Chapter 57: Facing the Past

Alistair / Ser Alan Sellose

"I'm sorry, Sellose," Murchad sympathized after the lead Warden stalked off, "but we will manage."

The dwarves that had been speaking animatedly moments before fell into an uncomfortable silence with the departure of the human Warden who had refused aid with an air of finality. Oghren prevented me from appealing to him further and that exhausted my last opportunity for aid.

"We have to return to the others before the Templars discover we are gone," I answered, heading towards the tunnel that would lead us back to the other prisoners.

The pompous dwarf, the one that I assumed was some kind of noble from Orzammar the Grey Wardens were temporarily saddled with, looked aghast at the suggestion that we return to the laborers, "Why are you returning? Now that you have found us you could return with us to the surface. There is no need for you to spend a moment longer in discomfort with those other prisoners."

I had to squelch the desire to punch him in the face. It would have felt immensely satisfying to feel the little man's nose crack in a red pulpy mass against my balled up fist whilst blood fountained from his ruined face. However, it would not have helped what was truly prompting me to hit him and vent my frustration. I had wanted to hit someone for weeks and the arrogant dwarf was a lesser representation of all that I despised in Arl Crewe, Murchad's brother and Ser Manning. It was that disgusting sense of superiority and entitlement that enabled them to torture, maim and leave people in a dark hole to die. These prisoners were beneath them because they were born to the poorer masses and lacked power and it made nobles believe the Maker had therefore given them the right to use them with impunity.

My fist remain balled at my side and I refused to give in to the baser desire for violence, making my way silently to the northern tunnel entrance with Murchad dutifully at my heel. The little hope that I nurtured in my heart was doused in water and writhed in its death throes. If I had been alone I would have been tempted to walk into the Deep Roads, search out some darkspawn and make a glorious end of it, but I had a responsibility to Murchad, Cefin and the other workers, swearing I would release the workers and destroy the Templars' mine. I would not abandon them.

"I will never understand humans," I heard the noble dwarf huff to one of the others.

"You know as much about humans as you do anything else," a terse voice replied in kind.

"Hold up," Oghren barked at me and the sound of his greaves clattered as he hurried to catch up. It took him but a moment and he was beside me, keeping pace with my strides as we walked through the tunnel. Venturing a sideways look, I noticed his agitation, tugging his red beard braids as he did when he was conflicted about what to say next. He rarely became like that due to his reckless decisiveness and penchant for acting first and considering the consequences later. Most often the beard tugging was reserved for when he was impulsive one too many times and someone required an apology; a particularly difficult and unseemly proposition for dwarves.

Oghren had once informed me emphatically, "Berserkers don't apologize, Lad."

It was only a week travelling with Tabris when she taught him differently and it had been a hard won lesson for both of them involving drawn weapons and a certain amount of bruises and cuts divided between the two. Before the sun set on that day, Tabris had the apology she required and Oghren was passed out in his tent with all of his extremities still attached.

When I asked Oghren about it the next day, he gave me a gruffly adjusted version of his previous stand, "Berserkers don't apologize, Lad…except when there is a woman involved: the heavily armed kind who'll skewer you if you don't."

I wondered what Tabris would have done in my position when faced with an irascible Warden and a group of mismatched dwarves. She might have been just as perplexed as I, considering she never balked at offering aid where it was required and would have difficulties understanding the Warden stand of neutrality in political conflicts not directly related to darkspawn. Diplomacy wasn't in her skill set either, so she might have been hard pressed to curb the Warden's apathy short of threatening to cut off the man's balls and feed it to him.

According to her cousin, Shianni, she had always been that way and it had often gotten her in trouble and had led to the necessity for her to be conscripted by Duncan in the first place when she ran afoul of a Denerim lord. Nerine was endowed with fierce compassion and loyalty and that informed every decision, every action. Even if a person didn't instantly fall in love with her, he would learn to respect her and her stubborn refusal to back down. It made her favored in Orzammar where such personal qualities were encouraged among the noble elite.

