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: Loghain's muttered comment, "The only thing you can count on in this world is regret," is stolen directly from a lyric from "Peace on Earth," a song performed by one of my all-time favorites, Meat Loaf. If you look up the entire song you might be able to see why it may have inspired a future Loghain fic from me that is set in Orlais, during the time he is a Warden of Montsimmard. I don't know yet if it will be its own fic or merely a ficlet that will appear here as a Varric-written codex entry. And speaking of future fics and ficlets, I recently read what there is thus far of Herebedragons66's marvelous story, Unshaken by the Darkness Book One, and it may have inspired a fully-AU tale of Loghain and Elilia as they might have been had the Blight never occurred. Not that the Blight isn't going to occur in the story that inspired me (I have a horrible feeling that it's imminent), I just kind of wish it wouldn't, the whole relationship between Loghain and Rhianna has been too beautiful for me to want to see the blackness come in. The author actually made me mourn Maric, which never really happened before as the character didn't thrill me overmuch in The Stolen Throne (and less so in The Calling). If you haven't found this story, do check it out.

Chapter Fifty-Three: For Want of a Nail

After the showdown, the Landsmeet proceeded almost normally. Loghain supposed he owed Vaughan something of a debt of thanks for speeding things up so nicely and getting the worst behind them, but it was a debt he'd sooner die than repay. And then, after interminable hours of nobles droning on in oaths and "old business," meaning disputes that hadn't been settled in the past year - or many years past, in a lot of cases - the session was over, called to a close by Chancellor Eamon when Alistair indicated he'd had enough for the day. Grateful past all expression, Loghain retired to his rooms, where Chatterly squired him out of the Archdemon armor. He would have to don it again first thing in the morning, for another endless session of "old business," and like as not they wouldn't even be able to broach the subject of "new business" - legitimately - until the day after. That was when Loghain would have to tell of what he'd been told by the Witch of the Wilds, to the entire Landsmeet rather than just Elilia, who was the only one who knew of it.

Elilia had been less concerned, for the moment he told her, at least, with the prospect of an Archdemon sire than the return of the witch. She'd clearly been expecting Flemeth's reemergence, but seemed anxious and even a touch insulted that it had been Loghain to whom the witch appeared.

"Don't let her anywhere near you, okay? She's not just an apostate, or even an abomination. I don't know for sure what she is, but she's bad news."

"Do you remember the Keeper of the Dalish clan? The one that's camped at the foot of the mountain on the Brecilian side?"

"Your…hem…friend's clan?" she prevaricated, with a glance around the otherwise empty corridor for eavesdroppers. "Yes, I remember him."

"He wonders if she isn't Fen'Harel, who I take it is the Dalish version of old Kiveal the Trickster. Apparently she talks to the Dalish in their dreams at night, and tells them to do things for her from time to time. They go along with it so she doesn't get angry at them."

"In all honesty, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she was some sort of trickster god. Or something worse than a trickster."

"Myself, I was kind of half-convinced she might be this Archdemon mother she spoke of. She didn't seem particularly pleased I asked about it, and said by killing this thing we'd have its gratitude, but probably not its assistance."

Elilia looked quizzical. "I'll grant you the possibility that she's some sort of dragon, all right, but if she were the Archdemon mother, why would she want the Archdemon father dead?"

"She wouldn't be the first wife who put a contract out on the old man," Loghain said darkly. Elilia didn't follow his phrasing for a moment. Then she laughed.

"Are you saying she hired us as dragon-slaying Antivan Crows? Humph; well, they did offer me a job, way back when. After I, uh…did some 'menial work' for them."

Loghain looked at her for a long moment, with the corners of his mouth pulled back in what could only be called an expression of chagrin. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask. I'm fairly certain I don't want to know."

Elilia chortled. "I'm fairly certain you don't, also."

Loghain cocked his head to one side, gazed off into the middle distance, and after a long cogitation he shook his shaggy locks and muttered, "The only thing you can count on in this world is regret."

Elilia took his chin in her hand, then, and pecked him on the cheek. "And death. And taxes. But mostly regret. That's life!"

