He could hear Arl Eamon already pontificating as he approached the Landsmeet chamber. Eamon had clearly wasted no time in getting underway, not even waiting for all the main players to be present before starting in. He must have begun speaking as soon as a quorum of nobles was present, Loghain judged. Loghain gritted his teeth. He was going to have to carry through with this farce, though he had little heart left for it now. Too late to change his stance; it would only confuse his allies, at a time when the country had already had far too much of muddled thinking and divided rule. He would play out his part in this damned drama, and to the Black City with them all. Perhaps, when it was over, he could finally rest.
"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?" Eamon was demanding as Loghain slipped quietly into the room.
He walked forward, and began slowly clapping his hands together, drawing attention away from the Arl and to himself instead. "A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it," he called out derisively. "You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it."
He spotted a disturbance over by the door, and spotted the two wardens slipping into the room, the elf and a second dwarf, red-headed, trailing along behind them. "The better question is, 'Who will pull the strings?' Ah! And here we have the puppeteer!" he exclaimed theatrically, gesturing to the leading dwarf. "Tell us, Warden: how will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?" he asked bitterly, the words as foul as vomit on his tongue, suspecting as he now did that they were based on lies, on wishful thinking, on Howe's manipulation of him. "Where is the famous steadfastness of the dwarves? How much did it cost the empress to buy your loyalty?"
"The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!" the warden responded, pitching his voice to carry.
"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," Bann Alfstanna agreed from the audience.
"The south is fallen, Loghain! Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?" Arl Wulff asked loudly.
"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?" Loghain asked. A question he truly wished the answer to; no one had ever yet answered to his satisfaction why any man could not do it. "They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"
"You allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents," Right spoke out.
"The Warden speaks truly!" Bann Sighard rose to his feet, scowling down at Loghain. "My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him... some of them are beyond any healer's skill."
"Howe was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all," Loghain responded placatingly, then turned to glare at the dwarf. "But you know that. You were the one who murdered him. Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home."
"Is there justice in selling elves to Tevinter?" Right asked, his voice calm, the words all the more shocking for the very lack of emotion in his voice.
Bann Sighard's frown deepened. "Selling elves? Explain this, Loghain!" he demanded.
Explain the unexplainable. How could he ever hope to explain the sheer madness of this lunatic arrangement of Howe's? That it had happened, without his knowledge... no, he would not shirk his responsibilities. It had happened under his command. That he had not known of it, not prevented it, that he had allowed it to happen by his ignorance... this was as much his failure as Cailan's death had been. "This is war," he began, voice husky. "Did you believe it would be like the old tales: knights with pennants flying over battlefields where all outcomes are decided simply and with honour? War is cruel. Every soul who fought alongside Maric knows this. And in it, there are no such things as innocents, only the living and the dead, and the degrees of guilt both bear. Sacrifices were made. If they were too great, the Maker will judge me for it," he said, then turned to the warden. He could not put of asking any longer. He believed Anora was alive, was possibly even somewhere now, but thoughts of that madman Howe reminded him all too sharply of his terrible fears over the past few days. "But enough of this. I have a question for you, Warden: What have you done with my daughter?"
"What have I done? I've protected her from you," the dwarf answered sharply.
"You took my daughter - our queen – by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"" Loghain demanded angrily.
"I believe I can speak for myself," Anora's voice rang out. With a gasp, everyone rose to their feet, staring toward the doors in back of Loghain. He froze, back still to his daughter, his eyes dropping closed, feeling a moment of profound relief at the sound of her voice. She lived. She was safe.
Anora waited a moment for the worst of the astonished murmuring to fade, then resumed speaking.
"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane."
Loghain whirled, feeling equal parts astonished and infuriated at her words. He had suspected that she had changed sides, but to actually hear it, hear her condemn him... Maker's breath, but it stung. And yet at the same time he felt a fiercely growing pride in his beloved daughter. That, for all of them who had named her his puppet since Cailan's death. No puppet, she, but a true Queen. Even as her words tore the very heart from his body, he could not help but admire her commanding presence, her regal bearing as she faced the gathered nobility of Ferelden.
"This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold, and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed, if not for this Grey Warden," she spoke out, gesturing toward the dwarf.
"The queen speaks the truth," Alistair called out.