My thoughts then wandered to Svenya of their own accord. What Nerine had lacked in verbal grace, Svenya had it by the barrel load. She would have been the most successful in dealing with this situation: talking to the Warden, charming him or making him laugh. She had managed it with Ser Grey, a man I would never have believed it possible to pacify with words, so the stubborn Warden would have been no match against her. If that failed she would have argued and twisted his words back on him until he could no longer resist. She too would have refused to leave until he agreed to help.

It grieved me to think they both would have been sorely disappointed in my end result: retreating back into the tunnels like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Sorry, Lad," Oghren interrupted my thoughts of self-pity, "Nate isn't usually like that."

I stopped and snapped, "Who is he? Why is he being so unreasonable?"

"Nate's a bit stiff when it comes to rules…"

"That doesn't excuse it Oghren," Snapping, I verbally teared into him since I could not do so with the Warden who refused to help rescue the workers.

Oghren shook his head and muttered, "I should'a thought he might react that way when seein' you. It took time for him to accept me, even…"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"He's Nathaniel Howe, the son of Arl Howe. You know, the man we killed in his own dungeon when he kidnapped that ungrateful bitch Queen?" Oghren looked mildly guilty, as if he felt he was betraying the man by revealing this to me.

I could think of nothing else to say in response. All that ran through my head was, "Of course, the one man who has the power to help me out of this impossible situation is the man whose father was killed for being an unrepentant, power hungry traitor. Maker, why can it never be easy?"

"Sigrun'll straighten it out," Oghren reassured me, though he did not sound entirely sure he believed it.

"We have to get back, Oghren," I shook my head, "If we don't the Templars will execute the people who are covering for us. We can't let them discover our ruse." We left Oghren behind there, locating a narrow shaft that looped back to the one we had originated from.

The men and women moving the schist and scraping the walls with their picks looked even more wretched and frail to me when we returned to take up our positions. They glanced at me with hope just barely glimmering in their dull eyes. I had to force myself to smile in return, choking back my own despair as I whispered with faked reassurance, "We have a plan; we just have to figure out the best route through the tunnels to get everyone out."

That night we met with Cefin in his tent and he informed me, "The Templars abandoned another person to the forgotten tunnel, a man this time. He had been a strong man once…"

I exhaled and ran a weary hand over my face.

Murchad placed a hand on my shoulder, reading my frustration and pain over the events in the caverns, "Mayhap the Warden will change his mind?"

"I do not believe he will," I declared, discouraged.

"Warden?" Cefin's confusion prompted me to explain.

"There are Wardens exploring the Deep Roads near the mine. Murchad and I came across them when we were exploring and getting a feel for the lay of the tunnels this afternoon."

A look of outrage passed across Cefin's face, making it dark, and his tone became thunderous, "They refused to help? They know what is happening and they are going to do nothing?"

"It isn't that simple, I am afraid. There are codes they must follow and cannot deviate from them. I don't necessarily agree, but it is not my call. If nothing else, they will have to report to the Warden Commander in Amaranthine and she will probably inform the court in Denerim what is transpiring here," I found myself making excuses, though within I had difficulties justifying what had been decided by people who, at one point, I would have recognized as my brethren. It made me wonder if I had remained active in the order if I would have been equally dismissive and narrow minded.

Cefin growled, "We have heard of the Wardens and they are praised for their battle prowess. However, a warrior unable to defend the weak lacks the heart that makes him truly great."

"We do not need them," I reassured Cefin, "I am Warden enough for all of us."

"Since you must fill the jobs of two men then you probably need twice the sleep," Cefin countered, still seeming anxious and grieved but seeing no point in continuing to rail on the topic, "Go and use the pallet while I check on the people in the other tents."

I nodded dumbly, feeling hollow, and stretched out upon the mat in the corner of the tent. Murchad accompanied Cefin to offer aid and an extra set of hands. As I heard them walk toward the cluster of tents and felt the draft of air that came into the tent from where the fabric met the ground. There were low murmurs from the other workers carrying on conversations and it made the air hum, reminding me that I was not alone and how much was at stake.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I crossed them over my chest. My hand absently brushed over the outline of the sword of mercy that was still raised enough that I could feel it through the thin tunic and I cringed, though it no longer pained me. It was a reminder of my inability to protect Svenya and Letha from Ser Manning and the Templars. If I did not do something, it would be the same for all the other workers. Failure was not an option: I had to be the hero.

