Arcane Warrior
Chapter 12
The Pieces Fall into Place
Bann Teagan Guerrin, as with all the other lords and ladies of the Bannorn, had been summoned to the royal palace of Denerim. He tried to keep his focus on the event's announcer, a task that was proving more difficult than was first surmised. All around him, he could hear gossip and frightened whispers that calling the Bannorn together so soon after the death of the king, the topic of much speculation already, was highly suspicius.
Teagan couldn't help but agree, though the thought of some political machination like what had been rumored did not sit well with him. It was too Orlesian.
But if not for an attempted coup, why had the Bannorn been summoned in its entirety? Had Ferelden returned to the days of her worst tyrants, where the doors would shut and bolt, following a barrage of arrows from the overlook? Such a thing had not happened since the infamous wedding of Ferelden's last king prior to the Orlesian occupation.
He shook his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts before returning his focus to the coming meeting between the queen and the bannorn.
He had been in Rainesfere, minding his own affairs and reading the latest work of the famed scholar Brother Ferdinand Genitivi when he had recieved word from a messenger claiming that Queen Anora was calling a meeting of the Bannorn.
On the ride to Denerim, the messenger informed him of what exactly was happening down south, of how the army assembled under the king was crushed and how the king himself was killed by the darkspawn. It had been a mere two weeks since then, and already even more tales began to emerge from the south of the darkspawn slaughtering all in their path.
Already several towns and villages had fallen to the horde, the people who lived there trampled upon or eaten or twisted into macabre statues or whatever the darkspawn did with their victims. The more one listened to such stories, the more outlandish they became.
Worst still were the rumors that preceded Loghain's return to Denerim. His own forces, led by the ever-stalwart Ser Cauthrien, had been completely unharmed by the horde. How that had happened was anyone's guess, though those too simple to comprehend the realities of war would undoubtedly attribute their inexplicable survival to some miracle.
That the Maker favored them and shielded them from all harm. Pure poppycock.
What of the Grey Wardens? The order dedicated to the sole purpose of defeating the darkspawn and protecting the peoples of Thedas from their corruption. Had they been wiped out as well along with the others at Ostagar?
Indeed, they had been, it seems. From his brother's talks with the king, he personally knew that Duncan, the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden had taken every man and woman under his command to fight in the army. The last he had heard the battles were going well, though that had obviously changed.
His attention was called back to the overlook when the announcer finally approached the railing and announced the arrival of the Queen. Though she was not alone. Lady Anora's father, Teyrn Loghain mac Tir stood at her side, looking down upon the nobles gathered in the hall with his usual calculating eyes.
His eyes narrowed as Anora began to speak, telling them of the disaster at Ostagar and the death of their king. Gasps and outraged cries filled the chamber, but that was only to be expected.
Cailan was well loved by the people of Ferelden; there was not a noble in attendance who did not know the man personally, he had spent much of his time attending banquets or other such events held by the lords and ladies, or even by wealthy commoners, while Anora stayed behind in the palace to see to matters of governance.
He wondered how much of the outcry at news of his death was genuine, and how much was the feigned sympathies of sycophants who cared for nothing beyond what would befall their own houses and fortunes in the coming days.
What was unexpected was how the Teyrn silenced his daughter, almost roughly shoving past her before leaning over the railing and addressing them himself.
As the speaker's arrogant words hung over the assembled nobles of Ferelden, Teagan clenched his hands into fists at his side in an effort to restrain himself from drawing his sword, his normally cheerful face drawn into a grimace of utter contempt.
A quick observation suggested that he was not the only one to feel this way; the mood within the throne room of the palace was fast becoming torn. He could hear the whispered voices of the lords and ladies, the clear division between the loyal and the mutinous, on one side was admiration and vows of support while on the other snatches of resentful muttering could be heard by any who cared to listen.
If the Teryn was aware of this, he didn't deign to show it, continuing to list demand after demand as if the earth-shaking events of the past two weeks were common currency to one such as he.
Loghain wasted no time in declaring himself Regent to his daughter, Queen Anora before the Bannorn.
The new Regent ordered that the border between Orlais and Ferelden was to be sealed, and that all Orlesian ships caught approaching Ferelden's ports were to be turned away or seized.
Or, if possible, sunk beneath the waves.
The Teryn also declared his stewardship over the Arling of Denerim, left leaderless thanks to the death of Arl Urien at Ostagar and his son's recent murder in the rebellions in the alienage.
Though perhaps most concerning of all, however, was the proclamation naming the Grey Wardens responsible for their defeat at Ostagar. By Teyrn Loghain's account, the Wardens had deliberately undermined Ferelden's every effort to combat the darkspawn at the behest of the Orlesian Empire, with whom they had been plotting to restore Orlais' dominion over Ferelden.
The exile of the Wardens, repealed by Maric two decades earlier, was not only restored but consolidated, the Order as a whole were declared traitors to Ferelden, to be killed or captured on sight. Furthermore, any Wardens approaching the Ferelden border were to be killed or captured on sight.
Many of the nobles applauded this decision, having long since dismissed the importance of the Wardens, but others like Teagan could only watch, dumbstruck, as Loghain condemned one of their most potent allies against the darkspawn threat. More importantly, such an order could potentially lead to hostilities with the Anderfells, where the Grey Wardens were positioned as a ruling class.
It was even rumored that there were more wardens in the Anderfells than there were soldiers in Ferelden.