"So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?" Loghain asked bitterly. "I wanted to protect you from this," he said softly, then spun back to face the lords, voice rising to echo throughout the hall again. He could see so clearly what his role was to be in this drama. If he was no longer the Hero of River Dane, then clearly he was to be the despised villain, to be beaten and cast down, his long service to Ferelden wiped away in a shower of ignominy at the end of his life. Well, he would not make it easy on them. He would play his role to the very hilt, and as long as it left a united Ferelden in his passing... he would be content. Let them hate him, if only they did not fail him, as he had failed them.
"My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It's been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself!"
The gathered lords began responding. It quickly became apparent that he had almost no support among them; between the dislike many of them had already felt for him due to his common birth, Arl Eamon's careful politicking, and the support the wardens had apparently won among the nobles over the past few days, not to mention Anora's unexpected stand against him, it was quickly clear that the mood was not in his favour.
Right glanced at Loghain. "The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully," Right said in a low whisper pitched to carry to his ears only.
Loghain shot him a venomous glare before turning on the Landsmeet. "Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?" he roared out angrily. "You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!" he thundered.
Some men ran into the chamber, drawn by the his shouting – guardsmen in his employ. But there was only a handful of them, looking lost and confused, and Ser Cauthrien was absent. He looked toward the wardens, and saw her beyond them, standing in the doorway by which they had entered, her chin high, her hands folded behind her back. So even she had deserted his cause, in the end. He could hardly blame her, not when he was deserting it himself.
"Call off your men and we'll settle this honourably," the dwarf said softly.
Loghain turned and glared at him. "Then let us end this," he spat, then continued ruefully. "I suppose we both knew it would come to this. A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me."
He looked up at the lords, raised his voice again. "Enough! Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."
Bann Alfstanna answered calmly. "It shall be fought according to tradition: a test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."
"Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?" Loghain asked the warden, glancing beyond him to where Maric's son stood, his eyes fill with hatred. Yes, that would be a fitting end for him, would it not, cut down by the brother of the King he'd so spectacularly failed.
"I'll fight this duel myself," Right answered, to Loghain's surprise.
Loghain nodded acceptance. "It is you or me the men will follow. So let us fight for it. Prepare yourself," he said tiredly.
The crowd fell back, clearing a space. Right and Loghain slowly began to circle, eyeing each other for any sign of weakness or fault. It would be his heavy blows against the dwarf's more agile fighting style; he'd do great damage if he could connected solidly, the tricky part would be managing to hit the dwarf at all.
The fight began. He started with a war cry, but it failed to freeze the dwarf. He hadn't failed that in years; in his surprise, the dwarf slipped close and landed a stunning blow, quickly followed up by a series of punishing blows meant to cripple him. Loghain shook off the attacks, blocked a couple more with sword and shield, then went back on the offensive, the warden having to dodge his blows again and again, backing around and around the circle, darting in when he could. After several minutes Right managed to land another stunning blow, and rushed in with a flurry of blows. To his surprise Loghain was knocked right off of his feet. He looked as the warden held his sword to the his throat, both of them panting heavily from the exertion of the fight.
"I underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war," Loghain said quietly, his words for Right alone. "I was wrong. There's a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere since Maric died."
He raised his voice, loud enough to be heard throughout the chamber, his tone resigned and bitter. "I yield."
To his surprise, the warden stepped back, drew a deep breath in relief. "I accept your surrender," he replied in an equally carrying voice.
He'd expected the dwarf to finish it right then and there. That he hadn't... shocked him.
"I didn't just hear you say that," Alistair exclaimed, staring at Right in disbelief. "You're going to let him live? After everything he's done? Kill him, already!" he shouted.
"Wait! There is another option!" a strange man called out, hobbling in from the shadows to one side where he'd apparently been all along. Loghain glared at him from where he still lay recumbent on the floor, noticing the man's strong Orlesian accent. "The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."
"You want to make him a Warden? Why?" Right asked, frowning. "Would that even work? He's not exactly loyal to us."
"There are three of us in all of Ferelden. And there are... compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon. And what does loyalty matter? We are what we are," the man, apparently a warden as well, continued quietly. "The Joining binds us to the darkspawn. You know this. If you were to forswear your oath and flee today, you'd find yourself in the Deep Roads or the Blight-lands, given time. You'd seek them out, or they'd seek you."
Anora stepped forward and spoke, her voice pitched low enough that only Loghain and those nearby – the three wardens – could hear. "The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?" she asked, looking worriedly at her father.
He felt a faint warming in his heart at that look. At least she did not hate him. That... would have been more then he could bear. He lowered his head back to the hard stone floor, closed his eyes. Let them determine his fate. He had lost – it was over. Whether he died now, before the gathered nobles, or died later in this 'joining' they spoke of – he no longer cared. Let there just finally be an end to it all.