It would have been expected that sleep should elude me while I was so troubled and sick at heart, but it drifted upon me shortly after resting my head on the ground, stilling the murmur of my responsibilities.

I was becoming oddly accustomed to my dreams and to my other self. Once again I was in the dream throne room in the palace at Denerim. My doppelganger sat on the throne, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands and looking as discouraged as I felt. The throne itself looked rusty or tarnished, as if it showed its falsity by implying physical decay. I approached him on the dais and stood regarding him with my arms crossed. Even in the dream I felt the brand as a dull ache, oddly reassured me that I was tied to something real and my pain maintained my humility and humanity.

"You are not going to berate me?" asked the doppelganger with mild puzzlement.

I shook my head.

"It has been a difficult day," he declared glumly.

"It has," I agreed, beginning to pace, "Warden Howe is completely unreasonable. He's allowing his personal feelings to condemn all these people, insisting on hiding behind the Dryden Mandate as an excuse."

"He would not be the first to do so. You are guilty of as much," he asserted pointedly, his eyebrow skewing with unspoken rebuke.

"I have never…"

The doppelganger raised his hand in a gesture indicating I should cease speaking and then gave a negligent wave toward the floor. Turning, I saw a bank of mist part and a scene from the past played before my eyes.

It was the final moments of the duel with Loghain. I saw the shadow image of myself swing, parry, thrust and wear down the older, larger warrior. The Hero of the River Dane had been formidable, but I fought with the fury borne of righteousness. He had betrayed the king and my brethren unto death. He sent assassins after us and made deals with slavers, allowing Arl Howe to torture and kill with impunity to cover his own guilt. With each blow the anger and hatred seethed in me until he was on his knees before me, out of breath.

"So, there is some of Maric in you after all. Good,"** his voice was husky with his gasping, his head inclined slightly, refusing to look into my eyes.

"Forget Maric. This is for Duncan,"** I snarled, raising the sword above my head, ready to strike down on the man before me.

The sound of Riordan calling is the only thing that gave me pause before I could complete the execution, "Wait! There is another option!" The elder Warden elbowed his way through the crowd, coming forward, explaining, "The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."**

As I watched, I could see the shock and abject loathing pass across my countenance, unsure if I had heard him correctly, but Tabris cut in before I could argue, "Why, Riordan?"

"There are three of us in all Ferelden," Riordan explained calmly before pausing, his eyes flicking to Loghain momentarily, as if considering carefully what he was about to say before he continued, "And there are…compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."**

"The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" Anora latched on to Riordan's argument, using it as an opportunity to plead for her father's life, "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Does that not satisfy you?"**

"Absolutely not, Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"** The rage was palpable, my face flushed as I turned accusingly on Riordan.

Watching myself in that moment, looking back, I was empty of the anger that had once controlled me and demanded blood. Part of me wanted to still be angry, to wrap myself in that sense of righteousness that enabled me to feel justified, that made my hands itch to complete the killing stroke. Knowing what happened after, though, made it difficult to remain blind to the cost of that demand.

"You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is a hero to the people."** Anora was struggling to remain controlled and maintain the façade of neutral calm, but the desperation was a spark in her normally cool blue eyes.

At that time I was blind to it, of Anora's pained reasoning. I had been blind to Riordan's worry, not questioning his obvious reluctance to directly state why we might need Loghain, to consider what he had not said in his moment of pause. He worried over publicly revealing the Warden secret, of the true necessity of the Wardens' presence to kill that archdemon that he would share with Tabris and I privately in a chamber in Redcliffe Castle sometime later.

One person had noticed Anora's internal conflict: Loghain, "Anora, hush. It's over."

