Ostagar – Three Days after the Fall of Highever
The flap of his tent opened with a rustling sound and Ser Cauthrien, the captain of his personal guard, entered. "My lord, a messenger has arrived for you," she said, her breath steaming in the cold morning air. This day was particularly chilly and she had donned a fur-lined cape over her green and white surcoat, emblazoned with the livery of the Teyrnir of Gwaren, a golden wyvern rampant.
Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir looked up from the maps and communiqués that were strewn about his table. "Send him in. I've been expecting this."
Cauthrien crossed her arms in front of her chest and bowed. "As you wish, my lord." The captain held the tent flap open for a hooded messenger, who sauntered in on high leather boots and presented the Teyrn with a rolled note that bore the wax seal of Arl Rendon Howe, a brown bear passant.
Loghain took the scroll with some trepidation. "This was not an easy decision for me, you know," he said in his booming voice, his near confession trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He'd been telling himself that since he rode with King Cailan from Denerim two weeks ago.
The messenger nodded. "As you say, my lord. I am merely the messenger."
With a grunt, Loghain looked at the seal, admiring the smooth impression of the Arl's signet ring on the wax around the fine detail of the bear. Since he was a peasant boy, fighting for King Maric, he had a love…almost an obsession with things of the nobility – signet rings, heraldry, duels, castles…and power. He broke the seal and unrolled the letter.
It is done. I expect you to uphold your part of the bargain. The eldest is heading your way. I recommend that you deal with him before he learns of the deed.
R.H.
Short, simple, to the point, just like the Arl he had come to know. He read it again just to make sure of what it said and then he crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it onto the coals of the smoldering brazier near his desk, one that had his coat of arms emblazoned on it. He needed to show the other nobles as often as he could that he too, was one of them now. Ancient families like the Couslands and the Howes may have had their lineage, but he wielded true power. It was something that he hammered into his daughter, Anora from the time when she was a girl. And, truth be told, she had become a fine queen through those lessons. If only they had been able to sway the king, things would be different today.
He looked back up to the messenger and slapped a handful of silver sovereigns on the desk. "Tell your master that I will meet him in Denerim and I will accept his oaths of fealty and bestow upon him the titles that he requested. He will be the new Teyrn of Highever."
The hooded man scooped up the coins and bowed. "That is all my master ever wanted, the recognition that he richly deserved."
"He is a very deserving man. Good day to you, ser," Loghain said with definitive finality and the man walked backwards several paces before turning to leave. Cauthrien let the tent flap fall after the messenger crossed the threshold.
"What was the message, my lord?" she asked. As the commander of Maric's Shield, Loghain's elite troops, she was generally privy to his innermost thoughts and plans. He had never lied to her before and there had never been a reason to do so until now.
"Teyrn Cousland will be delayed arriving on the field. There may be some issues with him that Arl Howe is having to deal with. The Teyrn's son will be arriving shortly, however, with the vanguard."
"Teyrn Cousland? He has always been an honorable man. What is the problem, my lord?" Her question was rather pointed, but he was used to this from her. The former peasant girl had never held back with him and the delicate manners of many aristocrats were alien to her even after all of these years.
Loghain felt a hot flushing sensation through his face and cleared his throat. He glanced away, unable to look at her. "We suspect that the Couslands may have designs of their own that do not support the king. We should be wary when Fergus arrives." She couldn't know the truth yet. He didn't think he could bear to look into her eyes and see disappointment. He bit his lower lip and then looked back at his faithful knight.
Cauthrien paused for a moment, studying his face and her brows furrowed. "I…yes, my lord."
He knew that she saw something in his expression. Since she had saved his life twelve years ago, she had become his most trusted commander, confidant and, since his wife passed, something much more. From peasant girl, she had grown into a fine knight and leader. They understood each other, each being a commoner in a world of aristocrats. She understood that, despite his being the "Hero of Ferelden," sometimes he felt the fraud, a peasant boy dressed up in fine satin with an empty suit of armor. Cauthrien knew that his booming voice covered up that hidden shame.