That was shortly after they'd returned to the palace from the Fishwife's Cloister on the day he'd made his belated proposal. At the time, he'd experienced a considerable sensation of relief at having told her, as though a tremendous burden had been lifted off his shoulders. She hadn't laughed at him, even if she hadn't taken the threat the witch brought quite as seriously as the threat the witch represented. It was good to know that there was someone who would support him when the time came for him to make his claim to a doubtless skeptical nobility. But now that the moment of truth was more or less imminent, he did find himself dreading that revelation.

At least he had the promise of some good news being shared, or at least the suspicion. He hadn't seen his son-in-law much lately, but after Anora told him that Alistair seemed to be sitting on something important that made him very happy, he had taken the time to cast a critical eye on the boy. Well, man, he supposed, though it was awfully hard to make the adjustment in his thinking. Anora was right, of course; the King seemed to be withholding some information that made him look, in his own words, suspiciously like "the cat that ate the pigeon."

Or rabbit. Loghain was seized with the memory of another Landsmeet long ago where a matter of cats eating rabbits had amused King Maric very much. It would have amused Alistair too, no doubt. It was almost frightening, sometimes, how much like his father the boy - man, he reminded himself sternly - had become. Or always had been, either one.

Frightening…but mostly painful, in a bittersweet sort of way. Whatever else Maric had been, he had been Loghain's best friend, despite everything Loghain had done to destroy that. Sometimes it still shocked him, how much he missed the endless amiable chatter. Of course, chatter was something he wouldn't be lacking once Chatterly learned to speak proper Ferelden. He'd already begun to assay a few scattered words.

Dressed now in his fine Archdemon-leather doublet, Loghain told Chatterly in no uncertain terms to back away from the buttons. Damned things were even fussier than he'd expected, since there were two to be fastened each time, and each time one of them from awkwardly deep underneath the breastpiece, and he wouldn't stand for it. He buttoned the bottom two pair and left the rest undone. The leather, sturdy as it was, was supple enough to fold back so the high gorget didn't flap against the underside of his jaw. He hadn't been let in on the plan for the remainder of the evening, but it was almost certain he'd be drawn into something formal and unpleasant, probably at his daughter's behest.

Wanting only to get it over with, and to avoid being "invited" by a pompous herald, Loghain started out of his rooms, only to find his way blockaded by a trio of nobles who looked greatly like a well-dressed lynch mob. Arl Bryland, Arl Wulffe, and Bann Sigurd, all three of them some of Elilia's most vocal supporters, and two of them kinsman. Although, come to think of it, Sigurd was probably also a relation of some degree or other.

"Loghain," Bryland greeted, and the heaviness of his very colloquial South Reach accent indicated he'd had more than one drink before he'd dropped by. "Have any plans?"

Loghain quirked a brow, but that was the only change in his neutral expression. "Not that I'd been made aware of."

"Care to join us, then? We were just on our way to the Gnawed Noble for a drink."

On their way back to, more likely. Loghain only quirked his brow a bit higher. "I could use a drink."

The three men ceded just enough space for him to exit his chambers. "Right this way, then, Ser."

Their walk out of the palace was more a march, and the three men with him seemed a kind of honor guard, or more likely gaolers. Arl Bryland stood close by his right arm, Bann Sigurd close by his left, and Arl Wulffe was only about a pace behind him. If they attempted to turn the march into a frogmarch he was fairly certain he could fling off both of his relatively slightly-built flankers. Sturdy Arl Wulffe, however…not so much. The man was older - by quite a bit - but tougher than a month-old boar steak. In truth, though, Loghain wasn't particularly worried. There was almost something comforting about it: this was practically tradition. The Warning of the Groom. He had done very nearly the same thing with Cailan before he was married to Anora.

On the periphery of his senses he recognized that Champion had padded out of the rooms behind him, and was now about half a lunge behind Arl Wulffe and keeping pace. One corner of his thin mouth curved up in a slight smile. Thanks to the very public way they were going about it, he doubted that the mabari would be the last protector to follow him to the tavern. That, too, was almost traditional. Sometimes the kinsmen of the bride really, really didn't like the groom, after all. Safeguards had to be in place to make certain they didn't take the expression of their displeasure too far, although in Ferelden the definition of "too far" was highly flexible.

