(uchiha jinrai: Honestly, I don't hate him either. More than anything, I find him a tragic figure... a once-great man fallen to his own very human fears. This is one of those times, however, when the characters seem to dictate the outcome more than I do, so my own views on the matter may come into it very little.

And yes, the thumbnail is by me. Hopefully, you can guess who is who. :) )

137. The Duel

Percival closed his eyes and breathed, taking a moment to center himself. Around him, he could hear movement as a spot was cleared in the center of the room.

This was how it would end... either the perpetrator of all these crimes would be ousted, defeated and shamed, or the Wardens would be forced to surrender and let the darkspawn overrun Ferelden.

There was more than that, as well. This was the man who had betrayed Cailan and hundreds of other men at Ostagar. This was the man who had sheltered and enabled Howe. For this reason, Percival had to center himself and summon his control, simply so as not to charge the man and tear him apart in a berserker rage.

Not only would it reflect poorly on the Wardens. No, against the Hero of River Dane, Percy sorely doubted such a brutal tactic would even be all that effective.

"Percival!" He opened his eyes and cast them up toward his brother, who leaned over the balustrade toward him. Fergus beckoned him over, and Percy went, only to have his brother hold sword and shield down to him.

Percy looked at the offering a moment. It had been a while since he used a longsword and shield... not since the Deep Roads. Then again, he'd taken up a greatsword in the Deep Roads, for use against the darkspawn horde. This was a civil duel, and he'd once been a dedicated duelist with sword and shield.

He held up his left arm, and the Highever shield slipped onto it like an old lover. Fergus passed down the Cousland sword hilt-first, and Percival gave it a lazy swing, his improved strength making it feel light as a feather.

"For Ferelden," his brother whispered.

Percy nodded. "For Ferelden," he agreed, "and for Father." Fergus smiled down at him, and for the first time, Percival could actually believe it when Fergus said he was proud of him.

An area of the floor had been cleared, a circle bound in by Wardens on one side and Loghain's armed guards on the other. The Wardens watched him with varying expressions of expectation and encouragement.

Stepping into the ring was surreal, pulling him into a separate world where he did not feel the eyes of the assembled nobles, nor the carpet under his boots. All that existed was the weight of his sword and shield and the stiff figure of Loghain opposite him.

Percival circled around, studying the older man's stance, and Loghain stepped sideways to mirror him. Loghain prowled like a wolf, his movements smooth and sure, tight with restrained lethality. This man was a master of arms; he would not be an easy opponent.

Percy spun his sword in front of him as he circled, getting a feel for how much force he would need to pierce chain with it. He noted a few weak spots in Loghain's armor, where the plates connected or joints used less padding. Places his sword could pierce. He could feel the regent's eyes sweep over him, doing the same for him.

Percy took the first shot: he stepped forward and slapped the flat of his blade against his opponent's shield, watching the speed of Loghain's reflexes and feeling how much he gave under the blow. He stepped back and away before Loghain could counter, and they resumed circling.

A subtle look passed through the old man's eyes... surprise. Over what, Percival could not say. Loghain slipped forward and executed a stab, which Percy shielded and countered, only to have Loghain, too, step back. It had merely been a questing blow, just as Percy's had.

A pity. Percival did better when his opponents underestimated him.

Percy struck, quick and precise against the other man's right side. Loghain's shield knocked it away, and Percy almost missed the blade coming at him from under the shield. He parried it with his sword, stepped back, and resumed the circling.

Loghain was the next to move, stepping in and slicing down for Percival's unshielded thigh. Percy slid sideways to change it to a glancing blow, following with a slice of his own up high. Loghain shoved his shield up, knocking it away, and they both stepped back again.

Percy felt like he had his opponent's measure, now, and he could see from the fire in the old soldier's eyes that the regent felt the same. So, the next time they stepped in to trade blows, neither of them stepped back out for some time, and the precise, deadly dance of the duel began in earnest.

It was an intriguing sort of game, attempting to break past the old man's stolid defense without giving any opening of his own. His sword and shield were fast and sure, but Loghain had decades of honed reflexes, and moved to block and counter Percy's every move before he had a chance to fully execute each one.

Percy wasn't one to turn down a challenge, so he ignored the little nicks and bruises he received as a result. A shield bash that sent him stumbling back jarred his shoulder where his own shield had taken the brunt, and he felt a spark of rage slip past his control.

