The Last Warden

Chapter Thirty-One

Alistair stood staring up at the palace doors. Eamon had almost made it sound like a homecoming but finally being here, now, he'd rather be anywhere else. Maybe he still had time to run. He could hide in Fort Drakon, the Wilds, the Deep Roads; suddenly they didn't sound so bad.

"Eh? You alright there?" Oghren grinned up at him.

Maker, but his head hurt. The glare reflecting off of the doors was blinding. There were gilded kings carved there, nameless ancestors, and he could not even bring himself to look at them. Pushing past the dwarf, Alistair bent double, retching in the bushes beside the palace steps.

Right. Very kingly.

Oghren patted him on the back with a chuckle.

"I am... never... listening to you... again."

"Heh. It's good for ya. Just need more practice."

Alistair straightened, wiping a hand across his mouth as he looked to Wynne.

She sighed exasperated, fishing in her pouches and tossing him a small vial. "Do try to use your head next time."

"Nah, this ain't the time for heads. Ya need sterner stuff than that." Oghren snorted as Alistair drained the potion. "And healing's not fair."

"Oh really?"

"Ya ain't nervous anymore, are ya?"

"No, I'm sick. Maybe I'll vomit on Loghain's boots. That'll show him."

"Now yer talkin'!"

Alistair turned away with a sigh, pushing through the heavy doors. Though neither of them could speak officially, Wynne had come to represent the Circle and Oghren Orzammar. Shale... well, Shale had come to look large and threatening.

The Golem snorted as they stepped into the foyer. "It does look particularly delicate today. But if It asks me to carry It again I shall be more than happy to put It out of Its misery."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" The words rang harsh, the woman standing before the inner doors folding her arms with a glare. It was the soldier from Howe's estate, the one who had followed Loghain to the city gates. "I have seen dead men with better color."

"Oh. Hi. Nice to see you again." Alistair smirked. Eamon, had told him to be polite. "We haven't officially met, what with the you trying to kill me and all."

"Be silent, churl." The woman stalked closer, letting them see the overlarge blade shifting against her back. "I am Ser Cauthrien, second to Teryn Loghain. And you... you are what Eamon would use to supplant my lord? You look like something that crawled out from beneath the Pearl."

"Maybe I did. But I'm over it now. I'm here. I'm... ready."

"If you were truly worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already be in the Landsmeet."

"What does that even mean?" He quirked a brow. "Should I have arrived early? Taken roll?"

Cauthrien scowled.

"You do know what he did, right? With Howe? The slavers?"

"We are at war." Her eyes blazed. "What would a boy know of it? Of dealing with traitors? Of arming men with empty coffers? My lord did only what he must. By your very questions you prove yourself unable to do the same."

"And what about Ostagar?"

The words were barely above a whisper and yet she flinched, her lips pressing thin.

"You were there." The memory came to him suddenly. "I saw you there."

"I was."

"Then how can you justify it? How can you possibly?"

"My lord serves the interests of Ferelden. He saved lives that day, more than you know."

Wynne stepped forward. "Despite the fact that you care for him, surely you must see that—"

"Just because I am a woman, you assume that I am some sort of besotted fool?"

"I assume because of your eyes. There is devotion there. Rarely have I seen it more blind."

Her gaze swung between Alistair and the old mage, flickering briefly to Oghren and Shale. He could not be sure if she was ready to flee or drawn on them, but Alistair stepped forward, forcing her to look up at him. "He abandoned his king after the battle was already joined. Whatever his intentions, the act alone is treason."

Cauthrien met his gaze with folded arms, her expression hardening. They moved amongst the shadowed columns of the foyer, more of Loghain's soldiers, perhaps the same men that had bested them before. And yet they watched her, waiting for the order.

Oghren shifted behind him, hands twitching impatient toward his axe. "Watch her, boy. She's got something to prove, that one."

The moment held, silent but for the creak of leather, the hiss of unsheathed steel. Cauthrien sighed. "Let the Landsmeet decide."

Alistair sagged. "Thank you."

"But know that they will see the truth of my lord's actions. Once you have your validation, I suggest that you take it and leave."

"Right. I'm sure we'll find out one way or another." Turning back to the outer doors, he waved. "Come on. Let's go."