And they were not the only ones to be labelled traitors. Loghain issued a decree declaring that the Couslands had thrown their lot in with the Orlesians as well, and that their lands and lives were now forfeit. As they spoke, the last remaining Couslands were being rounded up and killed by Loghain's men, Arl Howe of Amaranthine included among that number.
Highever itself was to be made property of Howe, and Teagan could easily imagine Rendon's glee at the thought of Bryce's rich lands joined with his own.
All this added up to a worrying picture, made worse by the fact that the Landsmeet had yet to be consulted on even the smallest of details. Even this meeting was criminally absent of debate; Loghain was not inviting suggestions by demanding the presence of the bannorn, but issuing orders.
What is this, Orlais had no part in the murder of our sovereign! Yet he would have us ignore the darkspawn threat in favor of an Orlesian plot that no one has any evidence to show…
As if reading Bann Teagan's thoughts, the sound of a muted cough drew his attention away from Loghain, and he looked to see Queen Anora step towards the railing to stand beside her father, resplendent as ever in a gown of purple and gold.
The official story as he had heard it was that Ferelden's queen had withdrawn from the public eye out of grief for her slain husband, but now she seemed as composed as ever before in her life, as if the news out of the south was of no more significance than a bandit raid. The notion that this woman needed a regent at all was seemed to him an absurdity; Anora was a grown woman of nearly thirty, politically astute and a competent stateswoman, hardly a helpless child who needed to be kept sheltered under her father's arm.
Or in his shadow.
Strangely though, she did not object as Loghain outlined his demands, and Teagan could only wonder at how much or how little he had told her of his plans.
Loghain barely acknowledged his daughter as he continued, pounding the banister for emphasis.
"And I expect each of you to supply these men; we must replace what was lost at Ostagar, and quickly! There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them, and we must be prepared to defend this country with all our strength. Victory means rejecting the advice of traitors who would deliver us into the hands of our enemies. The darkspawn will be defeated sensibly, and without hesitation!"
It was the Bann of Amaranthine who stepped forward to speak; a woman had a reputation as a thoughtful, intelligent leader. She was among those who had kept silent through nearly the entire gathering, taking in all and revealing nothing. If Teagan had to hazard a guess, she was on the fence about what side to take in this matter, weighing which would be of most benefit to her and her house.
"My lord, Ferelden cannot fight a war on two fronts, not with the army destroyed at Ostagar and men needed for the coming harvest. Perhaps we should focus our efforts on defeating the darkspawn first, so that we can bring our full strength to bear should Orlais invade."
"Where and when we fight is none of your concern," Loghain growled, glowering at the noblewoman. "You need merely concern yourself with ensuring that you are ready to do so."
Such a callous dismissal could not go unanswered, and Teagan stepped forward. "Your Lordship, may I speak?"
Hushed whispers broke out. While the rest of the nobility was dressed in their court finery, Teagan stood both armed and armored in fine steel, a kite shield bearing the apple trees of Rainsefere on his back. Beside him, nobles of various standings chattered nervously at the implication.
At long last, Loghain motioned for Teagan to speak, and the ginger-haired man eagerly seized the chance. "You have declared yourself Queen Anora's regent, and claimed that we must all unite under your banner for the good of Ferelden-"
"Do you dispute this?" Loghain demanded quickly, far too quickly for comfort. "Do you object to my claim, Bann Teagan?"
Ignoring the question, Teagan pressed on, his handsome, bearded face becoming cold. "But what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal was most…fortuitous."
The barely concealed accusation drew gasps of shock from some of the nobles, and Loghain's pale features went scarlet with rage. Beside him Anora narrowed her eyes, glancing worriedly at the growing commotion, but Teagan would not be dissuaded. "What happened at Ostagar, my lord? Why did you survive, and our King did not?"
"Choose your next words carefully," Loghain hissed, anger leaking forth from between his clenched teeth. "I have a dim view of treason, Bann Teagan, as the fate of the Couslands shows."
"You intend to murder us in our beds too?" came a third voice as Bann Telmen of Jaina's Crossing waded into the fray, dark eyes narrowing dangerously at the Teryn. "Howe betrayed guest right, my lord! He entered Castle Highever under a banner of friendship and then stuck a knife in Bryce's back, and you rewarded him for it!"
"The Couslands could not have betrayed us," another noble said, and Teagan watched as armor-clad spearmen pushed through way through the crowd to find the speaker. "Bryce Cousland was one of the most honorable men in the kingdom, we all know this. Where is the evidence of his duplicity, my lord? The word of Rendon Howe is not enough!"
Loghain's armored fist slammed down onto the banister hard enough to crack the polished oak, and there was no disguising the venom in his tone. "Everything I have done has been to secure Ferelden's independence. I have not shirked my duty to the throne, and neither will any of you!"
"The Bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it!" Teagan shot back. "Such things may occur in Orlais, but not in Ferelden!"
All in Ferelden knew of the teyrn's undying hatred for Orlais and all to do with it. Teagan's bait was all too obvious, but the larger man still took to it far too easily, his gambit to weaken Loghains standing with the Bannorn succeeding as at the mention of his hated rival, Loghain's composure shattered, and Teagan was half-convinced the Teryn would order his soldiers to put an end to him.
"Understand this: I will brook no threat to this nation, from you or anyone!" he roared. "I will not suffer the enemies of Ferelden to live, no matter what form they take. Remember that!"
With that, Loghain stormed out beneath a cloud of outraged questioning, and Teagan was pleased to note than much of his support from the Bannorn had eroded after his outburst. So dismissed, the assembled nobles moved to exit the grand throne room at the threat of the royal guards, though it was to no one's surprise that their tabards bore the crest of Gwaren, each glancing about as they whispered to one another, fearful of who might overhear. Shaking his head in disgust, Teagan moved to join his fellows, only for Queen Anora's voice to stop him in his tracks. "Bann Teagan, please!"