He tempered it and used it, a master smith banking a fire to forge the finest armaments. Anger lent him strength and speed that he shouldn't have had, and he stepped up the tempo of his own attacks. The old man, master of the craft though he was, was nonetheless aging, and could not keep up with the next flurry of blows... a high slice was blocked, bounced off, and turned into a low slice from the other side, parried, a step and a stab, knocked aside, Loghain's sword trapped to the side by Percy's shield as he stepped in, and a final stab under the plates of Loghain's shield shoulder.

Loghain stepped back swiftly before the blade could do significant damage, shaking out his injured arm. Percival rubbed idly at a bruise on his cheek where Loghain's shield had bashed it. As one, they both took a sideways step and resumed circling, each catching their breath and cataloging injuries.

Loghain huffed a breath, regarding Percival with an expression that was guarded and full of new respect. "Your Bryce's younger boy, aren't you? The rake." A stab of anger shot through Percy, and he batted away the subsequent lazy stroke of Loghain's sword with a bit more force than was perhaps necessary. "I remember you. You dueled Cailan once. You won, if I recall correctly. Both children, playing at war."

Percival's anger bade him act, so he attacked. Red was creeping around the corners of his vision, fighting against his precision and control. Counter, follow-through, parry... and they went back to circling, Percival fighting down shivers of bloodlust.

Loghain could tell, if the victorious flash in his wolf's eyes was any indication. The strategist had found his strategy. "It boggles the mind, does it not? That they would allow a reprobate such as yourself to lead them? How low the standards of the Wardens have fallen."

The heat spiked, and Percy lunged forward against a surge of red, bashing into the old man with his shield. Loghain was expecting it, and Percy felt a sword coming from under the shield to bite into the padding at his waist. He grit his teeth and shoved the sword away, stumbling back to breathe and get himself under control. Loghain followed, but Percy kept moving backwards, hiding behind his shield until his emotions stopped surging.

After some moments of that, Loghain stopped pursuing, and stepped back to regard him with narrowed eyes. Only when Percival had lowered his shield did the old dog say, "You spoke of honor and dignity as if you've any idea what such things mean." He thwacked his sword against the floor, flicking droplets of Percy's blood across the carpet. "But when it comes down to the facts, you are just a green little pup, waving your father's sword and pretending to know what it truly means to sacrifice oneself for everyone."

"Once, that was true," Percival growled, again lunging in. Again, Loghain braced himself, but Percival did not use the sheer brute force the older man was obviously expecting. Instead, he feinted toward doing so, making the man lean forward, and only then did he slide sideways and hook Loghain's shield with his own, throwing it wide open. Percy sliced his sword along Loghain's collar. "Then," Percy growled in the older man's face, "my father and mother sacrificed themselves to save me, and I learned." He illustrated the point by kicking the older man soundly in the knee, sending him sprawling.

Percival broke away and stepped back, getting himself back under control. Giving into the urge to tear the old man asunder here would only reflect poorly upon the Wardens. His repose gave the old man time to find his feet, though there was definitely a lopsidedness to his stance. "A dirty trick," Loghain snarled. "Daddy would be proud of his little boy, I'm sure."

"If you wish a fair fight, then cut the taunts and come at me, old man."

Loghain grunted and stepped forward, sweeping in, and Percival knocked the sword up and away, clearing for a slice of his own. Once again, the two warriors traded blows, the pace of the exchange picking up. Percival chewed through his rage, stoking it just enough not to feel pain, but not so much that he got sloppy.

Finally, after far longer than anyone would have thought, given his age, Percival managed to dive low and sweep his shield through the back of the old man's knees, laying Loghain flat on his back. Calmly, he put a foot on the regent's blade and laid his own at Loghain's throat.

"Very well," Loghain gasped. "There is strength and conviction in you that I have not seen in a long time. I yield."

Percival stepped back to allow the old man to stand.

"Well, your highness?" Finian's voice asked behind him, and Percy was startled to recall their audience. He dared a look around, watching the nobles whisper and point between the two of them. Some scowled at the outcome, but many, many more were smiling. Given what he'd once been known for doing with their daughters and nieces, he was honestly surprised to see such a positive reaction.

