A/N: New chapter as promised :). Next one should continue on the biweekly schedule and be up two Mondays from now. As a side note, I can't believe I've been working on this for two years now! But we should be getting to the end soon. Hope you all enjoy the new chapter!
Thanks as always to those who have favorited, followed, and read. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
Special thanks go to the reviewers of last chapter: Akakoken, WolFang1011, V (I hope the scene between Aedan and Howe is everything you wanted it to be), Jade Octahedron, Candle in the Night, and to The Cynical Prince, lucky winner of the gift fic for the 150th review! Hearing from you guys always totally makes my day and I hope to continue hearing from you all, and anyone else who would like to comment!
AS ALWAYS, PLEASE REVIEW EVERYBODY! I WILL DO ANOTHER GIFT FIC FOR THE 200TH REVIEW!
Disclaimer: DA and its original characters and dialogue are not mine. Everything else from this story is.
Chapter 45: Blood for Blood
Normally, Aedan was good at keeping his emotions in check, or at least enough that they were not visible to others. It was a point of pride for him, and one of the lessons his father had taught him and Fergus that he had said was vital for being an effective ruler. Now, however, as he stood in front of the door where Howe was, he could no longer contain his absolute fury.
It had been easy enough not to think about Howe and the loss of his family for the most part during the Blight; he'd had so many other things to do and plan and worry about that he'd been too busy to dwell on it much. He suspected that being a Warden, and being thrust into the position of leadership for the Wardens, had saved his sanity. That along with his friends and Morrigan, of course. He didn't even want to think of what he would have become if he had been left to his own devices following Highever.
That being said, the few times he had been reminded of Howe or his family, he had been completely incapable of containing his emotions. Standing face-to-face with Howe in Eamon's hall and not attacking him had taken every ounce of his willpower – and Alistair's frequent reminders. But now he no longer had to hold back – Howe was just on the other side of that door, and he could do as pleased with him. And the depths of the rage washing through his body and misting his vision with red were frightening even to him, but he had no idea how to contain it.
He barely even heard Alistair's words or felt Morrigan's hand on his shoulder as he reached for the door and wrenched it open, stalking through. And there stood Howe in the middle of the room, two guards and two mages with him, a slightly startled look passing across his face as he turned to the door before a smug smile replaced it. How had he never seen how sickening that smile was before? Aedan wondered, halting just a few feet away from Howe, struggling to contain a feral growl as the others entered the room behind him.
"Well, well," Howe drawled, arms crossed over his chest. "Bryce Cousland's little boy, all grown up, and still trying to fit into daddy's armor. I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here. But then, I never thought you'd live, either."
"Why?" Aedan demanded, his voice and body shaking with fury. Some part of him still wanted to understand why the man he had once thought of as his uncle, who had read him stories and tossed him in the air as a child, would have done such a thing. No excuse would be acceptable, of course, but he just didn't understand why. "Why did you do it? Why would you betray us, Howe? My father was your friend!"
"Why?" Howe snarled, throwing his arms out. "He was a traitor to me and a coward to his nation! Trips to Orlais, gifts from old enemies; all while I sank in obscurity. Your family squandered glory that was rightfully mine. How suitable that their deaths should raise me to the ear of a king. If you think you can take this from me, that I will allow it, you are very much mistaken!"
"You did it for greed? For glory?" Aedan bit out with incredulous fury. "Then I never knew you at all, Uncle Rendon." Unable to hold back any longer, he drew his greatsword before launching himself furiously at Howe.
"No, you didn't, little Aedan," Howe returned with a sneer, meeting his assault with axe in one hand and dagger in the other as the battle began.
He didn't bother to call out instructions to the others; he was too furious to worry about any opponent but Howe, and he trusted them to watch his back and know how best to deal with their opponents. This was proved to be right when one mage was suddenly unable to cast a spell, while the other's lightning that was directed at him bounced harmlessly off a shield that Morrigan had placed around him. The two guards racing to Howe's aid were stopped by Zevran and Ayla, leaving Howe to face him alone.
