136. The Landsmeet

The heavy double doors creaked quietly as the Wardens stepped through and wove their way into the back of the crowded hall. The Landsmeet had already begun.

Finian wasn't sure they were ready for this... they could barely keep order amongst themselves, much less among all of Ferelden's nobility. Alistair had been snappish and tightly-wound all morning, and they'd had to pull Felicity away from her codex, and Kazar wasn't really meeting anyone's eyes... but it spoke for how well Percy had fallen into the leadership role that when he told everyone to get ready to move out, they did so.

Still... this was the day after half of them arrived back from a harrowing journey, and there had apparently been a subsequent break-up (which, yeah, Fin felt a little guilty about), and Finian himself was still feeling a little weak in the knees and achy in the fingers... but he doubted he could go up to Loghain and ask the usurper regent to kindly reschedule their kingdom-wide discussion about civil war as it related to the end of the world.

And so, there they were, ready or no.

Debate was already in progress, with Eamon's voice soaring over the crowd. "...yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?" A smattering of applause signaled some agreement with the impassioned words. As the Wardens wound their way through to the front of the crowd, Finian tried to do a quick headcount of people clapping, to get a reading on what base they were starting with. So far, it didn't look promising.

The retort was cool and confident. "A fine performance, Eamon, but no one here is taken in by it." Loghain was at the front of the hall. He, too, had come dressed for battle, as had the line of Gwaren soldiers standing against the back wall. The regent's voice gained heat as he spoke. "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?'"

Then, as if on cue, the crowd broke before them, and the Wardens were standing before Loghain. The regent's eyes flashed as they fanned out before him, and he looked about to say something.

"I believe this is the part," Fin said with a grin, "that you accuse one of us of being the puppeteer."

Oh, the regent did not enjoy being interrupted. "Wardens," he growled with thinly veiled venom. "I see you all made it after all." His eyes traveled up and down their line.

They were arranged that way on purpose: a signal of solidarity. Percival was in the middle and a step ahead... the leader. Alistair was on Percy's left, and Finian was on the right. From there, they fanned out across the hall, with Meila, Kazar, and Riordan on one side and Garott and Felicity on the other.

"Tell us, Wardens," Loghain said, his voice pitched to carry, "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?" It was obvious the man had rehearsed the accusation, honing it down to its most provocative and wrenching. What was worse, the man actually appeared to believe his own words. "How much Fereldan blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?"

"We are not here," Percival said quietly, though his cultured, carefully tempered voice traveled through the entire silent hall, "to answer your baseless accusations, Loghain."

"Baseless?" Loghain cried incredulously. "How are my accusations baseless, when they have already proven true? I fought beside King Maric to drive out the forces of Orlais, and I will not see the likes of you and this... pretender... sully his good name by rolling out the carpet to welcome them back in!"

"All of us are Fereldan born," Percy said, his voice rising. "All of us only seek to stop the fighting amongst our own people."

"Stop the fighting? Why, it was you who began it! You come here armed to the teeth, and you would speak of peace? Ha!"

Percival glanced back over at them, and very softly said, "Wardens, lay down your arms."

Finian bit back a smile... a stroke of political impulse perhaps, but appropriately symbolic. As staffs and swords dropped, Fin released his daggers from their spring sheathes, executed a little spin for the sake of theatrics, and then tossed them upon the carpet beside Garott's handaxe.

The last one to drop his weapon was Alistair, who gave Loghain a long, distrustful look as he did so.

Loghain watched them with narrowed eyes while the nobles above and behind them started murmuring. That had taken him by surprise. He was a tactician, calculating his opponents' next move, and attempting to scrounge up a response before they could execute it.

Percival turned his head to the side and gave Fin a small nod.