He forced a smile. "Good, let me know when Fergus Cousland arrives. I need to see him right away."
Cauthrien put her gloved hand over his and returned the smile, her strong features gentled by her love. He could see the trust in her eyes again and it gave him the strength to continue. "I'll see to it, my lord." She walked backwards a step before turning to go. She slid the tent flap closed behind her and he could hear her footsteps receding on the grass outside.
Loghain breathed out a heavy sigh. He despised himself for deceiving his dear Cauthrien. This course of action could all still change in a heartbeat if Cailan would veer away from the cliff he had made for himself. He and King Maric, Maker rest his soul, did not throw the Orlesians out of their homeland with blood and steel only to have them waltz back in with a stroke of pen on parchment. He looked down at a copy of the scroll made by one of his agents. The original document was penned by Cailan himself, a request for an alliance…an alliance with the Orlesian Empress to fight the Darkspawn together. Maric would roll in his grave. Loghain felt that hot flush return to his face, but this was the rush of rage. How many families were butchered by the Orlesian chevaliers? How many villages burned? How many loyal Ferelden sons were hanged? How many daughters raped? Thirty years had done nothing to cool the fire of his hatred. He would sacrifice anything, perhaps even his beloved Anora to save Ferelden from this madness.
If only Cailan would listen, Cauthrien and Anora would never need to know. Then, Rendon Howe's evidence against Bryce Cousland would be presented in court and the Couslands would be branded as traitors to the Crown. Howe would still get the titles that he craved and things would go back to the way they were. Ferelden would be saved.
From the map of the kingdom on his desk he picked up the tiny lead figure of a knight that represented Teyrn Cousland and his army. "I'm sorry, dear friend," he said to it as if it were Bryce himself. "It needed to be done for the good of Ferelden. Remember White River? You, me, Rendon, Leonas Bryland…we barely escaped with our lives. The Orlesians pursued us for leagues, hanging any that they caught like common criminals. You remember the barn in which the villagers hid us? De Poche…yes, that was the name of the place. You remember the smell of burning wood and flesh as the chevaliers put the village to the sword and torch as we hid in the river? I'll never forget it, Bryce. How could you have supported Cailan in bringing the Orlesians back? I'm sorry, Bryce. I hope Eleanor can forgive me from beyond the Fade. I love Ferelden more than life itself and I cannot allow this to happen."
He tossed the figure down on the map, knocking several others over. His mood was sour now. Since Maric had first knighted him and then invested him as the Teyrn of Gwaren, he had conducted himself with nothing but honor. Maric's ideals of a united, powerful, benevolent Ferelden lay deep in Loghain's heart. If ten-thousand needed to burn at the stake to keep that Ferelden intact then so be it. Bryce, Eleanor and young Alice's heads on pikes outside the gates of Highever was small price to pay. He looked down at another figure of a Cousland knight on the road to Ostagar. There was one more loose end to tie up.
An idea struck him and he studied the disposition of the Darkspawn forces once again. Thank the Maker this was not a true Blight. If it were, even he might consider his actions insane. No one fights over a burning house. Thank the Maker this is not a true Blight, he told himself again. He put the thought aside and found what he had been looking for. He quickly rearranged the figures representing the disposition of the Darkspawn army.
"Fergus Cousland, you're good with sword and lance, but you were ever a simple one. It is fortunate that you, and not your sister, survived."
As if on cue, there was a rap on the tent canvas. "My lord," announced Cauthrien, "Fergus Cousland is here to see you."
Loghain closed his eyes for just a moment. It was becoming easier with every step. "Please, send him in."
The broad-shouldered young man strode in, his friendly face beaming. He removed a fur-lined cloak, revealing a gold and crimson surcoat with the upturned laurel wreath of the Couslands. "Teryn Loghain, it is good to see you again. My father sends his greetings. He should be a day or two's march behind me."
