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: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: In response to a recent review I suggested that I suspected Loghain was based in part on the historical figure of William Wallace, who fought for Scottish independence and was memorialized badly by Mel Gibson on the silver screen. Well that's only one of the influences I draw my particular idea of the character from. Some chapters ago I mentioned Shaka Zulu (the legend of that King at least), and I also see a bit of General William Tecumseh Sherman in Loghain, marching to Atlanta leaving scorched earth and wailing widows in his wake. There is a LOT of George Smith Patton ("Remember that no bastard has ever won a war by dying for his country; he won it by making some OTHER poor bastard die for HIS country" - immortal words I am sure Loghain would agree with wholeheartedly) and there is even a touch of Don Quixote in there, too. But in this chapter we see a little of the brutality of the Wallachian prince Vlad Tepes, who achieved his immortality by making a family nickname so infamous that one of the greatest monsters in horror fiction bears his likeness. Not that Vaughan doesn't have it coming.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Pointed Message

For hours Champion stood outside the great barred gate and barked, snarled, and growled imprecations at the bone-headed human who denied her entrance. If she were but full-grown he would not be so foolish; his rusty iron chainmail would not stand as sufficient protection from her teeth once they were powered by adult mabari jaw muscles. She had to get inside the walled-off place where her master had gone, even though he had commanded her to stay out. Her place was to be at his side through any danger, and danger lurked within. She smelled sickness and despair in there.

Tired and thirsty, she laid off barking for a time and simply whined plaintively. "Look, I know you want in, but you ought to know well's I do that you just don't go against Loghain Mac Tir's express orders," the guard said. "Sure, maybe he wouldn't take it out on you if I let you in, but think of what he'd do to me! I've got a wife and four little ones depending on me, I can't throw my life away like that."

Champion lay down in the street, covered her face with her front paws, and howled mutedly.

"Here, now, don't carry on so. The next watch will be coming on soon - when I'm relieved I'll get you a nice hambone and a bowl of clean water. I'm sure your master will be just fine and he'll be out before nightfall."

He was as good as his word. Champion accepted the food and water with a bitter sort of resignation and gnawed aggressively at the bone, sawing through to the marrow within. It helped a little, but she remained angry and depressed. The guards were only being properly submissive to an Alpha human, it wasn't really their fault she was on the wrong side of the wall. She heaved a great sigh and rested her head on one paw to wait, listless and dejected.

It was nearly evening before the gate shook beneath the blow of a heavy fist. "Open up, damn you," the master's voice bellowed out quite clearly from behind it. The guardsman that had replaced the other nearly fell over himself to obey as swiftly as possible. Champion rose to her feet, tail a-wag. The door swung open and the master ducked out from under the rising portcullis before it was fairly off the ground and the guard made as if to lower it again just as quickly. "Don't close it. The alienage is no longer under quarantine - by my orders."

"Er…yes, Ser," the guard said, a bit doubtfully.

Champion ran to meet her master and crouched tensely. She knew it was a crime to Jump Up On, but her happiness needed outlet, so she gave vent to a high leap in the air and spun around three times quickly and leaped again. She might have continued in that manner for some time if a shocking event hadn't squashed her enthusiasm.

With a gibber of Orlesian that encompassed the phrase "belle chien," a small, skinny human-like being darted out from behind the master and threw itself upon her. She sat back on her haunches, affronted and bemused, too astonished by the liberty even to growl.

"Chatterly, it's not particularly wise to leap out at a strange dog like that," the Master said, "even if that dog is not a mabari war hound. Fair warning."

Champion extricated herself from the small man's embrace with some difficulty and attempted to regain her composure. She knew elves, she didn't particularly mind them, and this one was apparently now an attachment of her master much as the magic-smelling female was an attachment of her master's mate. But if this one flung himself at her again she would take exception to it with her teeth. He clearly needed to learn his proper place. The Master was at the top of this pack, Champion below him, and all others well below her.

Loghain patted Champion's head and gave her an ear-scratch of reassurance, then led her and Sabine through the market district to the palace. The whole way, Sabine gabbled in rapid-fire Orlesian, exclaiming excitedly over everything from the stalls in the bazaar to the Chantry and the estates of the nobles, the children playing tag or running errands in the streets, the dogs dogs dogs dogs everywhere. He seemed remarkably impressed with Denerim, which made it a bit hard to credit that he was native Orlesian. They were always so denigrating of all things Ferelden, so very primitive and dour compared to their love of luxury and frippery. Loghain knew nothing of Tremmes other than the name, but perhaps it wasn't much of a city. Or maybe this elf was some sort of innocent, in the good old Ferelden sense of being not quite all right between the ears, and was excited by everything from fireworks exploding to corn growing.

That would certainly explain some things about him.