"Your Majesty, your father risks civil war! If Eamon were here…"
Anora's full lips pursed thoughtfully, and Teagan could see the wheels turning in her mind. Her time as Queen had been plagued with rumors of infertility, and with her husband dead and the line of succession broken, Anora was Queen by virtue of her father's military strength more than anything else. No doubt she understood this, and once more, Teagan couldn't help but wonder how much she was involved with her father's agenda. "Bann Teagan, my father is only doing what is best. Please trust me in this."
"Did he also do what was best for your husband, Your Majesty?" the bann retorted, making his way through the crowd. There was little more he could do here, and he doubted Loghain would endure his continued defiance for long. It was time to return to Redcliffe, and hope that his brother's condition had improved…
"Insolence!" Teryn Loghain raged, storming back to his chambers like some great armored bear, seething in rage. As ever, Ser Cauthrien kept pace behind him, ever vigilant for threats against his person, her presence reassuringly familiar. Yet, ever since Ostagar, there had been a coldness to her, a deep-seated rancor that lingered in every word and movement. She had not disobeyed his orders, of course; she was far too good a knight for that, but it was there all the same, and he understood the root of it. It had pained him to leave Cailan out there on the field alone, but he had chosen his fate, and Loghain would rather see all of Ferelden burn than allow a single Orlesian chevalier step foot upon its soil. Compared to that, the loss of seven thousand men and women was nothing.
But if nothing else, he contented himself with the fact that Cauthrien would never turn against him. She was a good soldier and a true patriot, and if the so-called nobility of Ferelden were even half as dedicated as his champion, then the treachery of Orlais would never have taken root here to begin with. How dare they dispute him in this! He had fought for his country for more than thirty years; who were they to challenge him?
Loghain took a bottle of wine and filled a goblet to the rim, throwing his head back he drained it completely to calm his nerves. He couldn't stand these expensive brands his daughter favored, what he truly wanted in this moment was a bottle of good old dwarven ale.
"Where is Howe?" he demanded, setting his mind on the task ahead.
"I am uncertain, my lord," replied Cauthrien.
"Bring him to me," Loghain ordered, seeing the knight tense up at the command. "You don't like him, do you, Cauthrien?"
Finally given the opportunity to speak freely, Cauthrien let her scorn flow. "No, my lord, I do not. The Banns were correct about one thing; Howe violated guest right to attack the Couslands, and such a crime cannot be forgotten. He is a greedy, honor less man, my lord, and unworthy of your patronage-"
"And who else do I have to rely on?" Loghain snapped. "Howe is loyal to Ferelden and understands what must be done to defend her, which is more than I can say for that pack of cravens outside. Bring him here, and once you have done so, you will go to my daughter's chambers and ensure she is safe."
"My place is at your side, my lord."
"Your place is wherever I command it, Cauthrien. Now obey." For a moment it seemed like Cauthrien would refuse, but once again, she swallowed her objections and complied. Only when the knight departed did Loghain permit himself to sink into his chair, contemplating the next step in securing his country.
And, as far as Loghain was concerned, it truly was his country.
Maric might have been proclaimed its savior by the common folk and basked in their adulation, but it was he who had made it all possible. It was his stratagem at the Southron Hills that enabled the rebel army to escape Meghren's forces and live to fight another day. While Maric was off avenging that Orlesian slut Katriel, Loghain had been the one to break the Empire's armies at the River Dane, crippling the Occupation with one swift blow. He had always been there to give Maric backbone, to remind him of his duty, to force him to look past his petty morality in the name of victory.
Indeed, the stolen throne could not have been reclaimed without him; without a strong hand to guide him, Maric could not have liberated a sheep's pen, let alone a kingdom. He had given everything for the sake of his country, even Rowan, and he would be damned if he would let the perennial weaknesses of the Theirin bloodline jeopardize Ferelden any further.
They had their chance and failed, but my dynasty will never know defeat.
The heavy oaken door to his chambers opened, and Arl Rendon Howe stepped in, his weasel-like face pinched with a diffident expression. Behind him, Ser Cauthrien wrinkled her nose in disgust, as if she had marched downwind of a cattle drive, leaving without so much as a word once she delivered the asp of a man to her lord.
"Tell me Rendon, what happened with the Couslands?" Loghain asked, staring down his erstwhile ally. Only behind the solid door and guarded by the most steadfast of his soldiers did he feel content in discussing his plans. "I never did receive that report from you."
He had entrusted him with removing the Theirins' most stalwart supporters from the board, and now the manner in which Howe saw fit to execute his task was being used against him, to rob him of the Bannorn's support.
Needless to say, he was less than pleased.
Immediately, Howe assumed a humble tone. "Bryce's forces were divided, my lord. His best troops had already left for Ostagar with his son, and he had allowed many of my own men to billet with his castle. There was an… opportunity in his weakness, my lord, one that had to be taken advantage of."
"You were to wait until I gave you the signal to strike at the Couslands," Loghain growled, dark eyes boring into the other man. Maker, how he detested Rendon, if for no other reason than that his haste had weakened his position with the nobles. "Do you remember what I told you, Howe? You were to move on the Couslands only when I ordered it so, and you were to take them alive. Was it too much to ask of you to remember this simplest of tasks!?"