"Stop treating me like a child. This is serious." She whined at him, irritated, trying to keep the realization of what was really happening at bay.

Loghain shook his head, near wistful, "Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

He knew I would allow no mercy and he accepted it. His one concern had been for his daughter and he tried to help her accept the inevitable conclusion of what I demanded. As I watched, he no longer seemed the monster that I had purported him to be, he was just a man who was misguided and whose mistakes had cost us dearly. He had not considered the long reaching consequences of his actions, but he knew he could not escape them and he did not want to.

"Father…," Anora appealed again, the edge of the word starting to reflect the pain she was trying to mask.

Without heeding her, Loghain turned back to me, "Just make it quick. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

Tabris also turned toward me and stated, "Alistair you should be the one to do this."

She gave no indication with these words whether she agreed with my decision or not, she merely allowed me to decide Loghain's fate, as a king should. I had to strike the killing blow on the man that I had condemned; she would not do it for me. At the time I had not appreciated the statement Tabris had made in this one stand. If she had stepped in, had argued for one side or the other and tried to influence the outcome, she would have undermined me in front of the Landsmeet.

"I will. I owe that to Duncan." I heard my shadow say this with harsh determination and I shivered slightly as I watched blow come down, hardly waiting for Anora or anyone else to stand clear. Blood splattered like the force of the blow. The spray bespattered Anora, myself, Tabris and Riordan, but I was oblivious to it, as ravenous as I was for the justice I thought I was meting out.

"Do you feel the same now?" the doppelganger inquired as the scene faded from view, obscured again by the swirling mist that shrouded the room.

I shook my head, staunchly refusing to reveal the conflict the scene stirred within, "I stand by my decision. Loghain had to die for his crimes."

"You heard what Anora said: he could have died in the Joining or fighting the archdemon," countered dispassionately.

"What does it matter now?" I growled, "He's dead, I executed him, it ended there."

"You know full well that is not true," his eyes not wavering as he gazed at me, his face neutral.

"Why show me this?" I asked tersely, feeling my jaw tighten and my hands gripping the sides of my arms a little tighter, as if holding back the regret I refused to acknowledge. The brand twinged ever so slightly with a dull throb against the wall my arms had created around my chest.

"Why ask the question?" he pointed out, "I am you. It is a scene you have replayed many times within your own mind. Why do you still dwell on this?"

I spun around as the taciturn voice that I had heard only moments before in the memory addressed me directly, "Why do you not allow me to rest, son of Maric?"

The rest of the shadows from the memory were gone but Loghain stood before me in his bloodied armor, however the wounds he had received at my hands were gone. The man looked tired and old, his pallor was gray. His was unarmed; his fingers outspread as he held his hands out at his sides, silently assuring me that he meant no harm. There was a deep regret in his eyes though his countenance maintained the proud look he wore every time I had ever dealt with him in person. I tried to call forth some sort of anger, but none came.

"I am still here. It appears you are not so easily rid of me," he stated quietly.

"I will not apologize for killing you!" I found my voice raging, though I felt the heat of it no longer. It had cooled in the intervening months as newer, more poignant emotions had eclipsed it.

"Nor would I want you to," Loghain reassured me, "you did what was necessary to unite Ferelden. You rid yourself of the greatest threat to the throne even though it was a throne you did not want. I am curious though, why did you not have Anora executed?"

"I am not a monster," I stated simply.

"But I am. That is what you were implying, correct?" He was not angry or defensive, he was merely commenting on what he had observed.

I did not trust myself to answer so I continued to grip my arms in silence, maintaining the defensive stance, and wondered if I would wake up with bruises from the pressure of my fingertips. The righteous anger I had once felt and had drawn upon was gone. It seemed petty now when I looked back, but I would never admit it.

"When one second guesses himself, he hesitates to act," the late teyrn declared, turning slightly from me to withdraw a few steps, "I never hesitated, I made decisions and followed through. Perhaps that was the problem. If I had hesitated, if I had considered…but there is no point looking back now, is there? I went forward never questioning and I paid the price. You were just."