In any event, the boy was thin as a rake and eyed the food stalls with clear covetousness, so Loghain detoured to the servant's entrance of the palace and dropped him off in the kitchens to be fed before being questioned by the translators. Loghain had things to attend to in the meantime anyway, and he might as well get them taken care of now as later. It was not easy to get Sabine to understand that he needed to stay and eat.

"Stay here, I'll be back," he repeated several times in the face of the young man's growing consternation. "The kitchen staff will feed you. You know, food. Erm…mangiare. Wait - that's Tevinter, isn't it?"

But Sabine's face lit up like an oil lamp and he commenced a rapid-fire dialogue in that language. Loghain groaned and threw up his hands in defeat. Saddled with a simple-minded Orlesian who spoke every language except Common? Unbelievable. "Just…stay here and eat. I'll be back later."

He made his way through the dark stone corridors towards the throne room. When he reached the area near the living quarters he chanced upon a young lady in fine dress who appeared startled out of all countenance to see him. "M-m-my lord!" she gasped out, and dropped into a low curtsey. "Her Royal Majesty has been quite worried about you."

He studied her for a moment, wondering exactly who she was. She looked to be in her late twenties, had short, dark hair artfully tousled and black eyes, and her crimson gown was daringly cut to expose nice shoulders and a remarkably well-filled décolletage. A new courtier, perhaps…or a new courtesan. If the latter, though, she seemed unusually shy, and then there was the matter of the fine staff she carried at her back. One of Alistair's apostates, then. Good, Ferelden needed magic.

"An unfortunate practical consequence of the elves being quarantined, I suppose, but that floor looks as though it hasn't been scrubbed in a month," he said conversationally. "Do get up off it, child, before you spoil your nice dress."

She rose, a pretty blush suffusing her pale cheeks. "You are a mage?" Loghain asked, and the girl started guiltily like someone caught doing something nasty and shameful. "Never fear, child - you're safe from templars under this roof, I guarantee it. What is your name?"

She tipped a slighter curtsey. "Bethany Hawke, milord," she mumbled.

"Bethany Hawke? I know someone who was looking forward to seeing your family again. Have you had the chance to meet with the dwarf yet?"

"The…dwarf?" Bethany said doubtfully, then her face cleared and she smiled. "Varric?"

"That's the one."

"He did not come to the palace, milord. He is in town, though?"

"Last I saw him he was at a tavern down the docks."

She laughed lightly. "He's probably still there, then. Pubs are his natural habitat." She curtseyed again. "Thank you for this news, milord. I shall tell my sister - she will be happy to know Varric is here."

He nodded a good day to her and moved on. So that was one of the Hawke girls. Pretty creature, with nice manners to boot. If it hadn't been for her magic she would have undoubtedly been married to some wealthy man by this time, perhaps even a lord. He'd heard that the Hawkes had some claim to noble title through their mother's line, even if that nobility was foreign. Well, perhaps one day Ferelden would be a place at last where mages could be free to lead normal, healthy lives like regular folks. They were dangerous, yes, but any more so than he? He doubted that. He'd killed enough mages in his time, abominations too, and even demons had no great power to frighten him. Even before Elilia passed on to him a few templar secrets he had developed a certain disdain for the platoons of well-armored Chantry soldiers who claimed it was such a tremendous hardship to hunt down maleficarum, who claimed that whole companies had been wiped out by a single abomination. Either they were spreading wild tales to keep people fearful and beholden to them, or they were laughably inept.

Or both.

He entered the throne room and was surprised to see a full court, though it appeared in recess. The King and Queen sat on their thrones in an attitude of waiting, nobles and courtiers lounged in impatient manner in the gallery, guards and attendants stood at full attention. Elilia started up from the edge of the dais where she sat when she saw him.

"Loghain, you rat bastard," she growled out, and ran across the long floor to fly at him in an unseemly public display of relief and affection. She pulled away a bit and looked at him curiously. "You used…?"

"I did."

"The elves?"

"They are well."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

He stepped out of her embrace and addressed the King and Queen. "Your Majesties, the alienage has been saved, but there is much work to be done there. The elves need food, and the streets must be thoroughly cleansed and the garbage burned. They need more housing, for the tight quarters that exist there now simply breeds disease. And the bodies of the dead must be properly burned. I did not see any, however, and it is my understanding that the disease kills very slowly, so perhaps there are but few."

Arl Vaughan stepped forward. "I will not waste this arling's hard-earned taxes taking care of a bunch of lazy, worthless elves."

Fast as lightning Loghain closed the distance between them, grabbed Vaughan by his hair, and yanked his head back so that they were staring straight into each other's eyes as he loomed over the smaller man. For a long time he said nothing, very ominously, his eyes flashing cold fury, and Vaughan was reminded of the demonstration of the harbor statues and gulped his terror. Finally Loghain spoke.