Leliana offered him a small smile as she stepped across the threshold, Morrigan glaring round at the guards with an indignant sniff. At the sight of Sten they stiffened visibly, looking again to Cauthrien.

The big man smirked as they came to stand beside Wynne, Oghren and Shale. "I do not think we were expected."

"You know, I really don't care."

Cauthrien gaped after them as Alistair led the companions toward the inner doors. He paused there, glancing back at her with a grin.

Beyond the doors the Landsmeet chamber stretched long, rising to the throne on its dais at the room's end, lined to either side with the low balconies of the Banns and Arls. Eamon was already mounting the narrow steps to his place, eyes widening at their entrance. His gaze roamed across the party, hardening as it returned to Alistair.

"I thought I told you to bring only—"

"Yeah. I'm done with that."

"This-this could be seen as an attack."

"Well, it's not." He squared his shoulders. "They've come with me this far. They deserve to be here. Every one of them."

The old man leaned close, his voice dropping to a hiss. "Maker's breath, Alistair! Are you drunk?"

"No. Well, not anymore."

Wynne lay a hand on Alistair's shoulder, dropping a sprinkle of crushed herbs into his palm.

"What's this? For courage?"

She arched a brow. "For your breath."

"Oh, right. Thanks."

Eamon was practically spluttering into his beard. "Alistair! This is serious!"

"I am serious. I've never been more serious."

"Listen to me. You cannot—"

"Perhaps you should let him speak for himself, Eamon." Loghain had his back to them, turning slowly from where he stood staring up at the throne. "Or do you fear to let the puppet off of the strings?"

"I'm right here, you know." Alistair stepped forward, leaving Eamon to gape after him as he strode into the center of the room. "You can talk to me. Unless you're afraid to look me in the eye."

Throwing back his head, Loghain laughed. He raised his voice, addressing all the Landsmeet. "And what accusations do you make, boy? What could the last of the Grey Wardens, the betrayers of King Cailan, have to say in his defense?"

Murmurs swept the balconies. Alistair could feel Eamon's eyes upon him as he took his place. "The Wardens are not on trial here."

"No Eamon, they are not. But all know of your purpose. Do you truly wish to continue this farce? Do you truly expect the good people of Ferelden to accept this nameless drunkard as their king?"

"Maker, it was just the one time." The words were muttered, but Loghain turned back to Alistair with a sneer.

"He is Maric's son, as you well know."

"Is he? And that makes him fit to lead?" He was pacing now. "After what I saw of the Wardens at Ostagar..."

Alistair took a step forward, squaring his shoulders. "Yes, let's talk about Ostagar."

"Alistair..." Eamon shook his head, the warning clear.

"Let's talk about how you abandoned the king, how you left the Wardens to die."

"Alistair!"

"No!" He turned to the balconies. "No. I'm through with everyone talking over me, about me, deciding what's best. 'Do this, do that.'" Flushing, he took in the other watching faces. "You deserve to know the truth."

Leliana moved to stand behind him, lowering her voice. "Tread carefully. You do not want to sound like—"

"A mewling child? Spinning tales to excuse his crimes?" Loghain's eyes flashed triumphant. "See that he is already in bed with Orlesian spies!"

"Well, actually..."

Leliana sighed.

"But tell us, Warden. Do you deny that you persuaded King Cailan to allow Orlesian forces onto our lands? That you flamed rumors of a Blight to force him to reckless action?"

"This is a Blight! Why does no one see that?"

"There are enough refugees in my Bannorn to make that abundantly clear." Alistair glanced toward the balconies, offering the woman who had spoken a grateful smile.

Loghain sneered. "But what proof can you offer, Warden?"

"The Grey Wardens are the proof! We-we can sense it! That's why you need us!"

"A convenient coincidence, I am sure." He nodded to the watching nobles. "You would have us march to war on nothing but your word. A word that cost our king his life."

"No, his life was lost when you turned your back on him! When you left them all to die!" He had stepped forward, he realized, meeting the man glare for glare.

"It is unfortunate that Cailan was already lost to your madness. What I did saved lives."

"So you don't even deny it?!"

"That I chose to protect Ferelden from the real threat? To salvage something of our forces despite the damage already done? No, I do not deny it."