Finian stepped forward, his stomach alighting with butterflies as Loghain's focus shifted swiftly to just him. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he used that to don his most disarming grin and pitch his voice to address the audience. "My lords and ladies... let's be frank. None of you really think Orlais is going to try to rule through the Wardens. None of us are even Orlesian." He paused as if in thought. "Well, unless you count Riordan." He glanced back and indicated where the older Warden stood at the end of the line. "Wave hello, Riordan." Riordan gave the assembled nobles a respectful nod, and Finian turned back to the galleries. "Some of you may recognize him. He's a citizen of Highever, but he's spent the last couple decades in Orlais. He returned home in response to King Cailan's request for help at Ostagar."

There were mutterings in the crowd... difficult to tell whether they were good or bad.

"But wait," Fin said, bringing a thoughtful finger to tap his chin. "If he's been in Ferelden since Ostagar, why hasn't he been on any of the regent's wanted posters? Surely, the most Orlesian of us is most likely to be the spy?" He let that sit, taking a moment to meet Loghain's livid eyes. Then, he snapped his fingers as if in realization. "Oh right! He's been in Rendon Howe's dungeon this entire time!"

An uproar from the galleries, silenced by Loghain's abrupt growl, "And how would you know that? Oh yes, I recall... you broke into Rendon's estate, elf, and murdered him in his own home! Further, this man was a prisoner of war, suspected of treason!"

"You would speak in defense of Arl Howe, then?" Finian raised his voice farther, letting the audience hear his confidence. "That's interesting, because I would have thought you'd want to wash your hands of him, given who else we found in his dungeons. Relatives of your vassals, not the least of which was the son of a man you once fought and worked beside!" He raised a hand to the gallery and shouted, "Fergus Cousland!"

On cue (because they had discussed this beforehand), Fergus stepped out from behind Eamon and Teagan, wearing the Highever shield and sword that Percival had once borne. The Landsmeet was appropriately rocked, exclamations and questions breaking out all throughout the hall.

Fergus stopped at the balustrade, overlooking the Landsmeet. He raised a hand, and the clamor fell away. "Many of you knew my father," he said, "and several of you have fought beside him. Some of you know me. Those of you who do know the Couslands, know the long history my bloodline has serving the throne of Ferelden. Lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, you know in your hearts that Howe's accusations against my family are false, because as certain as the blood of heroes in my veins, a Cousland would never betray his king!" He raised up his shield, and a rumbling cheer roared through the hall.

Loghain opened his mouth, but Fin didn't let him respond. Over the noise, he called, "Are you still certain you wish to stand by Rendon Howe, your lordship? Perhaps this is another unfortunate connection that you would do to abandon, just as you abandoned your king at Ostagar?"

The crowd roared. Anger both at and for Loghain drowned out all other noise.

"An elf, speaking of military tactics?" cried an old nobleman up on the balcony.

"Do not presume," Loghain said acidly, and the crowd died down, "to know anything about what I did at Ostagar. I loved Cailan... he was Maric's son and my king! However, there were more lives at stake that day than just his! Would you have had me sacrifice all those lives for Cailan's chance at glory? It was you Wardens that led him to his death with your stories. Against the darkspawn, he believed he could not lose. I, on the other hand, could see the truth."

"That we are all Orlesian spies?" Finian said with an arched brow, then immediately threw up his hands in a placating gesture that quelled the angry reaction from the audience. "No, that was unfair of me. There is no way for either of our parties to settle the matter of what really happened at Ostagar. These fine lords and ladies assembled here will believe who they believe." Finian turned his back on Loghain to cast a smile over the Landsmeet. "You are all certainly savvy enough to ferret out what you can about the truth of the matter. We all know the Blight is here, but pointing fingers does us no good. This is hardly a case where bloated accusations and parlor tricks will change the truth one way or another..." Finian executed a sleight-of-hand maneuver to illustrate, pulling a particular slip of paper out of his sleeve in the process. "...Except... well, there is this."

He held the slip of paper above his head and walked under one of the galleries. "Bann Alfstanna, would you mind reading this for everyone?"

Curious, she reached down over the balustrade and took it, carefully unfolding the letter.

"Wait, pardon me, my lady," Finian gave her a bashful smile. "My recognition of noble sigils is limited. Whose seal is that?"