"Don't you want to hear what happened?" Howe taunted him as they danced around each other, greatsword repeatedly meeting axe and dagger. "Wouldn't you like to know how your mother begged for mercy on her knees, promising to do anything I wanted if only I let her live?"
Aedan gave an inarticulate roar of fury in reply as he swung with all his strength at Howe, his body overwhelmed with a feral rage he could no longer control. Howe tried to block the blow, and his smug smile faltered as he was thrown back off his feet from the sheer force behind the swing.
Howe managed to scramble to his feet before Aedan reached him, and the battle continued as Howe tried desperately to defend himself before the strength of Aedan's rage. Howe was an experienced fighter, and twenty years ago, he might have stood a chance against Aedan, but he no longer had the stamina to keep up with a younger, stronger man. Aedan could tell he'd been banking on his speed to win, but he had nothing on either Zevran or Ayla, both of whom had sparred with him many nights over the past months. Howe was finished, and Aedan could tell from the increasingly desperate look in his eyes that he knew it, too.
He was just playing with Howe now; a slice here, a slice there past his defense, cutting through his leather armor, making him bleed in as many places as he could without bringing him down yet. He wanted to see the fear grow in Howe's eyes as he realized there was nothing he could do to stop his own death. He wanted Howe to beg and plead with him. He wanted him to cry; he wanted to break this man who had taken everything from him, break him until there was nothing left but a sobbing shell.
He barely even noted the fact that the other sounds of battle in the room had stopped, or that Alistair murmured something and Ayla replied something to the effect of, "Let him do what he wants." His world had narrowed down to his sword, to Howe's blood on it, to the fear growing in the old man's eyes and the sweat dripping down his face, mingling with the bloody gash across one cheek.
Finally, Howe stumbled over the body of one of his mages and fell to the ground, his axe spinning away across the room as he landed hard on his back. He might have begged or pleaded; if he did, Aedan didn't notice when he kicked the dagger away and stepped on Howe's hand until he heard the bones snap. All he heard was Howe's delicious cry of pain; all he saw was the beautiful fear in his eyes as he planted his foot on Howe's chest next until he struggled to breathe, his face turning purple.
Aedan finally took his foot off his chest then, only to toss aside his sword and pull a dagger out of his pouch. He didn't normally use anything but his greatsword; this, however, was a present he'd planned to give Oren while Fergus was away, while he taught him how to fight as he'd promised. It only seemed fitting to use it now, when all he could think of, all he could see when he looked at the broken, bleeding man before him, was the burning, the fighting, the death, his nephew's lifeless eyes staring up at him, the last glimpse of his parents before he'd been forced to escape and leave them behind.
He crouched next to Howe, dagger poised above his leg. "Where's that smug smile of yours now, Howe, huh?" He slammed the dagger into Howe's thigh and twisted, listening to the scream the man gave with a sick joy singing in his heart. He pulled the dagger out before demanding, "How about you tell me again how I have no blood rights?"
He stabbed Howe's other leg, ignoring the babbling and pleading coming out of his mouth. "Aedan, please, Aedan, I was mistaken. I was . . . jealous of your father's successes, while I could do nothing but fail. I . . . I tried to be strong but I . . ." his words ended in a scream as Aedan drew the dagger downwards, opening up a long, vicious gash in his thigh.
"I will take my blood rights now." He yanked the dagger out of Howe's thigh, leaning up to whisper in his ear, "I will take every drop of your blood in exchange for that which you spilled." He stabbed Howe in the shoulder next, twisting hard again, taking a savage glee from the tears that streamed out of the older man's eyes now as he pleaded breathlessly for mercy.
He stabbed him in the other shoulder next, and had just stabbed Howe in the gut when he heard Alistair say behind him, "Aedan, stop. You've defeated him, it's all over." Alistair pulled him backwards, away from Howe.