"Of course, my lord. But we were unlikely to find a better chance to remove them. Regrettably, there was no time to inform you of the situation, but it turned out for the best, wouldn't you-"
Loghain's armored fist shot forward, and even dressed in armor specifically enchanted to double his strength, Howe folded like a sheet of vellum.
"You idiot!" the Teryn roared, raining down blows on the prostrate figure, the day's events spurring his anger further. "When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed! I will suffer none to defy me, Howe; what makes you think you can, hmm?"
"Perhaps my men were a bit overzealous-"
"And murdered an eight-year-old boy! Do you think this is how I want my reign to be remembered? For the slaughter of children? With his son and grandson as hostages, Bryce would have had no choice but to bend the knee, and where he went, the Landsmeet would follow! But no, you had to avenge some petty slight, and now my regency is beset by the winging of lesser men." Delivering a final blow, Loghain stalked back to his desk, cursing all the while. "Your foolishness has cost us dearly, Rendon."
"The Couslands would never have submitted," wheezed Howe, dragging himself up off the floor with what little dignity he could muster. "Bryce was sickeningly loyal to the Theirin line, all his family were, and so long as they survived, they would be a threat to you."
"So you say. You killed them all then?"
A malicious gleam shone in Howe's eyes, and Loghain bit back his disgust at the naked enjoyment in the Arl's voice. "Trust me, my lord, the Couslands are all dead. Bryce, Eleanor, that stinking Antivan harlot and her brat; none are left to defy you. Only the youngest son, regrettably he managed to escape through a secret tunnel I did not know about until after I had gutted Bryce and that raider wife of his."
"Hmm, I recall hearing some report that he was killed not too far from Ostagar. He contracted the blight sickness it seems."
"That's good then, one less thorn in our sides. What of the older son? I could not prevent Fergus from leaving the castle before I could act."
Loghain nodded grimly. "Scouting the Wilds."
"Which would put him right in the path of the horde," Howe reminded soothingly. "Their line has been utterly extinguished. And with my forces in the terynir as we speak, no threat will emerge from the Coastlands to challenge you, my lord."
Loghain slumped over his desk and downed a second glass of wine.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you Howe," came the blunt question.
Howe paled in fear, but quickly mustered his nerve, gingerly wiping away some blood from his battered face. "Because I can be relied upon to do whatever it takes to defend Ferelden, my lord. Just like you. Hard times require hard choices, and the rest of the Landsmeet doesn't have the stomach to do what is necessary. Who else can you count on, my lord?"
Who indeed? Loghain asked himself, despairing at how few real patriots existed in Ferelden these days. He regretted having to ally with such a scheming worm, but if that's what it took to save Ferelden, he would not shy away from it. "What happened to Vaughan?" he demanded, reaching for a bottle of red wine.
"Murdered by elves of the Alienage, apparently," answered Howe. "He invoked droit du seigneur at a wedding, and some of the knife-ears were foolish enough to murder him for it."
"Damn him," Loghain growled. He knew Vaughan Kendalls was a spoiled and foolhardy wretch when he invited him into the conspiracy, but the need to secure Denerim outweighed any moral objections he had. Like the Couslands, Arl Urien was another threat that needed removing; with him gone, his son would have inherited the arling and brought its power into the fold, helping to establish a powerbase that would help secure his reign… until they no longer had need of him. Now the Kendalls line was broken, and anyone he installed to replace them would lack that age-old legitimacy. "I hope that the culprits were disposed of?"
"Yes, my lord. The City Guard had arrested the murderers, a girl named Tabris and a boy named Soris. The girl tried to convince me that it was all her doing, but no elf could kill so many by themselves, I had her stuck in a cage above the Imperial Highway to serve as an example to our enemies. The other one is rotting in my dungeon as we speak."
Downing a third glass, he shook his head over how poorly his plans were going. They would need to step up going forward, so many setbacks could not be allowed to continue. They would need nothing but total victory after total victory going forward.
Shaking his head, Loghain loomed over his fellow nobleman, every word cold and cruel as iron. "There is to be no more failure, Howe. Do you understand me? Not at this stage. This nation stands on the brink, and the slightest misstep will send us all into the abyss."
"As ever, I am ready to serve, Your Grace."
"Then serve me now! Orlais' catspaws within the Landsmeet have made their move, and already I face dissent. I must have unity and order if Ferelden is to survive, and quickly. Much of my forces are already positioned along the border, but I cannot give the Bannorn an opportunity to undermine our defenses. Their insolence must be punished swiftly, so that I can bring additional troops to counter any invasion from the west."
"I have been thinking on that, my lord, and I believe I have a solution that might appeal to you," Howe replied smoothly. "If I may?"
Getting a nod in assent, Howe limped over to the door, the rusted hinges squeaking open to receive a young man, over just twenty years old, garbed in red steel chainmail with a longsword at his side. Quickly, Loghain looked over the newcomer, every glance finding the man wanting; his handsome, roguish face locked in a perpetual sneer, his flaming red hair slicked back with oils in the manner of a damned courtier, the naked gleam of avarice in his eyes that reminded him too much of Howe. Worst of all was the tabard across his chest bearing a single black vertical stripe on a field of white, and his pride as a soldier recoiled at the implication.
"May I present Commander Raynald Raleigh of the Hard Line-"
"Harwen's bastard, I know," snapped Loghain. "You misjudge me, Rendon. Do you think I'd stoop so low as to rely on sellswords to fight my battles for me?"
"I have two hundred experienced warriors at my command," Raynald spoke, daring to contradict the Teryn. "All of whom are eager to fight alongside the Hero of River Dane."
