The next day, while we wait for Arl Eamon to join us in his office, everyone is talking amongst themselves.
"Did you speak to the queen?" Leliana enquires.
Neria grimaces, wiping her hand over her face. "I tried. She's determined to stay the queen, and she asked me to back her. I said I'd think about it."
"And have you? Thought about it?" Alistair asks nervously.
"My opinion hasn't changed, Alistair."
"So I should just… go ahead and be king?"
"I don't know," Neria exhales. "For all we know the Landsmeet could choose Anora no matter what happens, let alone based on what I think."
"That's true enough."
"If you really don't want the crown, Alistair, I won't push you towards it."
"It's not that, exactly, it's just… I don't know."
"…I know."
"Are you all ready?" Arl Eamon appears, holding a sizeable pile of documents.
Alistair takes a deep breath. "Time to face the music."
As soon as we enter the palace, a guardswoman is waiting to approach us.
"Ser Cauthrien," Neria greets, visibly uncomfortable.
Ah. This is the one who sent Neria and our friends to Fort Drakon. Cow.
"Warden Neria," Ser Cauthrien acknowledges, stone-faced. "I am not surprised it has come to this. And Alistair. If you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn't you?" she sneers at him. "You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom."
"Freedom, is that so? Tell me, have you ever stepped foot in an alienage, my lady?" Neria crosses her arms.
Choosing to ignore her, Ser Cauthrien continues. "Do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet with your presence. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest, once you are gone."
"Do you really not see what Loghain has become?" Neria asks gently, changing tack.
Surprisingly, Ser Cauthrien noticeably falters. "I'm aware that he has changed… it has been difficult for him to realise his own countrymen would turn against him."
He turned on them first, I want to yell, but I manage to settle for a glare.
"But he is still a great man. One of the best Ferelden has seen," she concludes defensively.
"Great men don't sell their own people into slavery," Neria snaps, already sapped of her famous patience.
"What was he supposed to do?" Ser Cauthrien snaps back. "You and Eamon, you were harassing him at every side, forcing him to empty the treasury to fight you."
"And he thought SLAVERY was the acceptable answer to his money problems?!"
"He never WANTED a civil war! After Cailan died, everyone was supposed to rally, come together to fight the darkspawn without crying to Orlais for aid! He never anticipated Maric's BASTARD would challenge the throne and force this war," Ser Cauthrien practically hissed the word, jabbing a finger in Alistair's direction. Neria is livid.
"Cailan only died because Loghain abandoned him on the battlefield! The man he continues to claim was like a son to him! His body was left to be desecrated by the darkspawn, and WE were the ones who went back to find him, to give him a proper funeral! If you're so loyal to Ferelden, how can you support the man who killed your king?!" Neria yelled, frustrated.
"FINE!" Ser Cauthrien throws her hands up. "You're right! What would you have me say, Warden? Loghain is a great man, but…" She takes a deep breath. "His hatred of Orlais has…driven him to madness. He has done terrible things, I know, but I owe him everything. I cannot betray him by turning against him now, you can't ask me to do that."
"I'm not," Neria says, calming down. "But I need you to let us pass. He needs to be stopped, you know it's the only way."
Ser Cauthrien takes a few steps back, gesturing to the other guards around us to do the same. "I wish I had died at Ostagar, rather than live to see this moment," she admits with difficulty. "Stop him, Warden… from betraying everything he once loved."
The Landsmeet is already underway when we enter the throne room. There are guards lined up against every wall, and in front of them, well-dressed humans who must be the nobility. There are two balconies on either side of the room, where more guardsmen and nobles are standing, watching and participating in the proceedings. One of these is Arl Eamon, who is currently addressing the crowd.
"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet," he bellows. "Teryn 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, in order to save it?" He pauses, and many in the crowd applaud his words.
"A fine… performance, Eamon," Loghain sneers, giving a few slow claps from the front of the room. "But no one here is taken in by it. You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne, and every soul here knows it. The better question, is who will pull the strings? AH!" He exclaims, as we make our way to the centre of the room.
Well, most of us- Leliana smoothly guides the two of us to the side, to blend in with the crowd.
"Here comes the puppeteer!" Loghain mocks, gesturing to Neria at the head of the group.
"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 points to Alistair standing beside her. "How much Ferelden blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?"
Neria scowls. "The Blirght is the threat here, not Orlais!"
"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that perfectly clear," a noblewoman calls down from the balcony on the right, receiving murmurs of agreement.
"Bann Alfstanna is right! The south is fallen, Loghain!" a nobleman calls out nearby. "Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?"
"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff," Loghain answers. "But do we need Grey Wardens to fight 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 return from whence they came?"
"You were the one who fled the field at Ostagar with your troops, leaving the Grey Wardens as well as King Cailan to die, fighting alone," Neria points out loudly.
"Please go on," a nobleman scoffs. "The Landsmeet longs to hear a proper tactical analysis of Ostagar from an elf."
"You Wardens goaded him into making that charge!" Loghain accuses. He believed the tales, Warden! He thought that your handful of men would turn the tide for him, strategy and consequences be hanged!"