He shot to his feet and shoved Alistair out of the way; his vision was still misted over with rage, his body was still aching for vengeance. Howe hadn't cried enough, hadn't screamed enough; not enough to drown out the sounds of Highever burning and his family dying. "It's not over until I say it's over," he snarled. "Don't stop me again unless you want to be next."
He didn't see it coming, but he did feel it when Alistair's fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. It was like getting doused with cold water when one was still half asleep; all his senses returned to him with a sudden jolt, his vision clearing, the haze of rage leaving his brain. Had he really just threatened his brother? he wondered, shocked at himself. He looked at the others behind Alistair. Ayla and Zevran's expressions were unreadable; Morrigan looked concerned, while Alistair himself just looked disappointed. Shame washed through him, dousing any remaining traces of his fury.
"Maker, Alistair, I'm sorry. I – I don't know what I was thinking – I was just so angry. I - I don't know what to say." He glanced behind him at Howe; he hadn't even realized that Howe had already stopped pleading, that the wounds he'd given him had caused him to bleed out, that his vengeance was done. Alistair had been right to stop him. After all, wasn't that one of the reasons he'd brought him along, because he was the only one likely to actually be a voice of reason in this matter?
"Don't worry about it," Alistair replied, shaking his head, the disappointment gone as Aedan turned back to look his Warden brother in the eye. "You obviously weren't yourself. Sorry for punching you," he added with a rueful grin.
Aedan smiled faintly, feeling relieved that it seemed he'd been forgiven already. Though his jaw where Alistair had struck him did hurt, it wasn't that bad, making him realize that Alistair had not hit him nearly as hard as he could have. "No, don't be; I needed that," he answered honestly.
"Well, now that is done with," Zevran began, "there is one more locked door here. There may be more prisoners in need of rescue, but none of the others had the key."
Which meant that Howe must have it, Aedan realized. But he didn't know if he could even bear to look at the man again, so he gestured to Zevran as he crossed the room to Morrigan, "Feel free to check for it. I'm . . . done."
Zevran nodded, going past him to Howe, exclaiming a moment later, "Ah, this must be it! Shall we go have a look?"
Having just reached Morrigan, Aedan turned to look at the others. "Could you . . . go ahead without me? I . . . need a minute."
Alistair met his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Of course. We'll be right back. Come on, let's go." He held a hand out to Ayla, who took it and followed him and Zevran over to the other door in the room, the three of them heading through it, leaving Aedan and Morrigan alone.
The concern for him was still plain on Morrigan's face, but she said nothing, merely held her arms open to him. Relieved beyond words, he reached for her blindly, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He could hardly believe that she went willingly, returning his embrace, giving him the quiet comfort and reassurance he so desperately needed. Any other woman he'd ever known would have been horrified at what they'd just witnessed, would likely never want anything to do with him ever again. Not his beautiful witch though, the woman he loved more than anything else he had left in this world. Right at this moment, she was one of the only things in his world that made any sense, that kept his heart beating. And now, he had to re-orient himself to a world that no longer held any part of his family, not even the means to obtain vengeance for them.
He could no longer distract himself, could no longer push aside his grief. He had to face the fact that they were really and truly gone, that nothing could ever bring them back. He was left hollow in a world without them, with nothing left to hold onto but his grief and despair over losing them. So he wasn't surprised when he began to cry silently, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking with its long-held grief while Morrigan stroked his hair in comfort. Mother, Father, Oren, Oriana, Fergus, everyone – I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry that this was all I could do for you, was all he could think as he let everything out in his love's arms.
"He'll be all right, now that it's all over." Alistair looked down at Ayla as she said this, smiling reassuringly up at him as she squeezed his hand.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, shaking his head as they followed Zevran through the hallway towards the next set of cells. He'd never seen Aedan like that before, hadn't realized the true depths of his fury. He hadn't seemed like himself at all, and the only thing Alistair could think of to do was try to shock him back to himself. Fortunately it seemed to have worked; that terrible, glazed expression of black fury had left his face when Alistair had punched him.