They walked until they came to the Gnawed Noble. Sigurd held the door. Bryland nodded gravely to the tavern keeper, the wisened but evidently immortal Edwina, and she showed her august patrons to a good table at the back of the main room with a sight more courtesy than she was known to show less…recognizable guests. Loghain doubted very much that she recognized him, as he'd seldom set foot in the place. But then he remembered the cursed dwarves' cursed statue. Everybody in Denerim recognized him now, at least those who'd been able to beg, borrow, steal, or buy a trip out to the bay to gawp at the new landmarks.

He had not met King Bhelen Aeducan, who'd scampered back to Orzammar as quickly as he'd done showing off his great gift to the King and Queen thanks to how unnerving he found the open sky, but he'd left behind an open invitation for a visit to the royal court in the dwarven city. He supposed he would even have to accept it, at some point. He didn't look forward to it; he found the dark underground places as unnerving as the dwarves found the surface, thanks to having spent far too much unpleasant time there long ago. And not so long ago, since Elilia had dragged him along on a return trip through Ortan Thaig and almost half the rest of the distance he'd traveled with Maric, Rowan, and Katriel. He still didn't quite know her rationale behind that journey, either.

Not that she particularly required one. When Elilia Cousland wanted to go somewhere, she went, and Maker save the poor fool who stood in her way.

None of the men spoke until a serving girl came by with their drinks. "So, Loghain," Wulffe began, after a fortifying slug of something the tavern called "white rum" that looked and smelled suspiciously like illegal Wyvern's Ridge moonshine (and Loghain ought to recognize it, since the distill was secreted not ten miles from Gwaren Keep, on teyrn's property, no less). "You're looking well these days. Quite well, in fact. You seem almost to stand in defiance of the passage of time, although I suppose that's not too surprising. It was easy to think of you as much older than you really were, back in the days we all fought beside each other."

"I trust you've been keeping well, Wulffe?" Loghain asked politely, though in truth he wasn't certain whether what had just been said to him was a compliment or an insult. With Wulffe, you couldn't be entirely sure of exactly the same thing if he said to you "good morning." It was a trait the two men shared in common. That, and the fact that while everyone, even his enemies, called Loghain by his first name, no one at all called Arl Wulffe "Ranulf." Loghain wouldn't have been surprised to learn that his parents had called him "Wulffe."

Bryland didn't seem to be in the mood for the exchange of pleasantries. "Is it true you have…had her? That has been the rumor for some time," he said. Loghain didn't require clarification for this sudden question. He looked the Arl squarely in the eye.

"It is true."

"Does Fergus know?" In his heavy accent the Teyrn's name came out as "Fairgus."

"He does. Elilia told him quite shortly after the first time."

"And still he…approves of you?"

"Of me? No, I shouldn't think so. But he seems willing to set that disapproval aside in favor of what his sister seems to want."

"Seems to want?" Sigurd pounced upon the phrasing like a cat upon a mouse. "Was this engagement coerced?"

Loghain spread his hands upon the tabletop. "I asked, she accepted. I believe Elilia holds some strong reservations about the institution of marriage in general, but she claims she is happy enough to give it a try with me." He paused thoughtfully. "Possibly because she expects I won't live very long, I'm not entirely certain."

"Her Majesty did not…push her to it?" Bryland asked. "Anora can be very…forceful."

Loghain laughed. "Do you think her more forceful than Elilia Cousland? I'll be sure to pass along the compliment, Leonas."

He paused to take a sip of whiskey, and his eye caught briefly on the occupants of a nearby table. Varric Tethras smiled and raised his tankard in salute. Loghain nodded back minutely. The cavalry was here, it seemed. Varric's presence suggested at the request of Elilia rather than Anora, since the dwarf but rarely took advantage of his open invitation to the palace. Loghain knew he would not need backup - these men were not ruffians, only concerned friends - but it was good to know it was there, regardless. Of course, knowing Elilia, she'd sent the dwarf and anyone else who was back there with him to make certain he didn't hurt her kinsmen.