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Unless it's what you planned all along."

He held his gaze for a long moment, testing, weighing. Slowly, Loghain smiled. "You bring accusations of treason now. A serious charge."

The whispers in the balconies grew harsh. Someone laughed.

It was Morrigan who stood beside him now, her voice dropping to a hiss. "Try another tactic before you get us all killed."

"I—"

"Then let us speak of treason. What of my daughter, Warden? Ser Cauthrien thwarted your first attempt to kidnap her from Arl Howe's estate." He nodded to the woman as she took her place beside the dais. "On the day of his death, if you will recall. But where is she now? Where is our queen?"

"I believe I can speak for myself." Anora appeared in the door behind them, moving slowly past Alistair and the others, ignoring the startled gasps of those assembled.

Alistair sagged in relief.

Standing between them now, Anora tilted her chin to look up at him. "The Warden has been holding me captive at Arl Eamon's estate."

"Oh, bloody—!" Alistair put a hand to his head. "You know what? No. Why am I even surprised?"

"The Warden would have us rush headlong against this threat, unwavering, unthinking." The words were pointed, directed at Alistair even as she addressed the assembly. She may have meant it as an explanation, her gaze sharpening as she tried to catch his eyes. "But my father has lead us in war before, has always done what is best for Ferelden."

"Does that include selling elves from the alienage – Fereldan citizens – into slavery? Allowing Arl Howe to imprison and torture any who spoke against him?"

Behind him, Sten snorted. "Finally."

Loghain, though, stood stiff and proud, his voice resonating through the room. "And what do you know of war? Did you think it would be pleasant? That victories are won with righteousness?"

From the corner of his eye, Alistair could see Cauthrien smile as she watched him speak.

"Victories are won with blood. Sacrifice. That is the truth that you fail to see."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?" He clasped his hands behind his back. "That our men are armed and our focus certain? That our efforts are not spent blindly chasing a faceless threat? A price has been paid, yes, but I say that we are the better for it. And I am the one that will lead us through, the only one who can."

"So you killed—"

"Alistair!" It was Anora who shushed him now.

"What? You know what he did."

She stiffened, a smaller shadow of the man at her side, but just as certain, just as proud.

"Fine. Just... fine." Pulling the slaver's records from his belt, he held them over his head and turned to face the Landsmeet. "I have here documents specifically outlining Teryn Loghain's agreement with a Tevinter slave trader named Caladrius. For all his talk of foreign threats, this man was selling his own people – from right here in Denerim – one at a time."

He barely heard the murmurs, handing the pages up to one of the men in the balcony. Another man moved to his side, reading over his shoulder. "The elves have always been... restless."

"Wouldn't you be if your wife, your children could be taken from you at any time?" Alistair did not see the man flinch; there wasn't time for that now. He turned to the other side of the hall. "I have seen first hand the horrors suffered at the hands of Rendon Howe, the man named Arl of Denerim under Teryn Loghain. How many of you have lost loved ones, known someone who simply disappeared after Loghain came to power? I know that Arl Eamon has spoken with some of you, has told you what we found beneath Howe's estate."

"My brother!" One of the women scowled, eyes like daggers for Loghain. "They took my brother and all I have left is his ring." It swung from a chain round her neck, slipping from her tunic as she leaned low across the rail.

"And what of my son, Loghain?" Another man stepped forward. "Are we truly to believe that you were unaware of the actions of one of your lieutenants? The sniveling hound was ever at your heals. Either you are as guilty as he or too blind to control your own men. And what of Vaughan, Urien's son and the true Arl of Denerim?"

Alistair did not break stride, turning at last to face Loghain. "And the Couslands of Highever? Slaughtered in their own home? Their last son, Fergus, would be here today if your men had not killed him. How badly he wanted to be here, how badly he wanted to let these people know the truth!"

Still Loghain's shoulders were thrown back, his chin raised. They were standing in much the same position, he realized, mirror images at opposite ends of the hall. Maybe he could play their game but he would never, never be like this man.

Closing the distance, he saw Loghain smile. There was something quiet behind his eyes, calm even now. Still his voice rang clear. "Will they follow you, I wonder? One lost boy, alone against all the world."