"And Warden Duncan warned him against it. You cannot blame the Wardens for obeying the orders of their king. Unlike you, who deserted him," Neria says angrily.
"Cailan was like a son to me! No one regrets his death more than I!" Loghain proclaims.
"Speaking of regrets, would you say you regret selling Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your succession war?" Neria asks icily, eliciting a low hum of dismay from the crowd.
"What's this?" Another nobleman exclaims, outraged. "There is no slavery in Ferelden! Explain yourself, Loghain!"
"There is no saving the alienage," Loghain replies, to further outcry. "The damage from the riots is yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy—"
Neria has had enough. "And men like YOU are their worst enemy! There were no riots! The late Arl Urien's son kidnapped women from the alienage during a wedding ceremony! He raped them, he murdered them! And when my fellow elves protested against these crimes, you allowed the next arl to send in his so-called soldiers to commit more murders! An entire orphanage of innocent children, dead, under the leadership of you and your daughter! Don't pretend like the arl wouldn't have needed her consent to carry out such a thing as a purge!"
The whole room is practically buzzing with outrage at these allegations.
Loghain scowls. "Whatever the current state of the alienage is, there is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here. Despite what you may think Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."
But Neria isn't finished. "Oh, and allowing Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents? Was that for the good of Ferelden?"
"The Warden speaks truly!" Yet another nobleman cries out. "My son was taken under the cover of night. The things done to him… some of them are beyond any healer's skill," he claims, almost in tears.
"Howe was responsible for his own actions," Loghain retorts. "He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all. But you would know that, you sent him to the Maker yourself. Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home."
"Like he butchered the elves in theirs?" A noblewoman yells, to some applause.
"Then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?" Neria asks pointedly.
Loghain smirks. "I assure you, Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."
"Indeed?" Bann Alfstanna pitches in sarcastically. "My templar brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"
"Do not think that the Chantry will overlook this, Teryn Loghain," says an austere-looking woman in chantry robes. "Interference in a templar's sacred duties is an offense against the Maker."
"Enough of this!" Loghain barks. "I have a question of my own, Warden: What have you done with my daughter?"
Neria is momentarily stumped. "…What?"
"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?"
"I believe I can speak for myself," Anora herself announces her presence, and everyone turns to look at her as she strides through the room. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed Ferelden's greatest hero in a bid to put a bastard son on Maric's throne."
"Oh, and she's turned on us," Alistair says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What a shock. She seemed like such a nice despot."
"It has become clear to me, Warden, that the true threat to this nation is you," Anora continues. "I offered you the chance to ally with me for the good of this nation, and you refused it. I will not allow you to destroy the throne Cailan and I have held," she announces proudly.
"Who here can say that Anora is not fit to rule this land?" Loghain continues, confidence bolstered. "And who can say that this Alistair is? We know nothing of him save that he may have royal blood. For five years Anora has been queen, and proven herself worthy of the Theirin name. She can lead our people through this crisis, and I can lead her armies! 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 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!"
"Enough!" Arl Eamon shouts. "It is high time we make a decision. Who will stand with the Wardens, and who will stand with Teryn Loghain?"
"The Warden! I'm with the Warden," one nobleman calls out, and one by one, the nobles cast their votes.
"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!"
"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!"
"Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!"
"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens, Maker help us."
"I stand by Loghain! We've no hope of victory otherwise!"
"I stand with the Warden! The Blight is coming; we need the Grey Wardens!"
Once everyone has finished calling out their support, it is clear that the vast majority of nobles are on Neria and Alistair's side.
"The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain," Arl Eamon proclaims. "Step down gracefully."
"Traitors!" Loghain spits. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your field and raped your wives?!" His hand hovers over the hilt of his sword. A number of the guardsman stationed around the area draw their own swords, waiting.
"Call off your men, and we can settle this honourably, Loghain!" Arl Eamon commands.
"No need, Eamon! I can see when I am outnumbered. I yield," Loghain says through gritted teeth.
"You'll die for what you've done," Neria says, marching forward.
"Wait!" Anora rushes over to stand in between them. "You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people!"
"Anora, hush. It's over," Loghain says, in a tone completely unlike his usual demeanour.
"Stop treating me like a child, father, this is serious," she insists, panicking.
Loghain laughs hollowly. "Daughters never grow up in their fathers' eyes, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."
"Father—!"
"Just make it quick, Warden. Ferelden is in your hands, now."
"Wait," Alistair steps forward. "I will do it. I owe it to Duncan."
Leliana's hand covers my eyes suddenly. I hear a swish, a thunk, and a collective gasp. My eyes are uncovered. Anora is kneeling by Loghain's still form.
"So it is decided." Arl Eamon says. "Alistair will take his father's throne."
Alistair blanches. "Wait, what? When did this get decided? Nobody's decided that, have they?"
Anora stands up hurriedly. "He refuses the throne! It's clear he wishes to abdicate in favour of me."
Arl Eamon sighs. "I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora. Warden Neria, would you be willing to do so?"