"Loghain's," the bann said, and a couple other nobles—champions of both sides, from what Finian had seen so far—leaned over her shoulders to look. There was a reason he'd picked a neutral party to read it, rather than someone like Eamon.

Though, not too neutral. No one needed to know that they'd rescued Alfstanna's Templar brother from Howe's dungeons... but they'd couldn't leave anything to chance.

"'To Caladrius,'" Alfstanna read. "I regret to inform you that, due to increased interference from the Grey Warden survivors, I am forced to increase my price. I will now expect an extra ten Archons per slave." Gasps abounded. "Please deliver payment promptly this time, or our deal will be forced to change again. Regards, L. M. T."

Over the whispers around the hall, Finian met Loghain's eyes and asked loudly. "Correct me if I'm wrong... but isn't the 'Archon' a Tevinter currency?"

"That letter is a forgery!"

"Is it?" Fin left the letter with the bann, for her to pass around, and stalked forward instead. "Then where are all the elves, Loghain?" He raised his arms. "These are Denerim's elite, are they not? They have all spent these last weeks here in Denerim, without a good half of their household staff. Why? Because of some plague?" Finian turned back to address the nobles. "A plague that never spread beyond the Alienage, not even a single case amongst the human men guarding it, or the parts of the docks that share its water supply? Isn't that suspicious?"

"They're just elves," said the same older nobleman from before.

"Elves, yes! But also Fereldan citizens! Fereldan assets, if you will. Assets that Loghain," he whirled and pointed a finger at the regent, "sold to Tevinter!" His voice rose, and the Landsmeet listened, rapt. "Tevinter! The land of the magisters, and the Black Divine! This man was so desperate not to let Ferelden fall into the hands of those he suspected might be Orlesian spies, that he took war funds from the Tevinter Imperium, the nation responsible for the Blights!"

It was exhilerating, how they all leapt and roared at the end of the crescendo. Several nobles stood up and declared the very real threat of the darkspawn, and called Loghain to task for his lack of action. Finian did not even need to say that the darkspawn were the real enemy, when the assembly did it for him.

A single bout of clapping filled the hall, sharp and slow, and the pandemonium died down to reveal Loghain stepping forward, bringing his hands together in sarcastic applause. "You put on a very good show, Warden. But the fact remains that you have provided no better solution." Loghain, too, knew how to address the crowd. "Do we not owe it to Marric to see the kingdom he built with his own blood put in the hands of someone worthy of it, rather than this puppet prince?"

Cheers rose from the opposition, fewer voices than before, but more fervent.

Finian turned back to the Warden line, again pitching his voice to be heard above the ruckus. "What do you think, Alistair? Do you feel like a puppet?"

Alistair snorted and mumbled, "I should hope not." It didn't carry though, so Fin motioned him forward. The warrior did so, stepping out of the line to stand beside Finian and clearing his throat. Louder, he said, "I mean, I am not anyone's puppet. I may be inexperienced in politics, yes, but I am a Grey Warden, which means I know a thing or two about doing what's right. And you, Loghain," he pointed a finger, eyes burning bright with long-suppressed anger, "have been doing everything but that."

"Do not dare lecture me, boy. You know nothing of which you speak."

"Then explain it!" Alistair stood tall and animated, magnificent in his righteous anger. "Explain to these people, Loghain, why you let Cailan and the Grey Wardens die! You were the general; you called the final shots. If you truly cared that much for his life, you would have kept him off the field!"

"I could have done nothing! He refused to listen to reason because of his obsession with you and your Wardens. He thought your very presence would assure him a win!"

"Or perhaps," Alistair said, "he thought yours would. You were his general, who he trusted to be at his back." The venom in Alistair's voice made it low, but the Landsmeet was dead silent to hear it. "But no, you broke his trust. You turned and walked away with your entire arm of the army. You left the Grey Wardens, who were like family to me, and your king, who literally was family to me, to die. For that, you deserve more than to have your regency stripped. That is high treason."