"I'm sure," she replied quietly, nodding her head, a far-away look in her eyes. "He just needed to let everything out. Now that he has, he can start to be himself again, to figure out what he's going to do now. With our help, of course."
"I found more prisoners," Zevran called out just then from ahead of them, and the two of them hurried to catch up.
They reached Zevran just as he stopped in front of a cell containing a young, blonde man dressed in what had once been fine silks, though they were tattered, dirty and bloody now. "Hmm? Who's there? Stay away! You can't do this to me! I'll have you all flayed! I'm the arl of Denerim!" he ranted, sneering angrily at the three of them.
"Arl Urien died at Ostagar," Alistair replied, frowning. This fellow's attitude wasn't making him feel inclined to rescue him. "Who are you?"
"I'm Vaughan Kendells, heir to the arling of Denerim!" the young man snapped back. "It's true! Too many of our troops were lost at Ostagar. When the riots started, Howe came with men to reinforce the garrison here. Or that's what he claimed. As soon as I let him into the palace, he threw me in here. 'One more victim of the elven uprising,' he said. Let me out of here! I'll do anything."
"You're the arl's son that elf mentioned . . ." Ayla said slowly, looking disgusted.
Alistair remembered the tale that Soris had told them all too well; this man was the one who'd abducted an elven woman from the alienage to rape. "So you're Vaughan?" he asked, scowling, noticing the look of fury on Zevran's face as well. If any of Howe's prisoners deserved their fate down here, it was this man.
Vaughan didn't bother to answer their questions, his eyes darting around frantically as he said, "In my room, there's a lockbox full of sovereigns. Free me, and the key is yours."
"What, you're not even going to explain or defend yourself, just try to bribe us?" Alistair asked incredulously. Not that he would have bought an excuse anyway, but he would have expected that the man attempt it, at least. Now he really didn't feel like letting this man go free. He looked to Ayla, silently asking her opinion; she shook her head, scowling. They could always use money, but no way would he take anything offered by this man. "You like to torture elves, from what I've heard. It seems only fair we let an elf decide your fate. He's all yours, Zevran."
"Ah, thank you, my Warden friend," Zevran replied, sweeping him an approving bow before turning to Vaughan, grinning maliciously at him. "We shall see if we can get you to respect elves now."
"No, you can't do this to me! I'm the rightful Arl of Denerim now!" Vaughan screamed, backing away as Zevran opened the cage door with the key he carried, drawing one of his daggers.
Alistair and Ayla headed further down the hallway to check out the other cells while they left Zevran to do as he pleased, ignoring the pleading screams coming from behind them. They only found one more man in the remaining cells, a red-haired man with a full beard, dressed only in his smallclothes. He was kneeling on the floor of his cell, praying to Andraste when they came upon him. He glanced up, his eyes landing on Ayla first, blinking blearily up at her as he asked faintly, "Alfstanna . . . is that you, little sister? No . . . I don't know you . . . do I? Are you real?"
Ayla looked back at Alistair, a slightly alarmed expression on her face, before she turned back and answered the man softly, "I am real, yes, but who are you?"
"I . . . I'm Irminric, knight-lieutenant of the Denerim chantry," the man replied slowly. Alistair sighed as the reason for the man's odd behavior became suddenly clear to him. "You . . . aren't one of the teyrn's guards?" Irminric asked.
"He sounds like he's in lyrium withdrawal," Alistair whispered into Ayla's ear. He'd fortunately never experienced it himself, but he'd seen it with other Templars, and had it explained to him enough to know it when he saw it. And it never failed to horrify him when he came across it. "He's got all the signs: confusion, weepiness . . . he probably doesn't even know what he's saying. If the grand cleric knew he were in here, she'd be spitting hot coals. Nobles don't have authority over Templars."
