Going in the massive front doors at Fort Drakon without the sensation of heavy iron manacles on her wrists and ankles was almost a surreal experience for Ten. Not immediately being stripped down and checked for weapons was also a definite improvement. She handed the missive from Queen Anora to the guard at the gate, who looked at her curiously, but didn't say anything rude, and sent the two of them to the office of Knight-Captain Berengier, a man she was familiar with but never spoken to. She knew that his first name was Jonden, his wife's name was Gwennant and she kept a bakery in the Orlesian quarter. They had four children, all grown, and two grandchildren under the age of five. She had never had cause to use such information, though. He was taller and less gray than she had pictured, and he looked like he had been expecting them, gruffly informing them that the Teyrn was being kept on the highest floor in the tower.
"If there's bloodshed," Berengier said, elbows on his enormous desk, "Which I have been informed there likely will be, there is a drain in the floor that I hope you'll take advantage of. We're short staffed at the moment. Heads get deposited in the bin near the stairs, my men take care of the… pike business."
"Right," Alistair said, "Well that's efficient."
"It will be good to bring this business to a close," said Berengier, "I'm retiring at the end of the month, I hate to leave things undone."
"Good for you," Ten commented, "You deserve it."
Berengier snorted, "You're just gloating that you've outlasted me, Tabris. That's impressive."
"Well if you're retiring you have at least thirty years on me, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise."
"Oh please, you weren't planning to die of old age."
"I'm still not," she pointed out, "But I'm a little impressed you know my name."
"We all know your name," he replied, "Well for the first few years we thought you were Alurani like your mother, but surprise surprise your parents were actually married."
"If you're trying to bait me into taking a swing at you so you can throw me in a cell, you're going to have to go with another angle," Ten said.
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that. Do you have any idea how much we have let you get away with over the years?"
"Well considering I took out a lot of the trash you were actually responsible for I figure quite a bit."
"If it wasn't you, it'd be some homicidal maniac like Leonara Aierkos and the city would have burned. Again. I'm almost disappointed you've decided to go straight."
"Well, it's been a pleasure working with you for the betterment of Denerim, Ser," she said, only a little sarcastically.
"Likewise," Berengier replied, also only a little sarcastically, "Don't make too much of a mess up there, yeah? I saw your last crime scene. Still have nightmares about it."
"I'll do my best, Ser," she said.
"Now get out of my office."
"Yes, Ser," she said, saluting sardonically, and walked back out of his office and towards the spiral staircase leading up to the highest tower.
"Well, looks like you have a fan club," Alistair commented as they started up the long staircase. Ten truly hated spiral staircases. They might look pleasing from a distance but when actually climbing them for more than a couple of stories, they made her dizzy.
"I sell autographs for ten silver. Twenty if it's personalized."
"How would they even be able to read it?"
"Are you calling the city guard illiterate?"
"I'm reminding you of the quality of your penmanship."
The very top of the tower housed only one 'cell,' if it could even be called that. While it was rather drafty, there was a large fireplace in one corner. The furniture, too, was finely made and looked fairly comfortable. Indeed, if the door hadn't been barred so that any guard could see right in, the room would not have looked out of place in any fine house in the land. The man who was seated therein, his back to them, looked diminished. There was more gray in the black of his hair, which was tied back, than Ten had seen six months earlier at Ostagar. Well that is the price of being a treasonous son of a bitch, I suppose. Two guards that Ten did not know personally were stationed there, one at the top of the staircase, and one to the right of the cell door. Neither looked surprised to see them, and she could see a wry smile cross the face of the one at the top of the stairs, registering the enormous longsword strapped to Alistair's back.
"Well, your lordship, it appears the hour is at hand," he announced, his voice a singsong Highever lilt, "I hope you've made your peace."
"Finally, a way out of this damnable cell," the teyrn grunted. Ten approached the cell, standing before the bars, arms crossed. Loghain rose and turned. He did not look surprised to see her.
"So, you have the stones to face me after all," he said, "Are you here to gloat, oh Vengeful Bride?"
"I never lacked them," she replied, "You know that."
"Had you not had me poisoned, I would have demanded you fight me, as is my right."
"I would have fought you. I would have won, too," she said.
"And what makes you think that? You're half my size and I was sparring with the greatest warriors of the land before the creatures who created you retreated to their underground burrow to lay the egg that hatched you."
"Very funny, Ser. My ancestors were writing great literature and unlocking the secrets of the universe while yours were rolling around in their own shit and fucking their siblings, so whatever pride you have in having progressed ever so slightly beyond that point I suppose I should just let you have out of pity."
"But you are so very much less than your ancestors."
"Perhaps I am. But you... you are so very much less than yourself. You're easily winded these days, aren't you. According to the cobbler you frequent, you wear boots a little too big for your feet because your ankles swell. What I dosed you with would have done nothing to a man - even one of your years - in good condition, but you? Your cook's assistant says eat a lot of fatty meat. Most of your work is done behind a desk these days, not in the saddle or on the ground, according to your footmen. Your valet told me you've had to buy a larger wardrobe twice in the last three years. All I would have had to do in a fight is keep out of your way until you were exhausted. I give it ten minutes."