"I'm hardly alone." He could hear them shift behind him, the companions that he had gathered, the faces on the balconies above them nodding in agreement or shaking their heads in disbelief. So too could he feel them, those strange and varied others that he had seen along the way. They did not appear but somehow here, in this moment, he could sense them once more. But it was Alistair who smiled now, Alistair who stood before the throne.

Loghain inclined his head. "Then let the Landsmeet decide."

The woman whose brother had been taken by Howe immediately called out for the Warden, as did the man who had lost his son. Another cheered for Loghain, the man at his side trumpeting the Hero of the River Dane. Small victories and small defeats, the process was remarkably simple. Tallying the numbers in his head, Alistair felt his jaw go slack.

"The Landsmeet is deadlocked."

He blinked up at the woman who had spoken. "Great. What does that mean?"

Even Loghain seemed for the moment taken aback, but he was looking to Alistair now, eyes weighing him anew above a knowing smirk.

Another man leaned forward. "Then let it be decided as it was of old."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

"A duel. Single combat with the matter settled in favor of the victor."

"A duel? Me and him? For the throne?"

Already Loghain had moved away, turning to face him in the empty space before the dais. "Fitting, is it not? I should think you would relish the opportunity. Unless you fear your arm lacks the strength of your convictions."

It was fitting, he did have a... no. Alistair's jaw clenched. Even in this, he would not admit the man was right. Drawing his sword from behind his shoulder he advanced on Loghain. Many of the nobles were coming down from the balconies, joining those who were already forming into a loose ring around them.

Alistair felt a hand on his arm. "Focus." Sten tilted his head to look down at him. "You have waited long for this."

"Worried he'll start swingin' wild, are ya? Nothing like a loose sword to ruin a party. Heh. Or start one." Oghren chuckled. "But I know a thing or two about rage, boy. The key is to control it, use it."

Even Morrigan looked almost worried, her brows drawing low as she looked to Loghain. "And now is the time for righteous vengeance, is it? Do try not to get yourself killed."

Alistair followed her gaze, not taking his eyes from Loghain's as he moved through the waiting crowd. Leliana stood just beyond the ring, smiling up at him. "Good luck."

Unsheathing his own blade, Loghain steadied his shield. "Now let us see if you are truly worthy of being called Maric's son."

Only vaguely was he aware of the others now, of Eamon watching expressionless from the balcony above. So much had they accomplished, had he accomplished, all for the sake of duty, all to stop the coming Blight. But was that truly all? Was it not this moment that he had been waiting for, this opportunity that he had dreamed of since Ostagar? The thought should have troubled him, but Alistair found himself stepping certain, moving with Loghain as he began to circle.

One sideways pace and then two, the merest hesitation before the third. Alistair saw the feint just in time, raising his shield as Loghain threw his weight forward. He charged with a cry, sword coming down hard to crash against the gleaming steel. It left a deep gasp in its wake, the crest of Redcliff torn in two. The shield had been a gift from Eamon's armory; he would have to apologize later.

Loghain stepped back now, letting Alistair come to him. Tightening his grip, he raised the shield to his chin, darting round to come at him from the side, the slash of his sword turning into a sudden thrust. Loghain parried with ease, swatting it almost carelessly aside. In the same motion he twisted his shield, bashing it hard against Alistair's, using the momentum to slam its edge against his shoulder as he lowered his arm.

Maker. Alistair hissed between gritted teeth, saw the other man's eyes flash triumphant as he stepped back and opened his arms to the crowd. Loghain knew that he had him; he knew that he would win. He had always known.

Rolling his shoulder, Alistair looked to Wynne. One of the nobles stood beside her, shaking his head with a sneer. No, there would be no healing. He tested it again. It didn't hurt quite so much, not really. He raised his eyes to Loghain's.

"Giving up?"

Tightening his grip on the shield's straps, Alistair shook his head. He came on hard, leading with his sword, openly favoring his injured arm. For a moment he pushed him back, the sheer ferocity of the attack seeming to startle the older man. But Loghain pressed his advantage well, reigning blow after blow upon the slowly sinking shield.