"If you want to know the truth, the answer is yes and no. Anora and Elilia discussed the matter between them before Elilia and I left for the bannorn, and Elilia was amenable to the idea but, as she had not spoken to me, didn't precisely say that it would happen. By the time we actually set out, we'd determined that we would marry, but we didn't tell Anora of our decision. When we got back to Denerim, however, we discovered a date had been set and our vows had been written, more or less. It made Elilia rather uncomfortable, having the decision wrested out of her hands like that, and hence I proposed properly, to let her know that despite my daughter's enthusiasm it was in her control, and to give her a chance to turn me down flat if that's what had to happen."

Wulffe sat back; evidently his few qualms had been satisfied. Sigurd and Bryland, however, still looked slightly doubtful.

"You understand, Loghain - we realize that Elilia is no delicate flower whose honor must be defended by chest-pounding males," Bryland said. "But she is our kinswoman, and while her reputation has not been…spotless, exactly…we wish to know that no harm will come to her from this. Of any kind."

"You want my assurance that I will treat her well."

"Exactly," Sigurd said.

Loghain thought long and hard, and apparently a bit too long and hard for Bryland and Sigurd, who grew restive across the table from him. Finally Loghain looked up, and his grey-blue eyes bored into theirs. "I don't really know what sort of assurance I can give you that would be sufficient. Certainly I will not beat her, I've never been in the way of that, and if I were to try I fear I would get the worst of it at any rate. I will not step around on her; I've never been in the way of that, either, and there is no one else in Thedas mad or marvelous enough to have me anyway. Will I be a surly ass toward her? Most likely, at least now and again. That's who I am, after all, though somehow she seems to bring out a better side of me. Will I become wrapped up in some duty or project or other and be inattentive toward her for wide stretches of time? Most likely. I will growl and cuss and go haring off after Orlesian spies without a moment's notice, and I daresay on occasion I will neglect to go to bed or even skip out on dinner. But then, I can't imagine Elilia won't cuss and tease and go running off to play with her werewolf friends and get wrapped up in something more interesting than I quite as often as I do. One thing I will never do, however, is forget how much I owe her, respect her, and love her. And I will do everything in my power to ensure she never forgets it, as well."

Loghain heard Varric's chesty chuckle from the nearby table. "And they say the Big Bull doesn't have a way with words."

Bryland sighed and sat back on his bench. "I don't honestly know whether I think this marriage is a good thing for Elilia or not," he said, "but I do believe you will treat her well. I will content myself with that. This is what Bryce seemed to want, after all…though I cannot say with any certainty that he would still want it now."

Loghain blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"You did stand with the man who murdered him, Loghain, even if you had no hand in it," Bryland said, as if that were the part that needed explanation.

"What is this about Bryce Cousland having wanted this?" Loghain demanded.

"There were…negotiations. You mean you didn't know?" Bryland looked baffled.

"Negotiations? With whom, if I might ask?"

"With His Majesty, of course," Bryland answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "King Maric."

"Maric wanted to marry Elilia Cousland?" Loghain asked, and it was his turn to be baffled. "I never heard a word about it."

Wulffe shook his head gravely. "No, Loghain - Maric wanted you to marry Elilia Cousland. Or more properly, Bryce wanted you to, and asked Maric to negotiate it. That was when the girl was sixteen, shortly after the, er…" He gestured to his own face, then broke into a broad grin that looked faintly frightening on his habitually grim features. "Can't honestly say that the tattoo didn't have something to do with Bryce's decision. Elilia was certainly a wild child; plenty of prospects, of course, being the Teyrn's daughter and all, but hard to imagine anyone who could…not 'reign her in,' exactly, Bryce never really wanted her to be tamed or to have her spirit broken, but…well…'domesticate her,' let us say. Even that may be too strong a term. She made it pretty damned clear that day that she wanted nothing to do with the Vaughan Kendalls and Thomas Howes of the world, and Bryce and Eleanor both had enough respect for their daughter's intelligence to take it seriously."

