The Last Warden

Chapter Thirty

"No! No, we have to go back!" Alistair whirled, pulling against the hands that held him, looking up at the walls that rose between them and the still echoing shouts. There had been one, two – was that a third? But the clash of blades was faint now. They had run, run and not even tried to...

Morrigan's nails dug hard into his arm. He barely registered the sting, did not bother to recoil. It was only when he jerked free, heard Wynne's hiss of pain that Alistair turned round.

"Oh, Maker's— I'm sorry."

She cradled her hand with a sigh, a faint glow of healing blooming round her wrist.

"An oaf and a fool." Morrigan sneered. "'Twould seem you would kill us yourself if you had the chance."

"I am fine." Wynne flexed her fingers as the light faded, glaring at the younger woman. "But we should not linger here."

"How can you say that?"

It was slow that she raised her eyes to Alistair's. "If the Crows are indeed still hunting you, we must get out of the open."

"Everyone's hunting us. And we-we can't just leave. Not just because he told us to."

"I do not relish the decision. It was rash, foolish. But he made his choice; you allowed him that. Perhaps that is what's important."

"Right." He shook his head, turning back the way they had come. "But when... when you... you came back, didn't you?"

Moving to stand beside him, Wynne lay a hand on his arm. "Alistair..."

"You know what? No. We're going back." Unsheathing his sword, he looked to Morrigan.

She had fallen silent, eyes holding still to the walls, lips pursing as her brows drew low. They could no longer hear the fighting. "It is too late."

"No. No, I'm not going to—"

It whistled on the air between them, the bolt slamming quivering into the door of a nearby home. Alistair staggered backward, a second shot just grazing his cheek. They were coming from somewhere above and behind them, but closer now, a grunting curse echoing as the bowman fired wide. Alistair swung his shield round, trying to catch some glimpse, but Wynne had cast a shield of her own, the thickening air obscuring his vision.

Again Morrigan was beside him, pulling insistent. "Do you still wish to charge headlong to your death?"

"And here I was thinking that's what I'd been doing all along."

* * *

He did not protest as they dragged him back to the shelter of Eamon's estate, did not speak again until the doors had slammed shut behind them.

"I'm through hiding."

Morrigan sneered. Whatever semblance of human emotion had taken her in the alley seemed to have vanished. "Stop being such a sullen child."

"We'll gather the others. We'll go back. I'm not a—"

"Coward? 'Tis easy to be brave when it is others who will take the blow for you."

He spun with a growl, palms bracing against her shoulders as he slammed her back against the wall. Her breath caught, gasping ragged, but her eyes flashed triumphant. Tilting her head to look up at him, Morrigan smiled.

"Alistair!"

They found them like that, Eamon appearing from the inner hall, Leliana and Sten pausing in the door to the courtyard.

"What is going on here?"

He made as if to turn away, but Morrigan's hand snaked high, one finger trailing lingeringly along the gash in his cheek as she pressed close. It left a cooling itch in its wake, the flesh knitting beneath her touch. Alistair shoved her back with a snort of disgust.

Oghren pushed between Leliana and Sten. "Eh? What'd I miss?"

"Alistair?" Leliana stepped forward.

He could feel the weight of her gaze, was certain she had seen it, the fading strains of the dream. She would die, they all would die but somehow Morrigan would—

"Alistair... where is Zevran?"

He shook his head.

"We had an unfortunate encounter with a group of Antivan Crows. The experience seems to have rendered our leader even more dumb than usual."

Leliana gaped at Morrigan. "He—?"

"Stayed behind and bid us flee. An apparently noble act, if a foolish one."

"Of all the stupid, nug-brained..." Oghren trailed off, slipping his flask from his belt to take a long pull.

Alistair raised his eyes. "We don't know that he's dead."

"What was it? One against twelve? Thirteen? 'Tis hardly a—"

"It could have been you, you know." He whirled on Morrigan. "In fact, I wish it had been. But why is it that the only one you seem unwilling to risk is yourself? Or me, for some strange reason."

"I merely..." She took a step back, folding her arms. "I... You do not have to die."