"I . . . I failed in my duties," Irminric was saying, apparently having forgotten they were there as he pleaded to the heavens, "Maker, forgive me. I failed, and there's no telling what he's done . . ."
Ayla had been frowning at Alistair's explanation, but now she turned back to Irminric. "What? What who's done? Who are you talking about?"
"The maleficar," the Templar answered, focusing on Ayla again as he explained slowly, as though trying to gather his thoughts, "He had turned blood magic upon Templars and Circle Mages to escape from his tower. Near Redcliffe, I cornered him . . . But the Teyrn's men took him from me . . . and brought me here . . ."
Alistair frowned. This story was sounding awfully familiar. "This maleficar, was his name Jowan?"
"Yes," Irminric replied, nodding, confirming Alistair's suspicions. "He . . . destroyed his phylactery . . . we were spread out, trying to find him . . . I was alone. I . . ." he hesitated, looking at the two of them again. By now, Zevran had caught up to them and handed the key over to Ayla, who opened the Templar's cell door as he continued, "You are real, aren't you? My dreams are . . . so strange now. Please, if you're not a dream, help me."
"You . . . you do realize the cell door is open now, right?" Ayla asked, looking disturbed as she stood back from the door, waving her arm at the free space. "You're free to go if you like."
Irminric shook his head, not even bothering to get up from his knees. "No one can free me from failure, save blessed Andraste."
Alistair sighed heavily. It was unlikely anything they could say would get through to the man. Maybe his sister would be able to help him, especially if she brought some lyrium along. "What would you like us to do?" he asked the Templar quietly, crouching in front of him.
Irminric took a large signet ring off his finger, handing it to Alistair. "Give this ring . . . to my sister, Alfstanna. Tell her . . . tell her I'm sorry. Please. Ask her . . . to pray for me."
"Of course." Alistair took the ring, tucking it in his pouch, before he stood up and turned to leave, steering Ayla gently before him. Zevran followed them, frowning as he glanced back at the man, but he didn't say anything.
"But . . . we're not just going to leave him there, are we?" Ayla demanded as they made their way back through the room.
Alistair shook his head regretfully. "We won't be able to get through to him when he's like that. We'll just have to send his sister to him, along with some lyrium. That's what happens when you stop taking lyrium cold. It's not pretty. You have to wean off it slowly, if you want to try to stop taking it."
"The Chantry's Templars – they are addicted to lyrium?" Zevran looked incredulously at him as they went along the hallway.
Alistair nodded, noticing the appalled look on Ayla's face as well. "That's how they have the strength to battle mages – by taking lyrium. It fuels a Templar's powers, just like it fuels a mage's powers, only in different ways. I was fortunate enough to never start taking the stuff before Duncan recruited me for the Wardens."
"Lucky for you," the elf agreed, looking vaguely disturbed.
"I'm glad you didn't," Ayla said softly. "I could not bear to see you like that."
"You won't," he promised her. "I don't intend to ever take it." As he said it, he was grateful all over again to Duncan for getting him out of that life; he didn't want to ever become like Irminric, either, even if it meant he wouldn't be as useful at handling mages as a full Templar would be.
At that moment, they re-entered the room where they had left Aedan and Morrigan; the two were wrapped in each other's arms, having a very obviously private moment, and Alistair felt bad for walking in on it. He halted several feet away, as did the other two, but Morrigan had already seen them over Aedan's shoulder; she whispered something to him, and he raised his head, pulling back from her. He stood with his back to them for a moment, clearly gathering himself, before he turned to face them, clearing his throat, his eyes rimmed with red. "So, what did you find? Anything?"
Alistair explained about the two prisoners and what they'd elected to do with them, wondering if Aedan would approve his choices. He needn't have worried; Aedan nodded at both answers before asking, "So it's true, then, that Loghain took Jowan away from Chantry justice?"