"Bryce wanted her to marry a man who would respect her strength and will and who could love her despite her rough edges, I think," Bryland said. "He wasn't that interested in making a political match for her, and leaving her to chafe under the restrictions of a husband who didn't understand her. You had been a widower for some time already at that point, and I think he felt you were exactly the kind of man who could appreciate the finer points of his daughter. King Maric, I believe, approved of the match because he felt you'd been too lonely for too long."

"He knew Elilia, a bit, as well," Wulffe said, "and I think she amused him a great deal. I know he certainly seemed amused when he spoke of the two of you matched. The phrase he used was 'clash of the titans,' if I recall a'rightly. I believe he expected her to shake a little of the gruff and grim out of you. Damned if I don't think she has done, too."

"Why was I never told?" Loghain said. He still felt decidedly gob-smacked.

Bryland, Wulffe, and Sigurd somehow contrived to share a glance between themselves. "Well, that was…shortly before he…" Sigurd began, then swallowed hard. "What I heard was he intended to broach the subject to you when he returned. I guess we all supposed that after things were settled, Bryce had brought it up to you himself."

When Maric returned. From the fateful sea voyage from which he never had. That's right; Elilia would have been about sixteen at the time. Dear sweet blessed Andraste. And then Loghain himself had spent a further two years searching for him, and three years after that, the Blight.

If it had worked out some other way, if Maric's ship hadn't been lost, if he'd arranged things before he left…Loghain might have been married to Elilia Cousland for more than a decade already. How many things would have been changed by that one alteration to history? Would they have been better, or would they have been worse? The question was moot, but it was persistent.

So was another question that probably didn't really matter any more than the other.

"Did Elilia know anything about it?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse and strange to his own ears.

"I am uncertain," Bryland said. "If she did not speak of it to you, however, I should venture to guess not."

"I'm in the way of knowing Fergus wasn't let in on it," Wulffe said. "I don't think Bryce wanted too many people to know until the matter was settled. A lot of people were vying for her hand, after all, tattoo or no, and some of them might have gotten…vindictive, if they knew they didn't stand a chance." He snorted. "Turns out Bryce could have saved himself the trouble. The most vindictive one of the bunch got him in the end, even though he was still being polite about the chances of accepting Howe's offer."

"He wanted a marriage between Elilia and his son, Thomas," Loghain said. "I would have thought he'd realized that wasn't going to happen after the tattoo incident. Urien got the hint, didn't he?" Bryland hemmed uncertainly.

"Bryce told me when Howe offered up Thomas in a marriage proposal, but…well…before everything went south, he said that the offer was…altered, somewhat. Bryce wasn't well pleased, either."

"Spill it, man. Altered how?"

"Howe wanted Elilia for himself," Bryland said. "Perhaps he decided to ask for her hand because he'd already decided to murder Bryce and Eleanor, and presumably Fergus and Oren as well, and hoped being married to Elilia would legitimize his claim to the teyrnir. I don't know. However it was, Bryce did not at all like the idea of his daughter married to that snake, or even being thought of in that way by him, even though he did his best to remain friends with Howe all those long years."He put his face in his hands. "I warned him that Rendon Howe was a poisoned soul. I believe he knew it. But what I do not think he could bring himself to believe was that he was dangerous. He just didn't like the idea that Elilia could end up wed to a man who had always been so openly critical of her rough and tumble ways."

Loghain sat back heavily on the bench. "I doubt it will make you feel any better, Bryland, but Bryce isn't the only one who seriously underestimated how slippery and dangerous Rendon Howe truly was."

Wulffe raised his glass of "white rum." "Well, here's to Elilia, then; without whom, that rat's ass might still be alive today, Maker forbid." Bryland gasped a startled laugh behind his hands, then dropped them and raised his own glass with a slightly wavery smile on his face.

"I second that."

Loghain eyed Wulffe's glass speculatively, then said, "Wulffe…is that what I think it is?"

Wulffe gave him a cautious look in response. "That depends on what you think about what you think it is, Loghain."

"If that is what I think it is, then I think I'll have a round myself," he said, and signaled the serving girl.