"And how much shall your generous assistance cost me?" demanded Loghain, wary at this offer of assistance. Like most warrior-nobles, the Teyrn had an instinctive distrust of mercenaries, believing them to be endlessly self-serving, undisciplined, cowardly and unreliable, hardly the sort of men upon which Ferelden's continued liberty could be assured. "I have no need of fair-weather patriots, Commander."
"It is for Ferelden that we fight, my lord," Raynald stubbornly insisted, holding his ground. "My father fought alongside King Maric against Orlais, but when the war was done, he was left an exile, denied the lands that were rightfully his. Return to me that which was taken from us, and the Hard Line will follow you into the abyss itself."
The lost lands of the Raleigh family.
He supposed it would come to that eventually. Like much of Ferelden's nobility, the Raleighs had joined Maric's rebellion against Orlais, and Harwen would prove to be a notably ruthless fighter. That ruthlessness would ultimately be his downfall; his penchant for torture, rape and murder did little to endear him to Maric, and one of his first acts after becoming King was to strip the Raleighs of all lands and titles.
Dispossessed, Harwen became a mercenary, his oath-sworn men following him into exile, and thus the Hard Line company was born. Over the years, the company had fostered a reputation for viciousness and brutality spanning from Ferelden to the northern Free Marches. Harwen had died three years ago under mysterious circumstances, but his legacy remained, and if the desire to see their lands restored burned as fiercely in the son as it did the father, then he could be assured of their commitment.
Maric would not have understood the need for men like the Raleighs, but Maric had always been weak. Loghain had sworn to protect Ferelden against all her enemies, and he would not break that oath, or shirk away from the hard choices needed to protect her. The notion of hiring mercenaries gnawed at him for a moment, but he discarded it quickly. He was willing to abandon his own King and work with men like Howe for the sake of Ferelden, but somehow sellswords were a step too far? If the country was to be saved and his daughter's rule preserved, then there could be no limits to what he was willing to do, no step too odious and vile to ensure their freedom.
"The harvest will be upon us soon, and those who would betray Ferelden cannot march on empty stomachs any more than loyal men can. Take your men, Commander Raleigh, and strike at those who would dispute my rule. Sack their towns and lay waste to their fields, burn their mills and plunder their granaries. Whatever you cannot take for use in my army, you burn. Make examples of them!" Loghain barked, the anger oozing freely. "Remind them of the consequences of treason and bring terror to all those who would stand against me. Do this, and your ancestral lands will be restored to your rule, Raynald Raleigh. What say you?"
"My lord Regent," Raynald said, bowing low, bearing a wicked smile. "The Hard Line stands ready to serve."
"Good. You and your men will be ready to move by sundown, I'll have a list of targets for you by then. Fail in this, and you will regret it," Loghain assured him, dismissing the mercenary with a wave.
"By your leave, my lord?" asked Howe, gesturing towards the open door.
"In a moment," said Loghain, stopping Howe in his tracks. "Denerim falters without adequate leadership, and my focus must remain on keeping the Orlesians out of Ferelden. The arling is yours. You will secure it, you will prevent the enemy from gaining a foothold here, and you will keep this city from becoming a problem for me, am I clear? No mistakes, Howe. No mistakes."
A satisfied smile appeared on Howe's loathsome face, and it was all Loghain could do to keep himself from wringing his chicken-like neck. Howe now ruled two arlings and a terynir, and though he hated the notion of giving those money-grubbing vermin yet more power, Denerim was too important to hand to anyone else. "My lord, I am honoured-"
"I don't want to hear it, Rendon. Just do your job and don't disappoint me again. Now, get out."
As the door closed hastily behind the retreating Arl, Loghain finally released the frustrated sigh he'd been holding in since the meeting with the nobles began, shoving away the nagging whispers of his conscience. For a brief moment, the regret at what he'd done began to claw away at him, but his resolve held, as unyielding as ever. Howe was right about one thing; hard times demanded hard ways, and any weakness would be the death of him.
Come what may, I will see Ferelden safe again.
No matter the cost.
The Queen had an entire wing of the royal palace set aside for her use, and Cauthrien's first act upon inspecting the site was to double the guard.
Back and forth she paced through the scrubbed stone halls of the palace, analyzing Anora's protectors with a practiced eye and finding them all wanting. Most of these men were knights drawn from the Teryn's supporters and those considered politically reliable, but wherever Cauthrien looked, she saw weakness. Too many were mere parade-ground soldiers, adept at securing a chamberpot from enemy hands but unreliable in a fight, while others still were mere brutes in plate, men who saw military service as the gateway to riches, rather than a matter of patriotic obligation. Most of them she could cut down as easily as a man cut through a loaf of bread. At least the rest of Maric's Shield had been capable soldiers, until they were betr—
No, she reminded herself, trying to shove aside the guilt that had plagued her since Ostagar.
Loghain had not abandoned the King to pain and death; he had salvaged valuable men that would have otherwise been squandered to Cailan's foolishness. They had not fled from the field in dishonor, merely… withdrew to fight another day. Loghain would never betray Ferelden, and everything he did was in the best interests of the nation. In the end, she was a soldier, oath-sworn to Loghain and honor-bound to follow him to whatever end. Any treasonous thoughts otherwise were the currency of philosophers and poets, weak men who never had to endure the least responsibility, men who never had to make an impossible decision on behalf of their people.
And yet, the guilt persisted, a nagging pain upon the soul that endured no matter what honeyed rationalizations she conceived of. To serve Teryn Loghain was a great honor, and one that other men would gladly die to achieve, but the glory was gone now, and the duty lay heavy upon her. She could try and deceive herself, but she had heard the Teryn give the order to retreat, seen how he had moved to gain power, how he allowed creatures like Howe and Raleigh to flock to his banner, and the more she considered it, the greater her unease became.