"High treason," Loghain rejoined, "is kidnapping your queen. Tell me Wardens, where have you been keeping her?"

"I think," Finian broke in smoothly, "she can answer that for herself."

"That, I can." Anora made herself known at the back of the floor, and the crowd split to allow her passage. She drew up even with Alistair, and Finian stepped respectfully back to rejoin the Wardens.

As Finian resumed his spot behind Percival, Garott's hand patted his back once. "Good show," the dwarf mumbled.

"It's not over yet," Fin whispered back.

Anora stood beside Alistair, not Loghain, as she addressed the Landsmeet, and the message in that was artfully clear. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me! My father is no longer the man you knew. This man is not the Hero of River Dane!"

"Anora!" Loghain appeared to be truly struck speechless.

"This man," she continued, "turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn." Finian watched the nobles hang onto her every word. A beloved queen indeed. "This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold, and locked me away so that I could not reveal his treachery!" And finally, the last push. "I might already have been killed, if not for the Grey Wardens."

Loghain sagged with every word out of her mouth. "So their influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?" he said thickly. "I wanted to protect you from this." He turned to face the Landsmeet, desperation coloring his words. "My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before! It's been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting!" This was the general, a military presence to be reckoned with. Alistair and Anora stood firm before him, however. "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." He raised his hands to the crowd, beseeching. "Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself!"

"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!" Loghain hid a flinch, and Finian fought back a smile.

"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!" Bann Alfstanna was quick to add.

"Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!"

"Highever," Fergus's voice called, "stands with the Grey Wardens, and the true king!"

Finian lowered his head so as not to show his giddiness as more and more voices joined in. A smattering of voices called out for Loghain, but it was obvious that such was a trickle against a deluge of support for the Wardens.

It was obvious to everyone, judging by Loghain's sour look. "Traitors!" he cried, the honey leaving his tone completely to make way for pure bile. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?!" He spun on Eamon. "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!" He turned back on the Landsmeet, a cornered animal. "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!"

The man wasn't doing himself any favors for his public image.

"Have some dignity," Percival said sharply. "Everyone here can see the madness that blackens your heart. Lay down your sword with the honor and dignity of the Hero of River Dane."

Loghain growled, his gaze again sweeping through the Wardens, resting on Alistair last. "Then let us settle this." The man's had went to his sword, but he did not draw it. "A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once." He considered their line. "I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me."

He paced a couple steps back. "There is only one way I will step down, and if you Wardens would claim any honor at all, you are welcome to take it from me by force." He turned back toward them. "A duel. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms."

"It shall be fought according to tradition," Bann Alfstanna said. Finian was really beginning to like her. "A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

Loghain turned to Alistair. "Well, pretender prince? Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?"

Alistair opened his mouth—likely to jump at the chance—but Percival stepped forward. "I will fight him." He cast a glance at Alistair. "If it pleases you," he added stiffly.

Finian quietly sighed in relief... it would be best if Alistair kept his hands clean of this, after all. At least Alistair looked amused as well as annoyed.

"All right," Alistair said.

"Very well then, Warden," Loghain said with narrowed eyes. "Prepare yourself."

Finian stood back with the others to watch. Whatever they might have done to win public opinion, the outcome of this civil war was now in Percival's hands, and his alone.

"At least," Garott whispered, "if this goes the way of the thaigs, we'll have a little back-up." He smirked and nodded toward the back of the room, where, upon looking, one could make out the very distinctive form of a red-headed dwarf sitting on the shoulders of a Qunari. The nearby nobles were looking nervous about the giant's presence, but the vote had apparently gone well regardless. Less nervous-looking were the line of Warden companions sitting along the back of the balcony. Zevran winked and Leliana waved.

"Even Wynne," Felicity whispered fondly, because the old mage was, indeed, blithely working on sewing next to Morrigan.

"We can't take them anywhere," Fin agreed. He, Garott, and Felicity shared a silent chuckle at that, then turned to watch Percival try his hand at swaying the Landsmeet, in the best way he knew how. Overall, Finian really couldn't think of a better champion.