Alistair let him see every wince, every shaking gasp. He couldn't have hid them if he tried. Soon enough it was he backing toward the dais, butting up against the steps. Loghain smiled then, changing direction at the last moment, aiming for a blind spot on his weakened side. Alistair twisted, parrying with his sword instead. It gave him the merest of openings. Raising his shield with a cry, he drove it into chest, chin and head in quick succession, his triumph turning to a scream of pain as Loghain fell.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

Pushing through the crowd, Wynne helped him shrug off the shield, laying soothing hands on his shoulder. Alistair gulped deep. He could hear them now, the wondering murmurs, the gathered Banns and Arls backing well away.

Loghain had sunk to his knees, bracing palms against the cold stone of the floor. Slowly he raised his eyes to Alistair's, something of a smile flickering beneath his sigh. He did not speak, did not flinch as Alistair leveled his sword at his throat.

"I don't suppose you're going to submit now?"

A shadow passed behind his eyes, the feeling of wrongness swelling again. "Not to you."

"Fair enough. I was actually hoping you'd say that." Alistair steadied his arm.

"Wait a moment!" Riordan stood in the doorway, the crowd parting before his slow and dragging steps. At the sight of him, many turned away. Alistair found himself scowling at that; the man was a Grey Warden, here to help them, the two of them Ferelden's only hope. "Alistair..." He paused beside him, looking down at Loghain.

"Riordan? Where have you been?"

"There were matters that needed my attention, as I said. But I have recovered something of great import." He produced a small vial from within his leathers, turning it to the light to reveal a single drop of dark liquid.

"What's that?"

"Blood."

"Right. Creepy."

Riordan smirked. "The blood of an archdemon, to be exact. To be mixed with the blood of lesser darkspawn in the Joining ritual. It is impossible without it."

"The... Joining?" Alistair gaped. "You can make more Grey Wardens?"

He shook the vial. "Duncan must have had other stores that I do not know of. There only remains enough for one." Again, he looked to Loghain.

"No, oh no. You want to make him a-a—? You've got to be kidding me!"

"The Wardens have never been discriminating in their recruiting practices though, because of the nature of our work, I know that Duncan preferred to take only those who had no other options."

"Riordan, no! Absolutely not!"

Anora stepped to his other side. "The ritual is often fatal, is it not? If it works you gain a general, if not you have your vengeance."

"No! No! We are through talking about this!"

"Warden, please!"

"Anora, hush." Strangely, it was Loghain who spoke, looking up at them with a heavy sigh. "It is over."

"No!"

Her cry was echoed from across the room, Ser Cauthrien drawing her blade as she pushed through the crowd. "No! It isn't over!" She swung wild, charging for Alistair, but Sten blocked her way. Catching her sword arm, he twisted, wincing as the blade cut into his palm. She hissed as he ripped it from her, stepping behind her to pin her arms behind her back.

"Cauthrien, stand down!"

Her face fell as she looked to Loghain, as she struggled still against Sten's chest. "You... you do not give up."

"I am beaten, Cauthrien."

"By this-this...?"

"So it would seem." He looked back to Alistair, tilting back his head. "Just make it quick."

"No!" With a sharp kick to Sten's knee, Cauthrien broke free, drawing the short blade from her belt as she lunged toward Alistair. But the Qunari recovered quickly, taking her head between his hands to give it a sharp and final twist. She fell limp instantly, neck sagging useless as he lowered her gently to the floor.

Someone in the crowd screamed. "Desecration of the Landsmeet chamber!"

"The savage... arrest him!"

There were guards flowing in through the doors now, but they hesitated uncertain. Some of the nobles had drawn blades of their own.

"Hello? She attacked me!" Alistair put himself between them and the big man, vaguely aware of Sten's irritated snort.

"The Qunari have always been as beasts. Perhaps they are the threat instead of Orlais."

"The Blight is the threat!" Alistair tried to look at them each in turn. "And this man has done more about it than any of you have!" He looked to Anora. "You want me to have a general? I have one! And one that I can trust!"

"Order! The Landsmeet will come to order!" The woman who had called for the duel stood above them in the balcony still. "Ser Cauthrien attacked the Warden. She has paid the price."

Slowly, the others subsided. Alistair turned to look up at Sten with a sheepish smile.

"I am not going to hug you."

"Right. But, um... thanks."

He nodded with a grunt.