I refused to address him, instead I turned to my doppelganger and requested, "Please, send me back. I am done here."

Neither of the figures argued with me, the doppelganger wearily nodded his head and I could feel myself floating away, as if I was swimming up to break through the surface of a lake, the two of them becoming obscured by the mist as I drifted away from them.

"He is much like Maric, that one," Loghain mused, "even with his penchant for elves."

"Be wary, Hero of the River Dane," I heard my doppelganger state with a sharp edge of warning, "I am still king in these halls and you are here at my consent."

With that the shadow chuckled, "Then send me back, Fade King. Let me return from where I was borne or allow me to remain here while it amuses you, it matters not to me either way. My role is spent and I merely wait on the whim of the Maker and oblivion."

"Why can't I dream of Svenya? It would give me some measure of peace," I lamented as I stretched my stiff muscles, "Failing that, I would take the yowling of darkspawn."

"What did you say about Mae?" Murchad asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

I smiled ruefully, "I just miss her. Maker, she could probably escape from a chamber without doors. Did I tell you how she saved us from the mercenaries who captured us?"

We returned to the tunnels but my mind was only half on the task at hand. My mind kept replaying scenes from my dream. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of Svenya, wondering where she was and talking to Murchad. I spent time telling him the story of how we escaped from the mercenaries with her help. I recalled the duel with Ser Grey and the way she saved the villagers from the winnowing.

"None of that surprises me," he smiled slightly, "she always tried to help other people. If she were here she would do exactly what we are doing."

"The lass sounds like my kind of gal," declared someone nearby, causing me to wheel about and glance down a tunnel to my right just as Oghren stepped out of the shadows.

Part of me cursed my distraction and apprehension for I would have felt Oghren's taint long before if not for them. What is worse, he was not alone. The Warden Howe followed close behind and I felt myself straighten stiffly.

"We've been waiting for you," Howe stated.

"I thought you had determined you were going to leave?" I inquired, willing myself to stare back and betray no emotion.

Oghren grinned, "He found darkspawn signs. That means we can help, Lad."

"But I want to speak with you first," Warden Howe added stiffly.

"Then go ahead and talk," Oghren gestured to him, not understanding what the other Warden was really saying.

Warden Howe turned to Oghren formally and instructed, "Oghren, I would like you to take the young man and bring him to our camp. Tell Sigrun to begin coordinating with him on a plan to evacuate the workers. I will take his Majesty to Voldrik, Dworkin and Warden Seok to discuss the planned distraction that should keep the Templars occupied."

"Uh…ya' sure?" Oghren never did well with subtle hints.

"Murchad, go with him," I prompted my companion, adding reassuringly, "I would trust him with my life."

Those words caused Oghren to strut, turning back down the tunnel from whence he came. Murchad moved hurriedly to follow and Oghren exclaimed, "Compared to some of the other scrapes I've seen with 'im, this will be pretty small and simple. Yup, it won't be quite like old times, but it will be passable interesting. Let me tell ya'…" He continued to speak until his voice was lost to the vast depths of the cavern.

With Oghren gone I turned to Warden Howe expectantly. He needed to speak his peace, to explain himself and if the price of his aid was that I had to stand there and listen, then so be it.

"Do you know who I am, your Majesty?" he queried.

"I know who you are because Oghren already told me." I admitted grimly.

"I see…"

"Speak your peace, Warden Howe!" I charged him, internally bracing myself for whatever unpleasantness would result.

He lifted his head slightly, providing himself a better angle with which to stare down his nose at me, I half mused that I recalled his father doing the same thing. He stated, "I understand you were among those who killed my father."

"I was in his dungeon when he died, as was Oghren and Tabris." I admitted, nodding my head, signaling for him to continue.

"Oghren refuses to talk to me regarding what happened. He said it is better if it is left alone…"

He had trailed off, suddenly seeming unsure of how to go on. After a moment I found myself completing his thought for him, "…but Arl Howe was your father and you need to know."

"Yes." The word was quiet and harsh.

"Do you know what your father did, Warden Howe?"