But to act upon these doubts would be to disgrace everything she had worked and fought so hard to achieve, and for the first time since her days as a farm girl in eastern Ferelden, she felt trapped, uncertain. If her lord had forsaken his honor, then what would become of her own?
With great effort, she buried her misgivings deep, walling them away behind a knight's discipline. She had work to do here, and in the coming days, Loghain would come to rely upon her further. Before the assembled knights and warriors of Anora's bodyguard, she remained steadfast and resolute in the face of all that had befallen Ferelden, a rock beneath which they could hide their doubts.
And perhaps one day, it would be enough to eliminate her own.
It was only when he finally reached the safety and privacy of his gilded coach that Arl Rendon Howe allowed himself to curse Loghain's name, nursing the bruises the Teryn had left him with. In the twisted depths of his mind, his boundless pride lashed out, striking harder than any wound Loghain could inflict, and he cataloged each and every injury, festering at the slight they represented.
Loghain was the man they needed to see Ferelden mighty and free of the foreigners and non-humans, but no man offended the Howes without consequence, not even him.
One day, my lord, you shall pay for that insult in full.
Still, a few bruises were a small price to pay for the riches of Denerim, and Howe sank into the goose-feather cushion, stifling a mad giggle. Loghain was such a fool! Denerim was a prize beyond description, and he had half-feared that the Teryn would take the arling for himself. Yet Loghain had no interest in governance or the wealth that came with it, and that suited Howe just fine. He was more than content to let Loghain do the dirty work of battling Ferelden's enemies, and in his mind's eye, he imagined the vaults of Vigil's Keep packed to bursting with the treasures of his new dominions. A month ago, he had to content himself with Amaranthine alone, but now, the entire northern coast of Ferelden would be bent to the desires of the only man worthy of it: Rendon Howe!
But it would never be enough. Already, Howe dreamt of seizing the fertile lands of the central Bannorn, the productive mines of the Western Hills, and so much more. For his was a life surrendered to his base desires, every thought and action directed towards appeasing his endless avarice, his mindless cruelty and his insatiable lusts. Nothing less than the whole of Thedas bent in homage to him would ever suffice, and as the carriage rolled towards the Arl of Denerim's estate, his estate, Howe mused on how best to advance his agenda.
All for the Regent's benefit, of course.
The coach ground to a halt in front of the palace gates, the Arl wasting no time in crossing the stone courtyard and entering the estate itself, the distance between the two monitored vigilantly by a score of his own troops from Amaranthine. Vaughan had allowed himself to become vulnerable and was killed for it; Howe would not make the same mistake.
He found Everett in the main hall as expected, the assassin paring an apple into thin slices with his dagger.
"A productive meeting with the Regent then, my lord?" he asked, bright blue eyes meeting the nobleman's approach. That was perhaps the man's sole noticeable feature, for everything about him was nondescript; average height and build, pale like most Fereldens, brown hair kept messy, features plain and dull. A man meeting him for the first time would assume him to be just another peasant laborer, a common-born man of no great import, completely forgettable. Even the daggers hung on his belt that served as the tools of his trade appeared of simple design, no more ornate than the ubiquitous blades a common soldier might use to cut his meat.
It was this unremarkable appearance that had brought the assassin to Howe's attention; that, and the casual viciousness that so mirrored the nobleman's own.
Everett had served the Arl for the past seven years as hidden bodyguard, agent provocateur and killer-for-hire, murdering his enemies and keeping him from the same fate, and of all his court, he was one of the few men Howe respected. He did not trust the assassin, but then, he trusted no one. Trust was for fools and weaklings like the Couslands. Power alone was what mattered, and Everett was content to kneel before him in return for a taste of it. Howe, in return, treated him better than he would any of his other servants.
There was nothing to be gained getting on an assassin's bad side, after all. "You would not be eating in this hall otherwise," remarked Howe, letting the assassin drink of the wine placed on the table before pouring himself a goblet. "The Regent rewards his servants well. Has my daughter arrived in the city yet?"
"Got a rider just a few minutes ago saying she'll be here by sunset."
"When she arrives, bring her to me," Howe demanded, giving a smile with far too many teeth. "It's about time she learned the nature of her… assignment." There were opportunities to gain further power here, and the Arl salivated over each and every one. It was long past time his daughter ceased to be a burden on him anyways.
"What news from the Chantry? Have they decided on who is to replace the Grand Cleric?"
"Not yet" answered Everett. "Those wrinkled old bitches are still wailing about how the bint bought it at Ostagar. My guess is they'll wait for word from Orlais, let the Grand Cathedral decide."
"So, I must move quickly." Howe wasn't stupid enough to believe that sealing the border would stop the Chantry from going where it pleased; few men would risk eternal damnation for obstructing the Maker's servants, and they were an element he could exercise little control over.
For the moment.
"Send word to the Denerim chantry that I request an audience with Mother Hale."
"Looking to pay your respects, my lord?"
"Something like that," Howe remarked, the first whispers of a plan forming, the hall echoing with his laughter. "Indeed, in this era of spiritual crisis, we must all do our part to aid the faithful, shouldn't we?"
For this was his time, his hour. The name of Rendon Howe would ascend to the heights of gods, and all who opposed him would be destroyed. In the end, it would all belong to him.
He was back in that strange place.
He could see the same bridge, the same stone statues and the same strange carvings.