"I don't require much of an excuse to end you, you miserable bastard." He gave the man a bit of a shake, like a naughty puppy, to emphasize his words.

"You are no noble of this court," Vaughan said, with a tinny note of fear in his bravado. "I could have you killed right now for this, and if you raise a hand to me you'll swing by nightfall."

"Shut your mouth, you little puke," Loghain said, with another, harder shake. "If I had power in this court you'd do worse than swing. I would take a long sharp stake, grease it up nice and slippery, and I'd shove it up your ass so the point came out your mouth, and then I'd set that stake in a posthole inside the alienage and let the elves point and jeer at you. Or perhaps strip you naked and throw you in a pit with a couple of dozen elven women armed with flails and maces, and let them work their own justice upon you. That's what you deserve, you fucking rapist."

Champion growled low and throbbingly at the man her master held by the scruff, ready to attack upon command. The man smelled bad, of lies and vices, and she would welcome an opportunity to rend him to pieces.

"You…have no right…to address me so impudently," Vaughan squeaked out, cringing and shrinking into his clothes. "Your Majesties, I demand satisfaction!"

"Satisfaction?" Alistair said, interestedly. "Are you calling for a duel, then? Because I really don't think you want to do that, Vaughan, now do you?"

"Be a good lad and step back into line, Vaughan," Anora said. She sounded a trifle bored and out of sorts. "The alienage will be cleaned, and the arling of Denerim will not pay for it - you will, out of your own private funds. I hardly think it will break you, and it's high time you offered up an act of proper charity towards your elven population, isn't it? The Grand Cleric will be so pleased with you, she will undoubtedly offer your name to the Maker in special prayer. The Crown will send the needed foodstuffs, so you needn't worry your pointy little head about that."

"The issue of housing the elves is a weighty one," Alistair said. "That will require some thought. There is the warehouse back of the alienage, but I know that has some...unpleasant connections with the Denerim elves. The Marchers might not mind, though."

Loghain released Vaughan at last and the man fell back at once, ruffled, sputtering, straightening his doublet and attempting to regain some lost face. "Never in all my life have I been so insulted - "

"Get used to it, then," Loghain broke in. "It's high time somebody called a spade a spade with you, and I can assure you, My Lord - I will be watching you very closely from this point forward. If I get wind that you've resumed your habits with regard to the young ladies of the alienage I assure you, the court may punish me for your death as they see fit. I will consider it a worthy end."

Tense silence held for a goodly moment after that, and then Anora changed the subject briskly. "Father, I would like to introduce you to someone. Champion Hawke; my father, Loghain Mac Tir. Father; Champion Kireani Hawke, late of Kirkwall, returned now to this, her homeland."

A white-haired woman who stood at attention behind the thrones stepped forward and bowed in the manner of a man, appropriate enough as she was wearing armor of odd, foreign design. She was much plainer of feature than Bethany, whom he saw had entered the throne room through a side entrance to stand beside her sister, but there was something of a resemblance about the mouth and chin. "My Lord," she said.

"Champion Hawke," he said, with a return of the bow. "I have heard much of you through your friend Varric."

"Bethany told me you'd seen him. I look forward to catching up with him." She made a proper introduction of her sister and the other companions who stood near her, some of them wearing the uniform of the Royal Guard. "This is Ser Aveline and her husband Ser Donnic, now of the Queen's retinue, and this is Ser Fenris, now guard to the King. And this is my companion, Merrill, formerly of the Dalish."

The elf, rather a tall and exceedingly slender specimen with an astonishingly long, fragile-looking neck and huge spring green eyes, stepped forward and cocked her head to one side as she considered him. "Well, he's got a nice, elfy face, doesn't he?" she said after a time. "It's like someone took a Ferelden nose and chin and slapped them on a Dalish head. I thought so when I saw the statue, but it was a bit hard to tell with it being all white and stoney and huge."

"Oh, Kitten...human lords don't generally care to be told they look elfy," a dark-haired woman wearing what appeared to be a white corset with an attached loincloth and essentially nothing more than that said, with a shake of her bandanna-covered head. Hawke introduced her next, deliberately ignoring both her elven friend's inappropriate comment or the sudden lack of blood in Loghain's face upon hearing it. Never in his adult life had anyone accused him of looking "elfy." Someone Up Above was fucking with him, there was no question about it.

"And this is Captain Isabella, who now holds the speed record for the Denerim-to-Cumberland oversea."

The seafarer stepped forward, with a cocky strut in her over-exposed hips. She looked him up and down the way a woman at market might eye a ham haunch or a side of beef. "Not bad at all," she said. She nodded at Elilia. "You've got pretty good taste, even if he is a bit long in the tooth. Care for a nice group rumble? He looks like he could handle us both with ease." Anora put a hand over her eyes in clear despair.