"I know some of what happened," he shrugged, the cold, calculating certainty was evaporating gradually, allowing me to see the man beneath the title and the name. He made a nervous gesture of rubbing the back of his neck, quietly flicking the feathers at the butt of one of the arrows in the quiver on his back, "I returned from the Free Marches and broke into Vigil's Keep. It was…nothing was what I had thought. My sister, Delilah, she filled in some of the missing details. It grieves me, the things that he did to the Couslands, to others…"

I found myself feeling a measure of compassion for the man and I tried, in my own bumbling, asinine way to be kind, "He never surrendered, if that is any comfort…"

His eyes flared and he scowled, "No, it is not. When you do not surrender from causing harm it does not make you noble," he was suddenly angry, but it was not directed at me and he demanded, "Did he make any explanation? Any excuse?"

"He said he felt he deserved more."

"More of what? More prestige? More power? Did he think that justified causing more misery?" He slammed his fist against the cavern wall and I winced even if he didn't appear to feel it, "Our family lost everything and what we had was not enough for him?"

I was at a loss. I had been prepared for him to accuse me, blame me for his father's death and, as he turned to me in that moment, I got the impression that he had been expecting the same thing. This conversation was taking a turn into a direction that neither of us had foreseen.

"There is nothing that I can say. We had wanted him to answer for his crimes," I shook my head, "He attacked and we defended ourselves. In his mind, for whatever reason, he felt he was justified."

"Like Loghain?"

The question caused my stomach to lurch and images from my dream the previous night danced before my eyes. The defensiveness I had maintained in the Fade had followed me to the waking world, "That was different."

"He deserved to die," Nathaniel Howe reassured me, his voice certain now where it had once wavered, "I do not argue that. He and my father were evenly matched in their crimes, but you were the one who executed Loghain."

I found myself nodding silently, my mouth dry, the final blow replaying in my mind, the splatter of hot blood against my cheeks, marking me as the whole decision would ever mark me.

"Do you ever question your decisions?" he asked this quietly, absently, "Rumors of what had occurred at the Landsmeet filtered back to us. It was said another Warden had intervened and suggested that the teyrn undergo the Joining. It had seemed oddly logical. If you had spared him, had forced him to become a Warden, justice would have still been served."

His chosen thoughts he expressed echoed the arguments that Anora herself had made, so simple and yet so complicated.

There was a sour taste in the back of my throat. I had not killed Loghain for his crimes against Ferelden, as we had with Arl Howe. Regardless of what I claimed publicly, I had killed Loghain for leaving the Wardens, for leaving Duncan, to die. It was personal vengeance that pushed me to seek his life. If he had lived, had been forced to undergo the Joining, had faced the archdemon in Nerine's place…

I had resented the idea of Loghain being given the honor of becoming a Warden. If he had killed the archdemon, he would have been remembered as a hero instead of the villain who abandoned his king and tried to usurp the throne through his daughter. His death was justice, but it was also vengeance. Like all power, they both come with a price.

That was one of my great fears now. Ultimately that is why I allowed Eamon to make the difficult choices, the ones I was reluctant to decide. Following my hatred and my personal emotions had come at too high a price. If I had stayed my hand the outcome could have been very different. Loghain would have died a hero, but still he would have died and Nerine would have lived. She would have become Warden Commander of Vigil's Keep and lead the order in Ferelden. Her voice, her heart, her compassion, her strength would have been more than the lingering memory that fed my regrets.

I rasped, finally admitting what I had dared not speak before, "I was wrong. I should have allowed him a chance at redemption. My hasty desire for a vengeful justice had a price that I could not fathom at the time and I was not the one who paid it. I am a man and I could not see all the possible outcomes, Maker forgive me!"

It was hard to read the look on Warden Howe's face as he offered, "I cannot fault you, your Majesty. If I had not become a Warden I would be a much different man. Perhaps it saved me from becoming my father in the end. If my father had lived, if Loghain had won, it would not have saved Ferelden and more lives would have been lost. I had thought knowing how it ended would answer these questions that haunted me." He exhaled, "It just leaves more questions that only he could have answered and he is gone."