But... he was in a different part of it, the bridge was now farther off, the statues and carvings were different, and the suffocating black shadows were now further away.
He tried to focus on the carvings, figuring that maybe if he tried to read them, he would get some idea of where he was. But before he could try and concentrate, he saw a flash of light followed by an unfathomable darkness swallowing everything as he heard a booming voice chanting something in a language unlike anything he had ever heard.
His world exploded into agony and blue flames. He tried to use his magic to put them out, but nothing came from his hands and the flames only burned hotter for his trouble.
Next, he tried to run. He ran and ran, but it seemed the azure fire followed him everywhere, charring his skin until his hair fell out and his lips peeled back until nothing was left to cover his teeth and burnt, blackened gums.
Left with nowhere to run and nothing he could do to fight off the pain and the chanting splitting his skull open, he turned around to see what was causing all of this.
What he saw was a monster out of his darkest nightmares.
Staring down at him with white eyes seething with hatred, the creature floated far off the ground, held aloft by enormous wings. Two arms were crossed in front of its waist with palms and long, spindly fingers turned upwards in some kind of praying gesture while two considerably longer arms fell motionless at its sides.
The being did not appear to possess legs of any kind, instead a mass of tentacles waved about behind a long red cloth.
The fire was gone, but the pain remained.
However even that was swallowed up by the terror he felt, such fear as to drive a man to madness.
He tripped and fell backwards as he realized the creature's tentacles were coiling their way around his body before they began to squeeze.
He tried to scream, but his jaws were melted together.
The tentacles squeezed his body, and even the pain of the azure flames were no more than a pleasant memory as his charred body was crushed.
Alim thrashed around before he bolted up, checking his body to make sure that his skin wasn't blackened, that his hair wasn't burned from his head and that his jaws weren't melted together before breathing a sigh of relief.
Everything slowly came back to him, leaving Lothering behind as they began their journey. Saving the two dwarves and being accosted by a group of farmers
He looked up to see Alistair sitting before the fire they had erected when they set up camp, occasionally throwing a piece of wood into the fire or adjusting it with a stick to keep it going. The man looked well rested for a change, so he had not been the first to take watch.
Leliana's tent was pitched further away on the opposite side of the fire, with Sten standing further still,
staring into the fire with an unknown expression on his nigh unreadable face.
He couldn't even see Morrigan's tent, she had elected to pick a spot far away from everyone and everything, clearly unused to so many bodies so close to her for such a prolonged period of time.
"Bad dreams, huh?" Alistair spoke before turning towards him with a pitying expression. He sat back down on his bedroll and tried to gather his thoughts, his shoulders still shaking from what the fade had shown him.
"It... It seemed so real."
"Well, it is real... sort of." Alistair scratched his head and cleared his throat before continuing. "You see, part of being a grey warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was, hearing them. The archdemon, it... 'talks' to the horde, and we feel it as they do. That's why we know this is really a blight."
The former templar spoke slowly, not used to being the one to give out these explanations, and clearly not knowing the right words to use.
"The archdemon? Is that what that thing was... Why didn't Duncan tell everyone about this?"
Alistair sighed, how he wished Duncan was still here to give Alim this talk instead of him.
"He did. He said he felt the archdemon's presence, everyone just assumed he was guessing." He bit his lip, he had wished he had payed more attention to his mentor now, maybe he'd still be...
"It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older grey wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."
That sounded... both useful as well as ominous. If he could understand what that nightmare creature's chanting meant, perhaps it could be useful to their cause. But at the same time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be able to understand it. It sounded... sinister.
"Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary at first for me too."
Alim smiled and clapped his hand on Alistair's shoulder.
"Thank you, Alistair, I appreciate it."
"That's what I'm here for." The human's voice returned to its normal sarcastic tone; he was grateful as it felt a crime against nature for Alistair to sound so gloomy. "To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.
Anyhow, you're up now, right? Let's pull up camp and get a move on... Uh, after we all get cleaned up and in some proper gear of course."
He nodded and turned towards the crate Bryant had given him, still unopened. Approaching the box, he finally opened the latch and lifted the lid.
He lifted out a robe. How had Ser Bryant known he was a knight enchanter? He couldn't recall telling him, and yet here he was holding the robes worn by knight enchanters when allowed out of the tower on chantry business.
Rich browns and reds, with blue-green accents. The sunburst decorations appeared to be in gold but was a mere imitation.
The Chantry would never waste gold on a mere mage.
The knight enchanter robes differed from typical mage robes in the sense that they were more formfitting, clinging closely to the body. The lower portion, the long, sweeping garment was replaced by trousers and tall boots.
Was it possible that Ser Bryant had kept track of him after he had arrived at Kinloch Hold? He was Knight Commander; it was certainly within his capabilities to receive regular reports about the progress of his onetime ward. But why would he want to? Perhaps...
He shook his head to clear himself of those thoughts. He was being ridiculous; Ser Bryant was his uncle. Of course, he would want to keep track of him.
Moving them into a neat pile, the next item in the chest was revealed to be a suit of sine, steel armor with the sword of mercy proudly emblazoned on the chest plate. Ser Bryant must have guessed that Alistair was a former templar as well. Or had he mentioned it in his visit.
He couldn't remember, but whatever the case, he filed those thoughts away for another time and took his robed down to the river to get himself cleaned up.
It was an hour later that saw Alim returning to camp, these last few weeks of filth and dried blood cleaned off his body. He held his wrist in one hand and flexed the other, testing how it moved in the finger-less gloves provided with his robes.