"So why didn't you?"
"You didn't deserve it. You didn't have the stones to kill the king yourself, why would I grant you the satisfaction of my steel?"
Loghain nodded, she did have a point, after all, and began pacing the length of his cell, something she imagined he had done with some frequency over the previous week, "It was a clever play, I give you that. You had to get rid of me while sparing my daughter the humiliation. And in doing so, you found a way to stick the knife right where it would hurt me most. You turned my own child against me." At this last pronouncement, he ceased his pacing and stood, facing her, across the bars.
"After what you tried to do to my own father, I think it was rather poetic."
"And now here you are, twisting the knife again. You, a drudge from the Alienage, born into squalor and raised in a ditch. You have more loyalty to the man who gave you life only to let you starve, than the daughter of a teyrn, blessed with every luxury and privilege, gave to the man who provided all that."
"Don't talk about my father. You and he are nothing alike. Neither are myself and your daughter."
"You're wrong about that. You reminded me of Anora, actually, when we met briefly at Ostagar. You look nothing alike, of course, but there is this… calculating quality to the both of you. You played the part you were expected to, eyes on the ground, voice soft, but I could see the gears turning. How your eyes swept over everyone at that table when you thought it wouldn't be noticed, observing, determining what you could turn to your advantage. And turn it to your advantage, you have. And so has she. I suppose I must give you both credit for that."
"I didn't come here for you to evaluate me, Ser."
"No, I don't suppose you did. I imagine it's time for my head to decorate the high bridge. That's what Little Anora told me. On her orders, no doubt."
"Not precisely," said Ten, "The order was that it's to the Grey Wardens to decide what to do with you."
She watched his face go from surprise to fascination.
"Interesting. And what do you intend to do with me, oh Vengeful Bride? One would think from your moniker you'd relish striking my head off yourself. You did inform me that an ax would be involved." He glanced down at Bannkiller, still at her belt. "And don't tell me you weren't behind that little pissant foot soldier you sent to tell me that absconding from this very fort."
"Couldn't resist," Ten admitted, "But you're wrong on that. If it were up to me, I'd probably have you choking down darkspawn blood then flinging yourself into the fray with the rest of us if you survived it. Hell, the foot journeys I've got before me you'd probably be back in fighting shape by the time the horde arrives."
"But you are the Grey Warden. How is it not up to you?"
"I'm one of them," she corrected.
A flicker of surprise passed across Loghain's features. Ten glanced behind her, and saw that Alistair was standing off to the side where he couldn't be seen from the cell, looking out one of the tower windows, his jaw set, his features in a hard line. He turned, feeling her eyes on him. She motioned with her head to come over there. He nodded, and took a few deep breaths, steadying himself, before walking over, his normal, unserious expression returning.
"Fancy meeting you here," Alistair said, his voice taking on its usual, flippant cadence, "I'd say no hard feelings but… we both know that would be a lie. I'm not actually very good at lying. I've been told I have a loud face."
Loghain let loose a dry, mirthless, bark of a laugh. "So Maric's favorite bastard has squeaked out from yet another trap," he scoffed, "Like the pest you are."
"Favorite! I'm in such good company in that respect, what makes you think that?"
"He knew about you, to begin with," said Loghain, "You know I told him to have you put down a well before you drew your first breath."
Ten bristled, hand going to the handle of her ax, thinking to maybe relieve the teyrn of one of the fingers which were now curled over the bars, but Alistair put one hand on her arm and she relented. I hope every single demon in the Fade has a turn with you twice, old man.
"Did you now," Alistair said, completely nonplussed, "And why might you have done that? I'm not exactly unique, am I. Did you have that conversation with him every time a scullery maid wound up with a belly?"
Maker's breath, he really has been around me too long. He knows Eamon won't give him any details unless he knows the basics. Or can't imagine bringing himself to ask. He's interrogating him.
"Ah. Scullery maid. Is that what Eamon told you?"
And Loghain is playing right into it. He thinks he's getting a parting shot. That the revelation will be enough to make the man snap. Snap and do what? Seems like he wants a fight. Thinks he'll bait him into having the cell opened and demand satisfaction. He thinks he's going to win a fight with a much younger man, then - what, it'll be my choice and he'll live a bit longer? Alistair did no such thing, his expression still easy and slightly amused.
"Do you think that was pleasant for me, knowing my closest friend, my comrade in arms, my brother revolutionary, betrayed his own kind?" Loghain continued, disappointed he had not yet gotten the reaction he was looking for, "The fact that he had a child with an elf, I could have understood. " He paused, looked at Alistair through the bars.
Alistair shrugged with an expression that said, 'try again, old man.' "I'm sensing there's a 'but' coming."