"Absolutely not! Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?" Alistair demanded angrily.
The dwarf sighed. "Riordan has a point, we should put him through the Joining."
"Joining the Wardens is an honour, not a punishment! Name him a Warden and you cheapen us all! I will not stand next to him as a brother. I won't!" Alistair exclaimed angrily.
"We need all the help we can get, Alistair," Right said quietly.
"Loghain is a traitor! We need him like we need to be stabbed in the back! Or have you forgotten how his being a great general didn't help the last time?" Alistair spat. "I didn't want to be king. I still don't. But... if that's what it takes to see Loghain get justice, then I'll do it. I'll take the crown."
"Listen to this! Can you see how disastrous a king he'd be, putting his own selfish desires above the needs of his country? You can't seriously support him!" Anora exclaimed angrily.
"I thought the two of you were going to marry?" Right asked dryly.
That made Loghain open his eyes again, in outright shock. The dwarf glanced at him and held out a hand, helped him to his feet as he looked back and forth between the two, feeling stunned at the revelation.
Anora was looking taken aback. She looked uncertainly at Alistair. He was ignoring her, staring at Right. "And I thought you weren't going to stab me in the back. Funny how nothing ever turns out like you thought," he said bitterly.
"Alistair, compose yourself," Anora said softly.
Alistair turned and looked at her, then looked away again. "Fine. You want Loghain in the Grey Wardens so badly? Then I'll be leaving the Wardens to marry Anora," he said, voice cracking, turning an angry glare on the source of his hatred. Loghain felt his own jaw setting in response to the look. He hadn't asked to be made a Grey Warden; it was being forced on him.
"You can't just stop being a Warden, Alistair," Right said gently, looking troubled.
"Watch me," Alistair said, voice hoarse, turning to stare at Right, his expression bleak.
Anora pursed her lips. "This can be discussed later. We are keeping the Landsmeet waiting," she said quietly, then turned back to face the gathered lords.
"And now, lords and ladies of Ferelden. There is still a Blight to defeat and armies to gather, and I appoint this man to lead us in both," she spoke out in carrying tones, gesturing at Right. A low murmur of approval began, swiftly riding to a low roar.
"We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the archdemon," she continued, voice rising further yet. "Gather your forces and await the Warden's command. On the morrow, we shall begin our struggle against the greatest threat Ferelden has ever faced. And we shall triumph over it, for we are Fereldan!"
A full-throated roar met her remarks. She stood a moment, absolutely still, head raised, then turned and looked expectantly at Alistair. He barely hesitated before offering her his arm, and the two walked out of the Landsmeet chamber together, at least simulating accord, whatever their private feelings on the matter were.
Right sighed in relief. As the nobles began filing out in turn, he turned and looked at Loghain, and the remaining warden. "Well then, let's get this over with," he said. "Do you have everything we need?"
"Yes," the man replied. "Though I will need to stop by the marketplace and pick up some things I left in the cache I mentioned to you."
"Good," the dwarf said, nodding. "Meet us at the Arl's estate; I doubt it would be politic to remain here in the palace."
The man nodded and moved off. Loghain found himself alone with the dwarf. "Who is that man?" he asked suspiciously as he watched him leave.
"Riordan, a warden from Orlais; don't worry, he's the only one who entered the country," the dwarf replied. "Follow me", he said, and turned and walked away, not even looking back to make sure that Loghain obeyed the command.
What point in resistance anyway; he'd lost, hadn't he?
"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good," Riordan, the Orlesian warden intoned solemnly, holding out a large silver chalice. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden."
"I... understand," Loghain said, and accepted the cup. He stared at its loathsome contents for a long moment, then took a deep breath before tossing back the lot. It was bitter, and he could feel it burning all the way down. The burning spread, rapid as grass fire, igniting his entire body. He dimly heard the chalice ringing against the stones at his feet, knew it had dropped from nerveless fingers. Knew he was dropping as well, and could not care, other then to hope he did not wake again.
And was greatly disappointed, after a night filled with nightmares, to wake on a cot, set up in a corner of a room in the Arl of Redcliffe's Denerim estate.
Blast. He'd survived. Somewhere, some god was laughing at him, he was bitterly certain. Small wonder the elves numbered a trickster god among their pantheon. He could almost believe in Fen'Harel himself, after this.
Loghain Mac Tir – Grey Warden.