"We have the proof," Alistair agreed, "now that we've found the Templar that caught him. The Chantry has never been a big fan of Wardens, but if the grand cleric finds out what Loghain has done to one of her Templars, she'll be completely furious. The Chantry would never put their support behind him after that."
Aedan smiled, looking the happiest he had since they'd arrived in Denerim. "That is good news, indeed. If we can pull Chantry support away from Loghain, that will give us a big advantage. We'll have a bigger one yet if we get Anora on our side, so let's get going. One of those mages must have been the one that cast that shield."
Alistair nodded in agreement, and after Aedan had collected his weapons, they all headed back out of the dungeon and to the room where Anora waited. Upon arriving there, they found that the shield was indeed gone from the door, and Erlina opened it when she saw them, revealing Anora in a guard uniform.
As soon as she spotted them, the queen went immediately to Aedan and hugged him, a hug which Aedan returned, causing Alistair's jaw to drop in surprise. He glanced quickly at Morrigan, who looked less than pleased, though she didn't say anything, as Anora said, "My thanks, Aedan. I am so glad to see you again, and most grateful to you for your rescue."
Aedan smiled as he pulled back from the queen, looking genuinely pleased to see her. "You're most welcome, Anora. It's nice to see you again, as well, though you look a bit different than the last time I saw you." He tapped on the guard's plate lightly. "What's with the disguise?"
"Because there are two sorts of people in this house: those loyal to Howe, and those loyal to me," the queen explained. "If Howe's people find me, I'll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace . . . where my father may also have me killed."
"You really believe that he would do that?" Aedan asked, frowning, and Alistair had to agree that he wondered also. In spite of all the lines Loghain had crossed, would he really endanger his daughter's life?
"I . . . cannot say for certain, not anymore," Anora replied sadly, looking distraught at the thought, before she continued, "And I am not willing to take that chance."
"No, you're right, of course," Aedan replied. "We'll get you out of here and back to Eamon's estate without letting anyone know who you are, if we can help it." He turned to Alistair and the others, declaring, "Let's go before someone realizes what we did."
"I think it might be too late for that," Ayla muttered as Aedan led them towards the main hall they'd passed through earlier. "Something doesn't feel right."
Before Alistair could ask her just what that was, they entered the hall, and he heard the sound of swords being drawn and bowstrings being pulled. Their group froze in the hall as they spotted Loghain's female soldier, Cauthrien, blocking their way out, along with two dozen guards, weapons all trained on them. Maker's breath, Alistair thought, appalled. How were they going to get out of this one?
"Wardens!" Cauthrien bellowed as soon as she spotted them, pointing her sword at them. "In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms. Surrender, and you may be shown mercy."
"Oh, blood and damnation," Aedan growled under his breath.
"What are we going to do now?" Alistair hissed. While it was possible they might be able to fight their way out, it was unlikely against that many guards, especially when they were armed with bows. The chances of someone getting seriously injured or killed were high, and he wasn't willing to risk Ayla like that if he had any choice.
"What we have to," Aedan muttered, before holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture and taking a couple of steps towards Cauthrien. "You don't know the whole story, here. If we stand down, will you allow the others with us to go free?"
Cauthrien considered him for a moment before nodding briefly. "I will, if you are willing to go peacefully. Loghain doesn't care about the rest of your companions, just you two Wardens."
"No, you can't!" Ayla cried, at the same time as Morrigan snapped, "I will not allow it, Aedan."
Both women looked obviously distressed, even Morrigan, but Alistair was as relieved as he could be under the circumstances. If they would let all the others leave unharmed, that was all he could hope for, and he was in perfect agreement with Aedan on this one.
Looking at them both, Aedan turned to Cauthrien. "Give us a moment to speak to our companions in private, Cauthrien, if you wish to keep all your men."
The woman nodded stiffly. "Very well."