The words word of the dream echoed like a slap across the face. He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go. Just go. I don't care where. Just... stop talking and go away."

After a moment he could hear her footsteps fading in the hall, their echo deliberate and unhurried. The others were watching him but he could not bring himself to meet their eyes.

"If Loghain wants me dead, let's just... let's just get this over with."

"An inspired strategy. The man will tremble." Sten's lips twitched as Alistair raised his head.

"You'd rather have me keep hiding under the Arl's skirts?"

The lines of his smirk deepened. "No."

Eamon looked between them with a curious expression. "While I may not have... skirts, I agree that we can no longer delay. Did you find anything in the alienage?"

He had almost forgotten. Reaching into his belt, Alistair dropped the papers into his outstretched palm. "Loghain was selling elves to Tevinter slavers."

The old man's eyes widened as he read, a small smile forming as he stroked his beard. "Oh, my. Yes, this will—"

"I'm glad someone's happy about it."

"Ah, Alistair. I did not mean—"

"No. No, we can use it. That's what's important, right?" The words came harsh, too harsh. He sagged. "I'm sorry. I just... we'll bring him to justice, won't we? For this, for everything."

"We will." Eamon nodded. "The Landsmeet will convene tomorrow. What is important now is that you are safe."

"It's not all about me, you know. Or at least it's not... supposed to be."

The Arl shook his head with a heavy sigh. "You are all that we have." He looked to the others. "Take some time. But I would speak with you before you sleep. We have much to discuss."

"Right." Alistair could feel Eamon's eyes on him as he turned and moved slowly for the nearest room. It would be the library if he remembered correctly, but he wasn't seeing, not really.

As the door swung inward, there was a muffled gasp. Anora straightened with an imperious glare, smoothing her skirts in feigned innocence.

"Hear anything interesting?" He pushed past her.

"I... I am sorry about your friend."

Alistair paused, not turning round. "What do you want?"

She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, perhaps waiting for him to look at her. With an exasperated sigh, she stepped round to face him. "Eamon thought it would be best if you and I spoke. Before the Landsmeet."

Alistair blinked. "Wait... Eamon thought?"

Her lips twitched into something like a smile. "Perhaps not. He has his suspicious about me and I of him, but it is you who makes me uncertain."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Do not be petulant. I did not mean offense. But you must understand that I am not used to dealing with..." Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him, the wondering shake of her head almost imperceptible.

"I'm guessing you're not about to tell me how dashingly handsome I am?"

She took a step back, her scowl returning. "Whether or not you resemble my late husband, I don't think that—"

"—Whoa, whoa!" He held up his hands in mock surrender. "It was a joke."

"A joke." Those eyes were like ice. How Cailan could have... how anyone could stand... She was watching him, he realized, and he her.

Running a hand through his hair, Alistair turned away. "I didn't say it was a funny one."

Her expression did not change.

"Look, I don't think we should be talk—"

"What do you intend to do? Tomorrow?"

"Oh, Eamon's going to ask me to make a speech, isn't he? I knew it. Just when I thought it couldn't get any—"

Anora quirked a brow. "This is another joke, I hope."

"See? There's no fooling you." His smile faltered. "I don't know. I really don't."

"You do see that this is a problem?" She began pacing amongst the shelves, leaving him no choice but to follow. "Eamon assures me that you will both support my claim, that you will merely present enough evidence to see my father overruled."

"I don't want the throne. I've never wanted it."

"And I am glad to hear it. You have accomplished a great deal, but I do not believe that blood begets ability. No more than I believe that my sex denies it to me."

"Agreed."

She stopped, turning to look up at him. There was surprise there, fading quick as she stilled her features. "Thank you."

Alistair felt himself flush, turning his face away.

"My concern is your intentions toward my father once the matter is settled. Despite his crimes—"

His eyes snapped to hers. "—You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."

"I believe that is your purview."

"What are my intentions? Toward the man who killed the Wardens? The King? The man who betrayed all of Ferelden?"

Anora flinched, but took a deliberate step forward, forcing him to step back. "I do not deny that he must be punished. Loss of title, perhaps exile—"

"He killed your husband and you just want to let him walk away?"

