A bit at a loss, Loghain was uncharacteristically wavering in his decision. Cousland had definitely had him made a Warden to use him to slay the Archdemon. But something had happened to change her mind.
The nightmares were terrible. The gnawing hunger was demoralizing, though none of the companions chided him for it, although the dwarf would occasionally grumble under his beery breath about needing to do more hunting. The occasional surprise attack from small groups of darkspawn were a constant drain on energy. But all this, she'd been dealing with for the months past.
Something was different. Loghain found her an efficient and brisk leader, quiet and comfortable in her command. The others seemed to find that same quiet disturbing. An outsider, it was easy to watch and note where the assassin or the little bard would try and start a conversation only to be stymied by her short, though gentle responses.
He had seen soldiers, especially commanders, before who had withdrawn into themselves. It made the process of grief afterwards, after death, a little easier to bear. But whose death was Cousland contemplating; her companions or her own? He thought he knew. He'd seen Maric, after all, in the days after a betrayal.
Loghain found his chance not long after Melisande and Leliana went down the path towards the creek to bring up water for the evening. "Enchanter. Might I have a word with you?"
The mage's pale blue eyes seemed to see through his soul, black though it probably was. "If you must."
Wynne followed him back to her tent before she stopped abruptly. "I don't believe I'm going to invite you in, warden. What is this about?"
"Cousland. She is…do you know what it is we must do? To kill the Archdemon and end the Blight?"
Wynne glare at him for a moment before she answered softly, playing with a sprig of some herb in her fingers that let off a pungent odor as it was crushed. "I do. It did not surprise me, once I thought about it."
Snorting, Loghain shook his head. "Well, it shocked the Void out of me. But there it is. She must not be allowed to do it, Enchanter."
"Why?" The old woman's challenge startled him. "Why should she not have the honor of ending the Blight she's spent the last year fighting?"
"Honor?" He spit out the word. "Honor is a word for boys and tales, Enchanter and if you didn't know it before, surely you do by now. This is death and nothing more. And she deserves better than that, surely?"
"You spent the last year trying to see her dead. Why do you care?" If she'd been a snake, she'd have hissed. But as it was the words came out in a shouted whisper.
The teyrn seemed to deflate before her eyes. "Let me make up for a few of my mistakes, Enchanter. Let me…I can never live it down, the time I have cost us. But I can ensure that she lives, to help rebuild Ferelden. She made Maric's bastard king. I know he won't see the sense in joining with Anora, but for Ferelden..." Loghain trailed off, watching the last of the light fade from the tops of the grove they camped near. "I don't know about Alistair, but with Cousland by his side, I believe it will be better."
She had never been a woman to dwell too much on could have beens, and Wynne made her decision swiftly. She pushed aside the tent flap. "Come in and tell me what you are thinking. Quickly, before the girls return."
-000-
Alistair and his shadow, Terrance, had been on horseback and off before dawn broke. Alistair hadn't sat a horse since his days in Eamon's stables, but old habits came back swiftly. Well, at least he only fell off the one time.
They rode hard, pausing only to drink and eat and finally by necessity, to trade an hour's sleep. The horses allowed them to make up time, but the pace began to tell on them and again, the two men had to pull up.
As they drew water from an abandoned well, a small group of travelers piled into the meadow behind them. Alistair walked over to warn them off.
"You should rest, but go back as soon as you can. The Redcliffe road leads to the darkspawn and a fight."
An older man, bent with farm work, shook his iron-grey head when he spoke for the group. "No, ser. The Blight's behind us. Mabel and her man saw them 'spawn with their own eyes, coming up the way from Gwaren."
Bewildered, Alistair stared at the man. All the scout reports had claimed the horde was headed to Redcliffe, to the heart of Ferelden. If the mass of them were coming from Gwaren, then…"Tell me everything you know!"
-000-
The rancid smoke reached them before they even saw Denerim, wisps of it drifting in on the wind. Fetid and dank, it warned them of what they would see.
Melisande paused for a minute to strike mud from her boots and allowed Riordan to make his speech and to set orders. Finbar growled at her feet, watching the man speak. She'd have to leave him here. There was too much of a chance her hound would realize what she was meant to do and try and stop her.
A few slavering hurlocks occupied the heights of the watch towers. They threw the corpses of the human guards over and the bodies fell with meaty thuds to the broken ground. Maker, if the bloody Orlesian didn't stop chattering, there wasn't going to be anything left to rescue in the city.
Pacing as though she were caged, a small part of Melisande's mind slipped away from what was about to happen. Was Alistair there? Or had the nobles forced their king to retreat to safer ground? No. He was here. He was fighting. No matter what Alistair had said about being nothing but the king, it wasn't in him to turn his back on people in need. He had the whole of the guard at his back. Kylon, perhaps. He was a good man, the sergeant. He could defend his king.
Hurlocks mockingly jeered at them, waiting for their chance to slaughter the fresh combatants. Several of the more intelligent called out challenges to the Warden blood they sensed.
Her fingers itched for steel and the silence that would descend on her. It would go away, finally. The constant refrain of should have would have could have.
Loghain cleared his throat and when she glared at him, the teyrn nodded towards Riordan. Apparently he'd asked her something. "What now?"
He gazed at her with solemn eyes before bowing, finally. "You cannot take everyone. We need experienced fighters left to defend the gate. Maker keep you, Wardens."
Before Riordan strode away, a small stirring made Melisande speak. It was like to be the last she saw of him. Custom and her hard-earned manners required an acknowledgement. "Riordan!"
"Yes?"
Formally, she bowed as well. "Andraste guide your sword, Warden." He smiled at her and she realized he wasn't as old as she'd thought. Giving a jaunty wave, Riordan slipped off into the battle and she couldn't see him amidst the fighting that followed.
It didn't take long to clear a small break in the mass of darkspawn guarding the gate, though. It took only moments, it seemed and suddenly, they were in the city. And the time for parting came. Melisande blinked, clearing her eyes of a brief haze.
Holy Maker. They were here. It would end, one way or another. She turned to her companions. "Wynne, Leliana…Loghain are with me. The rest of you…watch each other's backs. Thank you. Maker keep you."
She meant to turn then and walk into the roaring, burning city. But she had forgotten that none of her companions were short on words when the spirit took them. It wasn't a mere haze that she had to wipe away before they were done.