"I…thanks, but…I'm a one-at-a-time girl," Elilia said uncomfortably.

Isabella chuckled. "That's disappointing. When I discovered I'd had sex with someone immortalized in a thousand foot statue I was walking around close to that high myself. I was hoping to be able to drink for life on the story of having done both."

Loghain turned sharp eyes on his intended, and she shrugged back at him. "It's…I'll tell you later," Elilia said.

"I apologize for my friend," Champion Hawke said, and shoved Isabella back behind the glowering Ser Aveline. "We shouldn't let her out of her kennel but she does look so mournful in there at times, we forget she's not housebroken."

From the line of courtiers, Nathaniel Howe cleared his throat and stepped forward. "While everyone was rushed and worried about the situation in the alienage it did not seem appropriate to deliver this, but now that things have been settled perhaps this is the proper time. Elilia, I bring a message we received a little over a month ago, from the First Warden at Weisshaupt. I thought it might make you laugh to read it."

He handed her a small scroll bound in a blue ribbon, the blue wax seal broken. She unrolled the parchment and read a few lines, then laughed and began to read aloud.

"Wardens of Ferelden:

Word has come to my ears of the misconduct of your Warden-Commander. I have tolerated much unusual and outright belligerent behavior from this quarter for too long. Warden-Commander Elilia Cousland is hereby relieved of command and ordered to report to me at Weisshaupt Fortress immediately for disciplinary measures. I am sending my own Second, Senior Warden Guillemot du Plesse to assume command and restore order."

She tore up the parchment and tossed the pieces into the air. "I guess this was sent out before I sent my letter of resignation, if he ever received it," she said. "Guillemot du Plesse - anyone care to take wagers on whether or not that's an Orlesian name? Of course he's a good Warden, all non-interferency and such, but I wonder just how…neutral the Wardens really are in this affair. Orlais has a lot of power and a lot of gold and the Chantry in their back pocket. Maybe they've got the Wardens, too. The First Warden has exerted a lot of influence in the rule of the Anderfels, we're told, and the Anders are such a devout people, after all."

"This is why it was a stupid-ass move to give the arling of Amaranthine to the Wardens," Loghain growled.

"What do we do about this Orlesian Warden?" Alistair asked. "Any suggestions?"

Nathaniel grunted a sardonic laugh. "I say when he arrives we send him right back home to the First Warden - in a box, if need be."

"I like the way you think, lad," Loghain said.

"The Wardens of Ferelden were on their own almost utterly during the Blight," Nathaniel continued. "Your Majesty knows that better than I. And even after, as Elilia made to rebuild the order, she was given little assistance other than a handful of Orlesians and a tight-fisted treasurer - and her only other proper Ferelden Warden on active duty was reassigned to bloody Orlais. Elilia and I spoke of this often through the years, but I think perhaps it's time the Ferelden Wardens declared their independence from the greater Order. Even if they are neutral in this current conflict they've shown they care not about the protection of our people." He turned to look at Elilia and gave her a slightly cheeky wink. "Oghren is behind us on this, as are Sigrun and Velanna and the other Senior Wardens. Even Mistress Woolsey agrees that Ferelden has resources enough, at the present time, to break off - and she's frustrated enough by the First Warden's many barricades to even her work that she supports the idea of being free of him. With mages breaking free of the Circles right and left, and templars breaking free of the Chantry to hunt or to help them, who is going to be surprised at Wardens cutting ties with their foreign powers?"

"We have enough…Joining potion…in storage to keep our Order strong for a thousand years," Elilia said. "I'm certainly all for this, even if I'm not a Warden anymore."

"This is a very interesting discussion but one I think is best saved for the upcoming Landsmeet," Anora said. "Can you return to us at that time, Warden Nathaniel? I would like very much for you to address them yourself, particularly as you are acting Warden-Commander and command the arling's vote."

Nathaniel bowed deeply. "I will be there, Your Majesty, but I must return to Amaranthine as soon as possible. I left good men in charge of the situation there, and the Fighting Ferelden's victory over the Orlesian fleet raised the city's spirits considerably, but fears there are still very high and chaos has been the order of the day."

Loghain grunted. "The dwarf said you've got a sick elf you've been treating with the Chantry's medicine," he said. "Speak to me before you leave and I'll give you a dose of the stuff I used to cure the elves of Denerim. Handle it carefully, and wear gloves - we're not sure if contact affects efficacy."

"That would be wonderful. I was under the impression there was no cure for this disease."

"There is now, but no telling exactly how much quantity is available, and more cannot be made. Be careful with it."

Elilia whispered to him. "There's some left over?"

"We'll talk later," he muttered back. "About that and other things. You bet your sweet little ass we will."