There was no way of knowing his body measurements after all these years, so he had to admire the fact that the robes fit surprisingly well despite all the guess work that had to have gone into them.
Looking up, he could see Alistair holding his grey warden blade with a morose expression on his usually cheerful face, he too had cleaned himself up and had donned the templar armor that Ser Bryant had supplied them with.
Looking around, he didn't see that anyone else had changed. His uncle must have judged that unlike him and Alistair, the others were reasonably well equipped.
Save Sten of course, who only wore a pair of tattered leather trousers. Bryant didn't see fit to supply the qunari with anything, not that he would have had anything in his size at any rate.
Thinking about their resident qunari, he silently strode towards him as Alistair sheathed his sword. The warden emblem on the hilt might end up giving their disguises away, but he couldn't fault him wanting to keep at least one element of the order he held such pride in on her person.
"Sten, I believe we should talk."
The qunari grunted and didn't even deign to turn to him.
"There are darkspawn to be fought, is this delay needful?"
They were hardly doing up to anything pressing at the moment, so he could only assume Sten did not wish to speak with him. He supposed he could understand, but there were subjects that needed to be broached.
First of all, the creature had killed an entire farmhold, and he needed to know if he could trust him. Then there was the fact that he had been confined to a cage for quite some time and may be in no condition to fight. There was also the fact that he was a soldier from a foreign and quite hostile force.
He supposed he could trust Sten to keep his word for now, at the very least he didn't seem the sort to break an oath once taken. It was equally unreasonable to think that Sten was here to conquer Ferelden.
Strong as qunari were, the thought of single soldier, or even a squadron of qunari soldiers, overthrowing an entire sovereign territory was laughable. Even one of their famed dreadnoughts could be sunk by a sufficiently powerful battlemage.
At least if what he had read about their war with the Imperium was correct.
"Are you alright? You were in that cage for weeks."
That left the final issue, that of his fighting capabilities after his imprisonment. Though he did admit to some concern for the man behind those claws, admitted murderer or no.
"You are concerned?" Sten finally turned from the dying embers of the fire and met his gaze. "No need, I am fit enough to fight."
Indeed, he might have suspected the hornless giant to be tough enough to be in fighting shape after days of starvation. But after weeks? Preposterous.
Yet it seemed he was too stubborn to admit to any such weakness. Whether because it would reflect poorly on the qunari themselves or for his own pride, who could say.
Quickly moving on, he decided to prod him for information. Both to gauge his own patience at being questioned, and to satisfy his own thirst for knowledge.
"I've never seen a qunari before. Tell me about your people."
Seen, no. Read a great deal? Most definitely. Though he doubted everything he read was true, chiefly because the qun was considered heresy of the highest order by the chantry.
Sten's eyes narrowed, obviously disproving of both the question and the one who made it.
"No."
Suppressing a smirk and shrugging nonchalantly, he pressed on.
"Why not?"
"People are not simple. They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of: 'The elves are a lithe, pointy-eared people who excel at poverty.'"
An unexpectedly wise response, though one that was reduced to mere pettiness by so obvious an insult.
"You said you were in the army."
Alim was incredibly amused by this exchange, though his expression and tone betrayed nothing. Whether Sten acknowledged that fact, he did not give any indication.
"I am."
"Why would the qunari send soldiers here?"
Why indeed.
"The antaam are the eyes, hands and mouth of the qunari. We are how my people know the world." Now that was surprising. The elf studied the qunari's leathery face but found nothing he could read.
"Doesn't that make your view of things skewed?"
That seemed to throw him off, as he once more met his stare, raising one eyebrow as he shrugged. "Compared to what?"
Perhaps because knowing the world only through those who's cultures you've destroyed and assimilated into your own might give you an oblique worldview?
These thoughts were a reminder that Sten's actions that landed him in that cage were no more than an extension of how his race as a whole, or at least those of the qun, treated the world at large.
The realization was enough to rob him of any amusement he felt at the larger male's expense, and he was left with the desire to gut him and leave him to rot when they abandoned the campsite.
That urge left him after a very brief moment of pure, unbridled rage.
"That... is a good question."
The qunari didn't seem to sense his murderous intent as he grunted and continued. "What does anyone truly know of the world? The world changes. We change. The antaam observe what we can, just as you do.
There is no point to this. We are keeping the darkspawn waiting."
"True, let's go."
Suddenly, he had no more desire to speak to the qunari.
"Alim!" Alistair rushed to catch up with the elf who was almost angrily away from camp, the elf stopped and turned towards his friend who had a map in hand and was intently studying it.
"I know what was said in Lothering, but I have to ask where you intend to go from here. My advice would be to go to Redcliffe first and try to secure the Arl's aid. Besides, what Ser Donall said worries me."
Alim nodded thoughtfully, taking the map and looking at it carefully.
"As far as I'm aware, Lothering is right on the border of the Brecilian Forest. I heard at the inn that a Dalish tribe was rumored to be camping there, so I thought that would be best to start with.
Alistair studied the map, trying to find some route that would take them to Redcliffe more quickly, but could find no fault with the elf's plan.
He nodded and acquiesced, rolling up the map and moving to inform the others of their new direction.
The original version of the story ended with Lothering, so this is the very first chapter I'm writing from scratch.
The inclusion of the bastard son of Harwen and the Hard Line mercenaries as Loghain's pawns at this point was borrowed from the story The Grey Path. It seemed to me a good enough idea to recycle for my own story.
Feel free to call me out for being a hack.
Please review, I need feedback.
Once again, I'm still looking for a beta reader.