Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Takes place ten years or more after the events of Dragon Age: Origins, from the background of a female Human Noble pc who has recruited Loghain and persuaded an "altered" Alistair to marry Anora and rule as King despite his survival, and persuaded Loghain to perform the dark ritual with Morrigan. May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

Chapter Seven: Upon the Eve of Battle

"Not a half-bad army, I'd say," Elilia Cousland commented as she walked up and dropped to the ground behind Loghain, sitting back-to-back with him with her long legs outstretched before her. "You may thank me for my part in that later with extravagant gifts; jewels and precious metals will be sufficient."

Loghain snorted. "What use has a reckless battle maiden like you for diamonds and gold?"

"Well, I can always trade them for nice equipment," she said. "Speaking of, that couldn't possibly be the armor you're intending to wear tomorrow, could it?"

Loghain looked down at the sturdy leather armor he wore, heavy but nearly ten stone lighter than the massive plate he traditionally utilized. "It will suffice."

"It will suffice to get you promptly and efficiently slaughtered," she argued. "I know the way you fight - dear Maker, I counted on the way you fight. You take the hard hits so we poor lesser mortals needn't."

"That's the way I fight in plate, but it's not the only way I know to fight," Loghain countered.

"Ha. I'd bet anything its exactly the way you intend to fight tomorrow. If not, then why not toss that blasted shield aside and swing something with a bit more force behind it than that longsword?" She hefted her own enormous greatsword in illustration. "You can't act as an efficient defender when you're undefended yourself, Loghain."

"For my part of tomorrow's battle, what I'm wearing will suffice," he insisted. Elilia sighed, recognizing the tone of irrefutable resolution in his voice, and dropped the subject.

"I feel pretty good about the battle, don't you?" she said. "Once Orlais realizes we've got strength of arms and of allies, they should all run back home to Val Royeaux and not trouble us no more, right?"

"That's the hope," Loghain said noncommittally.

"I'm counting on my werewolves and golems to cause them to shit themselves, and with your battle plan we'll tear them apart."

"Yes."

"Loghain Mac Tir: A damned good fighter, but he talks too much. Can't get a word in edgewise."

"I'm only waiting for you to draw breath so that I may slip in a word or two."

She chuckled. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"I'm always worried before a battle. Any number of things can go disastrously wrong, no matter how solid the plan."

"Do you think Good King Alistair will be able to stay on that horse long enough to lead a charge?"

"That's one of the things I'm worried about."

"Then why make him command of a unit? Why not take Anora and Eamon instead?"

"Anora was right: Eamon is too fat and old to fight. And Alistair is King: if he manages to charge successfully, it will mean a thousand times more to the morale of our fighting men than if the Arl of Redcliffe did it. And he's not so bad ahorse as he thinks. Maric didn't figure out the fine art of staying in the saddle so quickly by twice again as long."

Elilia elbowed him in the side. "I didn't want to say anything about it, but you're how much older than Arl Eamon?"

"Probably not as much as you think," he said grimly. "Three or four years, if I remember what Rowan once told me arightly. But unlike Eamon I haven't spent my declining years with my ass planted firmly upon velvet cushions, eating candied grapes and Orlesian chocolates, wearing ridiculous velvet tunics and silk pantaloons."

"Personally I've always thought you'd look rather well in velvet tunics and silk pantaloons," Elilia said wickedly, "particularly if the silk pantaloons weren't cut quite full enough."

"Curb your tongue, you wretched harpy," Loghain said without rancor. He checked the spit he was turning. "Have you eaten yet? I believe this rabbit is nearly ready."

She laughed. "Why do you think I came over here? Life at camp improved greatly once you took over for Alistair as cook."

"You're a worse cadger than that dog of yours was," Loghain growled. He cut off a generous portion of the sizzling meat and gave it to her. "Bon appetit, as our perfumed and painted foes say."

"Feels just like old times, doesn't it?" she commented before rendering herself speechless with a huge bite torn directly from the carcass with her teeth.

Just like old times. Yes, indeed, it did feel just like old times, although the old times he felt were older than the woman who accompanied him. He'd told the Warden once that the past was always with you, and attempting to ignore it was both impossible and potentially disastrous. But he'd never felt so locked within the past as he did now. Any moment Maric would come bounding up to him, eager and friendly as a particularly enthusiastic - not to say stupid - dog, and perhaps Rowan would come along behind him, always more sober than her betrothed but laughing with her eyes and mouth, and they would sit by his fire and tease him unmercifully, each in their own way.

"Loghain, has anybody ever told you that you have the prettiest eyes?" Maric might say, for it was his favorite gibe to compliment too fulsomely and upon things Loghain considered inconsequential, and his eyes were a frequent target. "Don't you agree, Rowan? Doesn't Loghain have the prettiest eyes?"

Rowan would nod, straightfaced and dry as toast. "They are rather pretty eyes, Maric, yes."

"They are pretty. They're like two portholes looking out upon the Waking Sea, don't you think?"

"Or drops of Lake Calenhad."

"Oh no, no no, Lake Calenhad is far too dark and murky," Maric would object. "No, they're definitely the color of the Waking Sea. And what I like best about them is, if you look very closely, you can see the Kraken swimming 'round in them."

And finally Loghain, equal parts exasperated and amused, would snap, "How many times a day, Maric, must I threaten your life?"

"What are you grinning about?" Maric asked. Loghain blinked three times rapidly and the face resolved into that of the current King and the phantoms of the past vanished.