"What is to be done with him?" Finian's voice asked pointedly, and Percy turned his attention to his other Wardens. They all smiled at him, and Garott tossed him a thumbs up. Finian had turned pointedly to address Alistair, who was staring at Loghain and ignoring Anora's concerned look. "He stands accused of treason," the elf said. "Such a crime usually warrants execution."

The queen turned a cold look toward Finian, but she held her tongue.

"There is another option," Riordan said, stepping up to meet the royal pair, eying Loghain carefully. "The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

Percy exchanged a glance with Fin. This possibility, they had not discussed before the Landsmeet. Percival could read the elf's unease in Riordan going off-script.

"What? No, absolutely not!" Alistair's denial resounded through the chamber. "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?"

"The Joining is often fatal," Anora said. "If he lives through it, you will have another. If he dies, you will have your revenge. Does that not satisfy you?"

Alistair scowled, looking between Anora and Loghain.

"It is your call," Percival said softly, but he did not sheathe his sword, uncertain how he'd take it if Alistair went with the diplomatic option and made Loghain a Warden. Percy wasn't sure he would be able to respect a soldier who'd done so very much harm... and this was after he had people like Kazar and Garott among his ranks.

Alistair met Percy's eyes briefly, and Percival nodded, signalling that, even though he wouldn't like it, he'd abide by Alistair's decision. A Cousland stood by his king.

Alistair took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was resolute. "No, I can't do it. Letting him into the Wardens... just no." He took a step away from Anora, placing himself in front of the older man. "Loghain, you have been found guilty of crimes against Ferelden, and your king, and... common human decency. Because of you, hundreds have died, and more have lost their land to the Blight for your inaction. For these crimes, and others, you will be put to death."

"You can't do this," Anora said, barely keeping her calm against obvious panic. "My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

"Anora," Loghain said softly. "Hush. It's over." He looked over them with tired eyes, now, a wild animal finally tamed.

"Stop treating me like a child! This is serious!"

Loghain bowed his head, and it struck Percival that he appeared... at peace with this. It struck an old, aching chord in Percival, because his father had looked much the same, near the end. "Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

"Father-!" And there, her control broke, her head lowering into his hands.

Loghain didn't look up, simply waiting. Alistair nodded to Percival, and he returned it. Percy stepped up to the old man, this time encountering no resistance, and thrust his sword in neatly under the man's chestplate, piercing his heart. Loghain slumped with a final sigh, and Anora ran forward to catch her father and sob over his body. Percival gripped his father's sword tightly, her pain recalling echoes of his own. It was... awful. He wouldn't have been surprised if Anora turned and left Denerim, after this. He knew he could never hope to earn her forgiveness, honorable death or no. Just as he (and Alistair, it seemed) could never have forgiven Loghain for all the evil done under his command.

Sometimes, Percy was coming to realize, there were simply no right options.

"Now that that matter is settled," Eamon's grave voice resounded through the silent Landsmeet. "We must turn our attention forward. Alistair, will you accept your father's legacy and lead Ferelden in our time of need?"

The man looked pale. "Well... the darkspawn..."

"I think what he's trying to say, Arl Eamon," Finian cut in smoothly, because Anora, who should have been defending him, could not, "is that he cannot in good conscience claim any titles and honor until the darkspawn threat has been neutralized." Finian raised his voice, imbuing it with that supernatural ability to make the spirits around him soar. "As such, the king will be going into battle to fight alongside his countrymen, to beat back the Blight!" He raised a hand, and the nobles let out a muted cheer.

"And I hope," Alistair said, his voice not quite as effective as Finian's, "that you will all accept Percival Cousland as the interim leader of my armies." Surprisingly, this instigated another round of cheers, and Percy was flabbergasted.

"What, are you serious?" he asked softly.

Alistair cast him an echo of his old crooked smile. "If you're making me king, I'm taking you down with me." Finian sniggered. "Don't think you're getting away with this, either."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Finian said. The elf was practically glowing right now.

The nobles were coming down from the balconies to meet their new king, so Percival stepped back to give them room.

"That was well done, if perhaps with somewhat less disemboweling than expected."

He wasn't even surprised to hear that voice here. "Morrigan," he sighed, turning to give the witch a flat look. She leaned against the wall in a nearby alcove, eying him with silent challenge. "Is the concept of following orders simply beyond your comprehension?"