"It is shallow comfort, Warden Howe, but I too have wrestled with these questions. I too have wrestled with self-doubt and the guilt over things I had no control over and cannot change. There are many things my own father should have answered for but he surrendered his responsibilities to other men…"

Warden Howe and I were very much alike. We both stood in the shadows of our fathers. It was a burden, for good or ill. We resented the sins and failings they left behind and the necessity that forced us to carry those burdens and make amends in their stead. This realization led me to offer, "This will not mean much to you. I do not regret your father's death or the role I played in it. However, the fact that your family was punished in his place was not fair. You were not at fault."

"The punishment was just," he allowed calmly, "It had to be paid for: the treachery, the blood…"

I cut in, "It was just, but I wonder now if it was right."

"My sister is content. I have a purpose. These things are than what we had as the children of Arl Howe."

"And your brother?"

I had heard the rumors as most at the court had. Thomas Howe's death had varying accounts, whether that was due to gossip or someone trying to hide the truth. Eamon had believed it was not worthwhile to pursue the matter because of his name, but at that moment I began to question the wisdom of that assumption.

Warden Howe's jaw became tight at the mention of his brother, but he merely shrugged, his eyes remaining impassive. He asked no favors. All he had wanted was the truth regarding his father. I considered that maybe the truth shouldn't end there. Maybe someone should see to it that no other misplaced vengeance had befallen Thomas Howe. That would be equal justice and I would have no less.

I offered him my hand, "You are an honest man and a good Warden. I will be proud to stand with you, whatever happens."

A look of disbelief washed over his face as he regarded my hand. Once he inwardly reassured himself that I did not jest, he clasped my hand and returned my firm grip.

I was not what he expected and he was not what I expected. In that respect we were even.

"I still think it is a poor idea for Wardens to be involved in politics," he added, though without the accusing tone he had once used.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," I confided, "When one considers that Blights are fought by nations, one has to be willing to wade into politics. If we had refrained from involving ourselves in politics when seeking aid during the Blight we would never have made it. Dwarven nobles scrambling to become king, Elven clan curses, preventing a Rite of Annulment from being carried out at the Circle Tower, saving an entire village from the undead – we were up to our armpits in politics." I rolled my eyes, "That being said, however, there is a warning in the life of Warden Commander Sophia Dryden. She used her position as a Warden to conduct her personal crusade against the Ferelden throne and the entire order was banished from this country as a result. It is a fine line to walk, Warden Howe."

He was thoughtful before nodding, "I think I understand."

Sensing that our conversation was at an end, Howe gestured me to follow him and I did so with a far lighter disposition. I found myself musing aloud, "I actually met Sophia Dryden."

"Really?" he replied, only half listening as I had noticed many of the nobles did when I spoke until I verbally snuck in some detail that tripped them up. I used it as a test to see who actually listened to me and who only humored me. To his credit, it happened quicker than it did with most. When what I had said fully settled in his mind he stopped suddenly, "Wait….what? How is that even possible…or do I not want to know?"

"Let me just say, Warden Howe, that it was not pretty and leave it at that," I reassured him before another thought struck me, "While we are on the subject though, is Avernus still conducting experiments at Soldier's Peak on behalf of the Grey Wardens."

"I believe so. Why?"

"When you return to Amaranthine, remind the Warden Commander to check on him periodically and ensure he is not going beyond bounds. There has to be a clear line with that one!" I stated this with deep feeling, hoping my implications would be clear enough that Howe would remember them later.

With that we continued on to meet the others and plan for the fall of Heidrunscap Mine.

**The dialogue from the Landsmeet scene was taken directly from the game and slightly adapted to fit what I was trying to do in the story. In Dragon Age: Origins, if Alistair fights Loghain Riordan never gets the chance to speak so I took dialogue from the alternate option of having the Warden or another party member fight Loghain first. As always, that dialogue came from the brains of the writers at Bioware and I am presenting it as part of Alistair's memories, embellishing it slightly to fit his POV.