She blinked at that, shaking her head slowly. "He is my father."

"And he killed mine. Or did they not tell you that?"

"Maric was—"

"Not Maric. Not some king I never met." He loomed over her now. "You're right. I don't care about blood. The Wardens were my family. The only family I ever had."

"I—"

"It's not an option. It's not negotiable, not open for discussion. Keep your throne. But Loghain will get what he deserves."

Anora tilted her chin to look up at him, lips pressing thin as she nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?" He sighed, something in her eyes stirring sudden guilt. He pushed it aside.

"I... did not think anything would come of speaking to you. It did not seem... right. But you are more decisive than I gave you credit for. Stronger."

"That's me. Always underestimated."

"Cailan showed the same spirit. He was unwavering when he set his mind to something. It was not a bad quality to have... in a king."

"Aw, are you proposing?"

There was almost a chuckle behind her sniff. "Your friend certainly had some interesting ideas."

"Yeah, and look where it got him."

Anora sighed, turning for the door.

"Why did you tell me that? About Cailan?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she almost smiled. "You would deny your blood. Perhaps I merely wanted to show you that it is more worthy than you think." Her eyes darkened. "But, as you said, look where it got him."

Alistair watched her go, following only after he could be certain she was gone. Great. The Landsmeet. He found himself thinking of them again, those ghosts or spirits or whatever they were. This should be about the time one of them appeared, told him what to do. He found himself casting about as he moved through the halls, searching for something, anything. But there was nothing. He was alone.

Somehow, he had expected as much. The wrongness swelled, the feeling suddenly overwhelming. He couldn't do this.

"Alistair."

He had come to Eamon's study without realizing it, shook himself as he watched the old man rise from his desk.

"Come in. We have much to discuss."

"I... I don't think this is a good idea."

He smiled with a knowing shake of his head, ushering him through the door as he pulled it closed. "The nervousness will pass. Believe it or not, this is what you were born to do."

"You don't believe that. I don't believe that."

"We must believe it. Look at all that you have accomplished. All of it has brought you here."

"But it... it's not right. It's never been right. Tell me you don't feel it!"

For a moment he looked surprised, sinking into his seat with a sigh. "Would you rather I support Loghain? You said it yourself: Ferelden must be united against the Blight."

"Yes, but... you still want to make me king? Even though you told Anora you'd—?"

"Anora is Loghain's daughter."

"But she's also practical. And a good queen. She knows what he did was wrong. She can be persuaded!"

His eyes narrowed. "What do you know of Anora?"

"I..." Alistair shrugged. He could not say why, but admitting that they had spoken suddenly seemed like a bad idea. "Just a guess, really.

"And a hasty one. Trust me when I say that Anora will not let any harm come to her father." Eamon stood suddenly, moving round the desk to stand before him. "But you must not attack Loghain directly. Ostagar was... unfortunate, but we have no proof. I have reached out to the families of those that Howe imprisoned. We have their support, the evidence of his involvement with the slavers. These are our weapons."

Alistair gaped. "But they... they need to know what he did! About Cailan! The Wardens!"

"And perhaps they will. In time. But if you pit your reputation against Loghain's, you will lose."

"I..." He blinked, shaking his head.

"Alistair, can you do this?"

"You want me to be civil? You want me to stand there and look that-that man in the eyes and smile?"

"Of course not. Plead our case. Bring him down. And then once you are king..." He let the word hang, the promise left unuttered.

"And this is the only way? You're certain?"

"Unless you can think of another."

"I... no." His shoulders sagged. "Maker's breath, I can't."

"Then this is our course." Eamon clasped his hands behind his back. "Now. We cannot be seen as hostile; you cannot bring an army into the Landsmeet chambers. Choose only a few of your companions. I will go ahead of you to make certain—"

"Right. Got it." Alistair sighed defeated. "You'll be there. We've got Anora and the nobles and... right. We'll be fine. But, if there's nothing else... I'd really like some sleep."

"There is one thing, actually." The old man chuckled. "You may want to shave."