She sniffed in mild disdain. "I was not about to let you Wardens wander off into danger without my aide. The last time I allowed such a thing, you were trapped inside that stone tower for four days."

He glanced around and, sure enough, the other companions had snuck into the Landsmeet as well. Had Ser Cauthrien truly not stopped the Qunari from entering the Landsmeet, or had they done something to neutralize her?

"Loghain's watchdog is fine," Morrigan said. "She let us through when the bard explained that we were with you. You need not worry that undue harm came to her."

Percival snorted at how well she'd guessed his thoughts and turned to watch the nobles flock around Alistair like a new toy and offer Anora their condolences. Yet among all the bright, flashy finery, Percival found his eyes drawn to the the duller colors of the armor that his brother wore.

"I do not see the reason you must stare at him so," Morrigan broke in. "If you wish to speak with him, then stop moping like an abandoned dog and do so."

"I don't know how," he said stiffly. "We've no point of commonality."

"You are family, are you not?"

He swiveled to her in shock. "You care nothing for such things. You had us kill your mother, remember?"

"What I value is not the point, is it?" she said impatiently. "You find family important. Therefore, it stands that denying yourself such things when they are set before you is nothing but pointless self-flagellation."

Leave it to Morrigan to put things in stark perspective. Part of him was afraid that, were he to try, Fergus would realize how twisted and cold he'd become and reject him... but dwelling on such fears was only creating a different sort of misery. And Morrigan had no patience for self-inflicted misery.

"He thinks you're nothing but a fling, you know," he said.

"Am I not?"

He arched a brow at her. "Have you seen me flirting with any of the many, many ladies here? Who, I might add, would not go out of their way to be utterly vexing at every turn?"

"My, what a charmer you are." Her voice was imbued with warm sarcasm, and how was that possible, exactly?

"The point is, you're not a fling. It's one of the things that's changed about me, and I'm not sure he would understand."

She was silent for a moment, and the pair of them watched Fergus mingling with the rest of them, helping Eamon introduce an overwhelmed Alistair to a number of courtly figures.

"Perhaps," Morrigan said slowly, "if that is truly the case... then you should simply tell him so."

He turned to study her. She appeared deep in thought about something. "Tell him that you're important to me? You'd actually condone that."

There was challenge in her eyes, but also an unspoken fear. Fear of what, he could not fathom. "If that is indeed the case."

Slowly, he nodded. Then, seeing a break in the crowd, saw his chance to at least return the Highever sword and shield to Fergus. It was somewhat nerve-wracking, wading into the sea of nobility where he'd once felt at home, a long time ago... but he contented himself in the thought that Alistair was at least twice as uncomfortable as he was.

His brother turned to greet him and, eyes shining, said, "Good job, brother."

"That was quite impressive," a voice said nearby, and Percy turned to see Arl Bryland smiling at him. "I must say, when my daughter gushed about your handiness with a blade, I'd always thought she was being crass."

A flare of guilt flowered in his stomach. Habren had always had a bit of a crush on him.

"She may have been, even then, Leonas." This was another voice to Percy's other side, and he turned to see Arl Gallagher Wulff's grizzled gaze on him.

Something in Percy froze like a rabbit under the peruse of a hawk. The last time he had been this close to Arl Wulff, the older man had just caught Percival in bed with his twin nieces.

Percival bowed his head. "My lord, I must apo-"

"None of that," Wulff said, waving him gruffly to silence. "The boy who needed to make those apologies has obviously grown up into a good man." A heavy hand landed on Percival's shoulder, and he stared at the old Arl, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "I lost my boys to this damned Blight. So believe when I say that I will follow you, Percival Cousland, Grey Warden, and fight to the death at your side to see Ferelden freed from the darkspawn."

The nobles around them murmured assent, and Percival could barely speak through the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he managed.

"No, thank you," Arl Bryland said with a smile.

Arl Wulff stepped back, and cried, "Let's hear it for the Grey Wardens!"

A cheer went up through the hall, and Percival couldn't help a glance back at his fellow Wardens as they were showered with adulation. Kazar was nearly knocked over by an over-enthusiastic pat on the back.

"Lords and ladies," Percival called as the cheers died down, feeling a little more up to accepting the role Alistair had thrust upon him. "Gather your forces. Tomorrow, we march for Redcliffe!"

The cheer was deafening.