Aedan drew them all a little ways back before turning to everyone and saying simply, "This is the way it has to be. You all have to escape and get Anora back to Eamon's safely. They won't kill us, not right away."
"No," Zevran agreed quietly, his expression unreadable, "they will torture you first, to find out everything that you know. Perhaps to draw false confessions from you, as well."
"Alistair, please," Ayla begged him, taking his hands in hers as she looked up at him, the grief and distress on her features clear. "Please don't make me leave you behind."
"You have to, love," he replied firmly, squeezing her hands in turn. He could overhear Aedan having a similar whispered argument with Morrigan as he continued, "If we tried to fight our way out, the chances are too high someone would get hurt or killed. This is the best way, you know it is."
"No, I don't," she retorted, and though her tone started out angry, her voice cracked on the last bit. "You can't – you can't ask me to leave you behind, knowing that they're going to hurt you. Please don't do this."
He could see the tears starting to pool in her eyes, though they had not spilled over yet, and it was breaking his heart that she was begging him like this and he couldn't do as she asked. But there was no way he would risk her safety, not even to make her happy, and so he couldn't give in. He shook his head regretfully. "You have to go, love. I'd rather take the chance that I might be tortured than take the chance that you might be killed." He dropped his voice a little bit more, continuing, "You have to get Anora out of here – it's part of our whole plan for our future, remember? Get her to Eamon's safely, and then you can come rescue us, all right?"
She was shaking her head frantically. "I – I know what you're saying, Alistair. But if I leave you here, and something happens to you and I don't get you back – I can't – I wouldn't be able to . . ." she broke off and simply shook her head again, the tears spilling over.
He looked over her head at Aedan and Zevran, pleading silently, desperately for their help. He couldn't take seeing her like this, and he didn't know what else to say. Aedan had finally convinced Morrigan; she looked extremely pissed with him and upset in general, but she was no longer protesting, at least. At Alistair's look, Aedan came over and turned Ayla to face him, hands on her shoulders as he stated, in a tone that brooked no argument, "You have to go and get everyone out of here. I'm not asking you, this is an order, soldier. Got it?" Alistair saw his quick glance to Morrigan and back, and the desperation in his brother Warden's gaze must have been enough, for Ayla nodded slowly.
As Aedan released her, relief clear on his face, Zevran came up to her and added, "Come, my dear, we must go." He whispered something else in her ear that Alistair didn't catch, and she nodded more firmly before turning back to Alistair, her face set now with determination.
"All right, I'll go," she told him at last, and he nearly sagged with relief as she continued in a low tone, "But you had better survive long enough for me to come get you, Alistair, or I will never forgive you. Do you understand?"
"Of course, I understand. I'll be waiting when you come to get me," he promised her in a low voice, glancing at Cauthrien over her shoulder. She was now tapping her foot with impatience. He wanted to kiss her once more before she left, but he didn't think he'd have the strength to let her go again if he did, so he merely said instead, "Now go, love, please. And . . . thank you," he added as she turned to leave, Zevran, Anora, Erlina, and Morrigan following her.
Morrigan gave Aedan one last glance, anger and grief burning in her eyes as she stated, "I shall hold you to that, as well."
Aedan merely nodded, the resolve firm on his face as he watched them leave. Cauthrien and her guards parted, allowing them to pass through the doors before she advanced on the two of them.
"Grey Wardens, you are under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms, treason against Regent Loghain and Queen Anora, and for your order's betrayal of King Cailan. Surrender your weapons and come peacefully."
Alistair scowled at the mention of betrayal, but turned over his sword and shield peacefully enough as Aedan turned in his weapons as well. They allowed the guards to bind their hands behind their backs before Cauthrien marched them off through the door, the guards surrounding them to prevent any escape. As they were marched off through the night, Alistair hoped that he could keep his promise to Ayla, and that he would see her again soon and be with her some place where they would both be safe.