. He was nearly there when the servant returned. "Beg pardon, sire, but the Queen is not in her suite," the servant told him.
"Where is she, then? The throne room?"
"No, sire, she went out of the palace this morning, with her maidservant Erlina. They have not yet returned."
"Damnation," Loghain growled. "All right, leave word that I wish to speak with her when she returns. I'll be in my study."
He returned to his office, wondering what errand she'd gone out on, and hoping she'd taken an adequate force of guardsmen with her; the city was far from being as safe as it once had been, and with the current discord among the nobles, her safety could not be guaranteed. It was not until she had failed to return by late evening that he learned she'd taken only the single maidservant and a scant handful of guards. And that no one knew where she'd gone.
And then the bodies of the guards were found, slaughtered and dumped in an alley.
The Queen was missing.
His daughter, missing.
By Andraste's grace and the Maker's mercy, don't let him have failed her as well!