"Just a ridiculous memory," Loghain said. "Is anything wrong?"

"No. Just been going around the camp with Anora, trying to boost morale. It's pretty high already, though, with the Warden's reinforcements and all. Everyone seems to feel we stand a damned good chance tomorrow. I still wish you'd try and talk the Queen out of leading a charge. She'd listen to you."

Loghain chuckled ruefully. "What gives you that idea?" he said. "Anora has been gleefully rejecting my suggestions and ignoring my commands since she was first born."

"Maybe so, but you could pick her up and lock her in a closet, or something."

"Didn't work out so well when Howe tried it, as I was told."

"Well, yes, but that's because I came along and killed Howe," Elilia pointed out, through a mouthful of rabbit.

"Which you wouldn't have done had I not sent Erlina to convince you to do so," Anora interjected, coming up out of the shadows. She was resplendent in mail of volcanic aurum, gleaming red-gold in the firelight. She looked every inch the warrior queen as she stood beside her warrior husband, and if anything more imposing despite her smaller size.

Loghain picked a shred of meat off the rabbit's flank, popped it in his mouth, and chewed reflectively. "Well," he said after he swallowed, "I suppose I could toss Erlina in the closet with you. You'd want some company after all."

"Try it and see what it gets you."

He laughed. "Tough talk, small one. Consider yourself fortunate that I find myself disinclined to make the effort."

"That and a lack of ready wardrobes," Elilia said.

"Can't I convince you not to do this?" Alistair asked Anora seriously.

"No, husband, you cannot."

"Anora, I'm afraid."

She blinked at him in surprise. "Of course you are. It's a battle - everyone is afraid. But we all have a duty to perform, and we will all do what we must. Ferelden depends upon it."

He made some effort to speak, but was unable to find words. So instead of speaking he stepped forward and wrapped his wife in a tight embrace. She returned his affections awkwardly, eyes wide at the shock of it. He kissed her on the cheek and said "I love you" in a voice hoarse with emotion.

"Ooooooooo," Elilia hooted. Loghain tossed a glare over his shoulder at her and she shrugged at him. "Well, Leliana wasn't here to do it, so I felt obliged."

"Sometimes I can't imagine how you possibly managed to defeat me."

"You wanted me to."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't try and bullshit me, milord. If you didn't want me to win that duel we had you'd never have taken a knee, out of breath or not - and don't think I didn't notice that you stopped panting in roughly two seconds. You yielded, Loghain, and you're not exactly one for surrender. The most immediate and inarguable reason I had for not executing you as Al wanted. There were other reasons, of course, but I don't care to divulge them as you'd only get a swelled head," she said in a hoity-toity manner.

"Give me one other reason you had," Loghain said suspiciously.

"Well, you blew me off my sodding feet with a war cry. I respect that."

He snorted and let the subject by. The King and Queen were walking back to their pavilion, arms linked, oblivious to the exchange. He watched them for a moment, feeling oddly satisfied. He never would have thought his undemonstrative, dry-witted girl would find love and happiness with such a man as Alistair, but she seemed to have done and he was glad of it.

"Hmm, wonder if they'll manage to get any sleep tonight," Elilia said, peering over his shoulder at them.

"Arrest that lunatic mouth," Loghain warned. "I'll not hear crude speculations upon my daughter and her lawfully wedded husband."

She grinned, laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. "I seem to remember you telling me that you have trouble sleeping before a battle," she said while he sat stunned. "If you want to join me in my tent, there's an old remedy for insomnia we could try. I'd suggest it to the royal couple, but I think they're probably already putting it to use."

He turned his head and looked at her, agape. "Now I know you're mad," he said. "Either that or I am. You are not suggesting what it seems you are, you couldn't be."

"I believe I am suggesting what my friend and fellow Warden Oghren would call 'bucking the midnight horse.' Does that truly make me mad?"

"The last time you came to me at night before a battle you persuaded me into sleeping with that blasted witch. Now you want me to sleep with you?"

"I know I'm not as beautiful as Morrigan, but I didn't think you'd mind that."

"Beauty's not the question here, 'tis sanity."

"Well, that time I was concerned with survival - yours and mine. This time…let's just say I've missed you."

"Like an impacted tooth. Why in the Maker's holy name would you want to sleep with me?"

"Because you're a nasty, rotten, grey-haired old man with a dreadful disposition, virtually no personality and a face like a collapsed lung. I find that incredibly attractive."

He pushed her away, half-laughing. "You hussy. Quit teasing me, it's beneath you."

"You ought to have learned, Loghain - nothing is beneath me. But I'd genuinely like you to be. You can be over me, too, if you've the stamina. Somehow I suspect you do."

He stared at her and his grin slowly faded. She knew as much about the womanly arts of seduction as a maul, but despite the mockery in her words she was serious, Maker save him. It was shocking, but more surprising still was that he found himself wanting to take her up on the offer.

No matter how tomorrow goes for the nation at large, you know full well this is like to be Loghain's Last Charge. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory.

"'Face like a collapsed lung?'" he parroted. "What exactly does a collapsed lung look like, pray tell, and how did you come to be aware of it?"

"Come to my tent, and I'll tell you all about a little Qunari tradition I've learned of called the 'Blood Eagle.'"

He stood up and pulled her to her feet along with him. "If I come to your tent, Warden, there'll be no further talking."

Her lips, as always painted slaughterous red, curved in a salacious smile. "Works out perfectly for me."