"Right. Elf. That happens all the time. I probably have a couple halfbreeds myself, not that I ever asked. Elfin women are, after all, so… accommodating."
Ten's grip on her ax tightened, but so did Alistair's grip on her arm. She glanced up at him. Come on. Just a finger. He looked down at her and shook his head slightly. Ugh. Fine.
"A mage as well, even." Pause. No reaction, "It's not really the best idea, letting them breed at all, but… again, I could have let that go. But on top of all of that she just had to be Orlesian."
Andraste's left tit, I really do have a type.
"And then… the sheer nerve of passing you off, handing you to that fool in Redcliffe, pretending you were anything but a blot of ink that ruins an otherwise fine manuscript. And I stayed quiet, out of respect for the king. He had a legitimate son. Betrothed to my own daughter. It didn't matter. You can imagine how I'm regretting that now, can't you."
"Who was she?" asked Alistair softly.
"The bitch who whelped you? Can't say I remember the harlot's name, but as far as I know she's still rattling around the Circle over in… wherever Orlais keeps its most toxic waste. Not that you're going to live long enough to track her down. I imagine you and I will be seeing each other again before the year's out."
There was another silence, but only for a beat. How would I feel if someone came up and told me my ma was alive, after all these years? Then again if it were me I'd have taken off several fingers by now. Maybe an ear.
"Perhaps," Alistair said, shrugging, "But that day is not today. And today, we are both leaving this tower, but only one of us will be walking."
Loghain nodded and breathed out heavily through his nose in a noise that accepted his defeat. "My last words are in the letters stacked on the desk in my cell. I have nothing keeping me here."
Ten thought privately how she would like to burn those letters in front of Loghain's face, make him watch his final legacy go up in smoke before his eyes, but at this point, given the nature of the conversation to that point, let that one go. Alistair beckoned the guards over, one of whom unlocked the cell, the other grabbed Loghain by the back of the neck.
"Don't touch me," the teyrn growled, "I will go quietly."
The guards looked at Alistair, who nodded. There was nowhere for the old man to run.
Ten stepped back, watched Loghain walk towards the end of the landing, where - as Berengier had said there would be - a drain was cut into the floor. He looked out of the window, from which he could see the city laid out beneath them, all the way down to the sea. The sky was darkening, but clear, the horizon visible, the first stars peeking out above the ends of the earth. He turned and looked behind him, through another window where the sun was beginning to sink below the hills to the west. He stayed there, staring a moment, and then knelt. His mouth was moving, but he was speaking too quietly for Ten to hear him. She imagined he was silently making peace with the Maker. Asking for forgiveness, I hope.
She turned away before the blow could fall. She heard the sword sing in the air, the thud as the head hit the stones, a splash as an arc of blood hit the opposite wall.
"Oy, we've got a gusher!" one of the guards - the one from Highever - exclaimed, "Guess he was more scared than he looked."
"Ah man, the walls…" the other groaned, "We just got those clean."
"I don't even know why we bother," Highever sighed, "Exercise in futility, that."
"Imagine the smell if we didn't try, though."
"True. There's going to be a mountain of paperwork on this one too, isn't there."
"Flip a coin for it?"
"Oh fuck that, Donnie, everyone knows you cheat. Maybe Berengier will deal with it, dead guy's important apparently."
Assured that the bloodiest bit was over, Ten ventured to look up. Alistair was standing where he had been, tip of his sword resting against the floor, his expression neutral, staring down at the slumped body of his nemesis, which had fallen to its side and was leaking blood at a much slower rate onto the flagstones, where it pooled around the drain and flowed sluggishly down into it. The man's head had rolled over into the corner where it stared blankly at the opposite wall and blood had spattered all the way up to the ceiling. She had certainly seen - and caused - more gruesome scenes, but something about this one made her shudder.
"Are you all right there, lad?" asked the guard from Highever tentatively. He wasn't really that much older than the two of them, but Ten imagined he'd attended quite a few more executions.
There was a long silence during which the only sound was the slow trickle of blood down the drain.
"Yeah," Alistair said finally, "Just… yeah. I'm fine."
The other guard fished a flask out of somewhere beneath his cloak and handed it to him. Alistair sheathed his sword without cleaning it, then pulled off his right gauntlet to wipe the blood from where it had sprayed across his mouth before accepting the drink. He handed the flask back, thanked the guard quietly, and started walking slowly, mechanically, towards the stairs, leaving crimson footprints in his wake.
Ten caught up with him halfway down. She didn't say anything, just followed him down and down, trying to keep herself from getting dizzy at the tight spiral, then back out and onto the street where the sunset was coloring the fancy shingled roofs of the quarter orange and gold. Alistair didn't stop at all, just started walking towards the bridge back into the Market district, but Ten grabbed his elbow and turned him to face her, shaking her head. She took a spare kerchief out of one pocket and, as gently as she could, got the rest of the teyrn's blood off his face. Then she took his bare right hand in both of her own and kept it there as they slowly made their way back home.