"It is good to see you too, Fergus. It will be good to fight alongside your father once more," Loghain said. He tried to extend his hand, but his body rebelled against him and he merely made a curt bow. "Have a seat, Fergus. We have much to discuss."
The young man pulled up a stool at the desk as Loghain sat down. "Should we wait for my father? He has overall command of the army."
The Teyrn shook his head. "No, there is no time. I am privy to the king's plans and he needs an immediate assault on the Darkspawn flank, here," he said, pointing to an area on the edge of the Korcari Wilds. "We need to blunt the gathering of their hordes at this weak spot in their defenses. I know you have marched a long way, but this is your chance for glory son. Cailan is entrusting you with the attack."
Fergus shot back a grin that had always made him a favorite of the ladies at tournaments. He took a look at the map and the gap in the Darkspawn forces. "I'm honored, my lord. Allow me a couple of hours to feed my men and water my horses and we will march. I will not let the king down."
"Good man," Loghain said and slapped him on the shoulder. "I will personally inform the king of your bravery. Your father will be proud."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Still grinning from ear to ear, Fergus left, a bounce in his step. Loghain nodded. Indeed, it was like playing the game of chess that he loved so much – sacrifice the castle, sacrifice the knight, perhaps even sacrifice the queen and the king would be yours.
One final gambit needed to be played this day before he could rest. "Ser Cauthrien, please escort me to see the king," he called to her through the flap.
"Yes, my lord."
They walked over to a grand tent, gaily colored and adorned with the images of the dragons and griffons that Cailan practically idolized with childlike devotion. He had tried, tried so very hard to get the boy-king to grow up, to realize the dark realities of a harsh world. Unfortunately, Cailan would have none of it, clinging to his minstrel's songs of martial glory and his books about mythical creatures and long forgotten battles and knightly orders. It was he and Anora that really ran the kingdom. If only they had been born with the blood to have made it official.
Loghain strode into the tent as if he owned it and saw courtiers braiding Cailan's blond hair as an artist painted a portrait of the king besides the royal heraldry, two opposing wolves rampant on a quartered field of gold and silver beneath the three pointed label of an eldest child. Loghain always took note of such details. Nearby, a harpist plucked a familiar Ferelden tune, accompanied by a lute. "Your majesty, your scouts have provided me with a report that the Darkspawn are on the move to the southeast. There appears to be an opportune moment to strike them on the march and cripple them before the main battle."
The king held up his hand, stopping the courtiers and the musicians. "Excellent, Loghain. Is Maric's Shield up to the task?" he asked in his lilting aristocratic voice.
"My elite force should be held in reserve, your majesty. It is fortuitous however, that the Cousland army has just arrived. They are chomping at the bit to get into the fight."
"Magnificent. Teyrn Cousland always has fighting spirit. Should I see him before they set out?"
"Not necessary, my king. Time is of the essence or the window to strike the Darkspawn may close. If you would just sign the appropriate orders, I'll see to it personally that they are delivered to the Couslands."
"Very good, Loghain. I know we disagree on the Orlesian matter, but we must end the Blight here in one, glorious battle. The Empress has promised me her help." Cailan was at the precipice now.
"Will you not reconsider, your majesty? We can handle this on our own."
"We have discussed this a thousand times. I cannot refuse help while our lands are overrun. The Orlesians have given me guarantees of good faith."
"Good faith? From the Orlesians? Pah! When our towns are burning and chevaliers are looting our-"
Cailan quickly signed a parchment, ignoring the Teyrn. "Enough, Loghain. Here are the orders. See to it that they are delivered. When the Orlesians and the new Grey Wardens arrive, we will be do battle."
"Yes…your majesty."
The king was exposed. It would be checkmate in two moves. They were over the cliff now. It was amazing how fast one could fall to their doom.