"I…" Neria hesitates. "Allow me to speak with Alistair first." She approaches him, and I can't hear much with their lowered voices and the muttering of everyone else around me, but I watch Alistair shrug a couple of times. He doesn't look certain, but he doesn't look like he's outright refusing, either.
Neria looks up at Arl Eamon. "I'm ready."
"Good. As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?"
"Alistair."
"Very well. Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you," Arl Eamon proclaims. "You must now swear fealty to our king, and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs."
"If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me," Anora crosses her arms.
As much as I don't like her, I can't help but feel bad for her. Her father was just executed moments ago, and now they want her to be loyal to Alistair when she obviously wants to be on the throne herself.
"Is that completely necessary, your Grace?" Neria asks.
Arl Eamon nods. "We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war. We must have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all."
"What do you want me to do, exactly?" Alistair asks. "Kill her? I can't do that. I guess… put her in the tower, for now. Lock her up. Maybe we can find somewhere to send her. Later."
"Very well," Arl Eamon agrees. "Guards, take her away. Your Highness, would you address the Landsmeet?" he offers, gesturing to the crowd before him.
"Oh…That would be me." Alistair turns to face the whole room. "Right, um… I never knew him, but from all I've heard of my father, what defined him was his commitment to protecting his land. And that land now needs protecting from the Blight. I may be Maric's son, but I am also a Grey Warden. I took an oath: I swore I would stand and fight the darkspawn, no matter the cost to myself. I can't break that oath just to wear the crown. I have to go with my fellow Warden to face the Blight. When it is over, I'll come back and take up my duties…whatever they are…as king. Until then, I name Arl Eamon as my regent."
The crowd applauds, whether out of approval or politeness, I can't tell.
When the applause dies down, Alistair speaks again. "Uh, thank you. Right, everyone, get ready to march. It's going to take all of Ferelden's strength to survive this Blight. Our country is depending on us!"
This time, the applause is definitely genuine.
With the Landsmeet finally concluded, everyone save Neria and our friends gradually file out of the throne room. Arl Eamon descends from the balcony to congratulate Alistair, and to tell him and Neria to meet him in his office later, to discuss getting the word out to our allies that it's time to gather in Redcliffe. Once we're alone with our usual travelling companions, Alistair addresses Neria.
"You made me king," he repeats, stunned. "After all this is over with, they're actually going to put me on the throne. I'm still… I'm going to be the KING…"
Neria chews her lip nervously. "And here I thought you'd be speechless," she offers, trying to lighten the mood.
"Speechless? I'm furious!" Alistair suddenly shouts, and Neria's face pales. "How could you do this to me?! I've done nothing but regret my blood since the day I was born. I don't want this! I never wanted this! I hate the very idea of it!"
"Mere hours ago, you were still unsure about it: don't blame Neria for not being able to get a simple yes-or-no answer out of you!" Morrigan quips, coming to Neria's defence.
"I thought we were friends," Alistair accuses. "You knew how I felt about it, yet you went ahead and did it anyway. Why?"
"W-We are friends, Alistair. This is a good thing," Neria insists, bottom lip trembling. She sounds far less sure of herself than she did during the Landsmeet.
"A good thing?" Alistair repeats. "Are you serious? I've just…never thought of myself as a leader. I'm going to make a terrible king, you have to know that. How can I make decisions that are going to affect the lives of everyone in Ferelden?
"Alistair…" Neria takes a deep breath, and continues, seemingly resigned. "Hate me, if you want. I know this, the crown, all of it, it's a lot. But I believe you are what Ferelden needs, I believe you will be a good king," she says earnestly.
"But Anora was a good queen, wasn't she? Why not her?" Alistair says bitterly.
"Anora was ruthless!" Neria exclaims. "She claimed to have been a good ruler but she let her father get away with actual murder as well as many other cruelties. And when she was under threat, she saved her own skin. You would never do those things. I know Eamon wanted you as king because you're Maric's son, but that's not why I said your name; I said it because you're a better person than Anora will ever be. And having a good person on the throne might actually give Ferelden a chance at being a place worth fighting for," she finishes, sounding sure of herself again, although I notice she's still fighting off tears.
"I—Well, that does put some things into perspective," Alistair admits. He finally seems to notice Neria's distress, and sighs. "I don't hate you, Neria. I don't think I could even if I wanted to."
Neria nods, tears finally escaping. Alistair panics.
"No, don't cry, it's ok, we're still friends!" He insists, awkwardly patting her arm.
"I'm not crying!" Neria snaps, obviously crying. "You're crying!"
Alistair concedes defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm crying. Gah, I guess I'll just have to do my best, won't I? And I expect that you'll be there to help me, right?"
Neria nods frantically. "If you want me there, of course I will."
"Good, then it's settled."
"If you've quite finished upsetting each other, we should prepare to leave for Redcliffe, no? Arl Eamon awaits us in his office," Zevran intercedes, wrapping a protective arm around Neria's shoulders.
"You're right," Alistair agreed. "We do have a Blight to end first, after all."