Still Loghain knelt where he had fallen; he had made no attempt to flee. Standing before him again, Alistair sighed. "If there are no other interruptions..."

"I did not ask for this."

"Funny, neither did I."

Anora moved to stand beside them, making no attempt now to hide her desperation. Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "Father..."

"Hush, Anora. It is alright." The man's sneer returned. "You have won Warden, I hope that you enjoy your victory."

Alistair swung back his blade. "I didn't do this for me. I did it for Duncan."

As the sword struck home, most of those in the crowd turned away. Only Anora watched, forced herself to watch, the blood splattering cross her cheeks. Alistair found himself studying her, something of the moment's would-be triumph slipping away.

"Then it is settled. Alistair will be king." He had almost forgotten about Eamon, his voice echoing down from the balcony.

Right. King. Alistair looked sideways at Anora. Still her eyes were fixed to her father's fallen form, the arguments dying on her lips.

"Anora, you must kneel before Alistair, renounce all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs."

Her head snapped up. "If you think that I will agree to that Eamon, you are more fool than I thought."

"Alistair..."

"What?"

Moving to stand beside him, Morrigan sniffed. "She poses a threat to your rule. Kill her and be done with it."

"What? No!"

"She betrayed you, did she not? Twice. Do it quickly and let us be gone."

She had betrayed them; he had hated her for it. But looking to Anora now, he could not bring himself to meet her eyes. "Couldn't we just... lock her in the tower or something?"

Eamon blinked, sharing a long look with the other nobles. "I... suppose so. But something will have to be done eventually."

"Yes, yes, fine."

All were watching him now, as if expecting him to say something more. Maker, had they not had enough speeches for one day? Alistair coughed, trying to cool the flush that was creeping into his cheeks. "Right. I... I may not be Cailan but I know what it is that's coming and I know how to face it." It wasn't exactly a lie, not really. "If we are united here today, I know that together we can defeat this Blight. Marshal your armies. Let them know that for the first time in an age we do not fight alone."

There were a few uncertain cheers, but it was Anora who held his eye, nodding as if to prod him onward.

"We have more strength than we realize." He looked to Eamon. "We have wise council. I have seen the passion of our noble houses first hand." Sheathing his sword, he let his fingers play along the hilt, over the tiny Cousland crest emblazoned there. "We have allies long ignored, amongst the elves, the dwarves and more. We have experience." Turning to Sten, he smiled. "I hope that my companion – my friend – will agree to lead my armies, to lend us some of that long feared might."

The Qunari's brow twitched. "That is the most sensible thing I have ever heard you say."

"I, too, will be with the vanguard. Eamon will rule here as my reagent." Finally, Alistair remembered to breathe. Rubbing a hand behind his neck, he straightened his shoulders, voice echoing through the hall. "Gather your armies. We march as soon as we are able. Together, we will end this Blight."

The cheer was louder now, the departing whispers almost eager. Maker's breath, had he actually... had he actually done it? Turning round, he found himself staring up at the throne. At least they hadn't made him put on a crown.

"Alistair?" Riordan moved to stand beside him, swinging the shield from his back. "My apologies. Your majesty?"

"Please don't start that. You're the only other Grey Warden I know. I don't think I could stand it if you started calling me that."

The old man chuckled, pressing the shield into his hands. "I recovered this from our vault here in the city. I thought that you might like to have it."

"I... wait. This-this is Duncan's, isn't it? I had no idea it wasn't with him at Ostagar." His eyes widened in disbelief. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Riordan nodded. "But we will speak later, you and I. Strategy."

"Right."

The others had largely filed out now. Only his companions and Eamon remained. Anora, too, stood near, shaking off a pair of gentle but insistent guardsmen. As they guided her past the dais, she stopped to stand beside him. "Are you satisfied?"

"I don't exactly think you're in a position to complain. You betrayed me first."

Her gaze flickered back to her father's body, to the men beginning to clear it away.

Alistair sighed. "It has to be better than what he did. I didn't stage a bloody coup, didn't send an entire army to their deaths."

"Didn't you?" She shook her head, moving away as one of the guards prodded her in the back.

He watched her go, unable yet to face the others. Twisting Duncan's shield in his hands, Alistair turned his eyes from the throne.