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The Grey Path - Chapter Ten

Deviation Actions

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Title: The Grey Path
Author: The Phoenix King
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Summary: Humanity's last hope isn't even human. Called upon to walk a path of blood, valour and duty, Sagramor Tabris must raise an army, rise to power and find his inner strength if he is to save Ferelden from the Blight.
Overall Rating: M/R
Pairings: Tabris/Leliana
Disclaimer: Dragon Age characters, settings, and all in-game dialogue property of Bioware.

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Chapter Ten: The Will of a Single Man

As the speaker’s arrogant words hung over the assembled nobles of Ferelden, Bann Teagan had to restrain himself from drawing his sword, his normally cheerful face drawn into a grimace of utter contempt. “Maker’s breath, he really means to do this, doesn’t he?” he whispered under his breath, gaze fixed upon the dais where Teryn Loghain addressed the anxious gathering, every word stirring bitter embers in his heart. 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 mutinous, and he could hear snatches of resentful muttering from some of his peers as his latest decrees where brought forth. If the Teryn was aware of this, he didn’t deign to show it, continuing on as if the earth-shaking events of the past two weeks were common currency to one such as him. How dare he do this!

It had been two weeks since the fall of Ostagar, and the loss of the King and his army had been a hammerblow felt across all of Ferelden. From the south, tales emerged of the slaughter the darkspawn had perpetrated, and panic spread as increasing numbers of refugees began fleeing northwards in hopes of escaping their brutal advance. Worst still were the dire rumours that preceded Loghain’s return to Denerim, and too many questions regarding the circumstances of the battle remained unanswered, with the close-lipped Teryn refusing to offer any explanation for how he was able to escape with his forces intact.

He was simply too busy taking over the country. Upon his return to Denerim, Loghain wasted no time in declaring himself Regent to his daughter, Queen Anora, and before the King’s corpse was cold, his first decrees went out. After declaring a day of mourning for their fallen sovereign, the new Regent ordered that the border between Orlais and Ferelden was to be sealed, and all Orlesian ships approaching Ferelden’s ports were to be turned away or seized. The King’s ruling council, which had helped to write and implement Cailan’s laws, was immediately dissolved so that executive power might be concentrated in Loghain’s hands, while 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.

Most worrying of all, however, was his proclamation blaming the Grey Wardens for their defeat at Ostagar. According to Loghain, the Wardens had deliberately undermined Ferelden’s efforts to combat the darkspawn at the behest of the Orlesian Empire, with whom they were working to restore Orlais’ dominion over Ferelden. The exile of the Wardens, repealed by Maric two decades earlier, was restored, and the Order as a whole were declared traitors to Ferelden, 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.

And they were not the only ones to be labelled traitors. Word had only just reached the capital of the massacre of the Couslands at the hands of Arl Howe when Loghain issued a decree declaring their lands and lives to be forfeit, and Teagan had heard worrying rumours of many citizens of Denerim being seized by Loghain’s troops and hauled off into the dungeons on similar charges. The Orlesian plot to recapture Ferelden had its claws in many areas of society, Loghain explained, and he was in no mood to tolerate treason. Highever itself was to be made property of Arl 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 detail. Even this meeting was criminally absent of debate; Loghain was not inviting suggestions by demanding the presence of so many nobles, but issuing orders, and Teagan chafed at the notion. Orlais did not kill our sovereign, the darkspawn did! Yet, he would have us ignore their threat in favour of an Orlesian plot that he has no real evidence to show…

The sound of a muted cough draw his attention away from Loghain, and Teagan looked to see Queen Anora step onto the dais beside her father, resplendent  as ever in a gown of purple and gold. Officially, Ferelden’s Queen had withdrawn from the public eye out of grief for her fallen husband, but she seemed as composed as ever, cunning blue eyes quietly observing the crowd. The notion that she needed a regent was a further absurdity; she was a grown woman of nearly thirty, politically astute and a competent stateswoman, hardly a helpless and innocent child to be kept sheltered beneath her father’s wing. Yet she did not object as Loghain outlined his further demands, and Teagan could only wonder at how complicit she was in all this.

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 Bann Reginalda of White River who spoke; she had a reputation as a thoughtful, intelligent leader, and Teagan knew she would not disappoint. “My lord, Ferelden cannot fight a war on two fronts, especially 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 armoured in red steel, a kite shield bearing the apple trees of Rainsefere on his back. Beside him, nobles of various standings chattered nervously at the implication. Bann Teagan Guerrin was ready for war, but against whom? And if he was here, then why not Arl Eamon? The Arl was a man of considerable standing in the Landsmeet, popular with nobles and smallfolk alike, and his absence in these dark times was palpable. Why only the younger brother and not the elder?

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 bit her lip, 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 armour-clad spearmen pushed through way through the crowd to find the speaker. “Bryce Cousland was one of the most honourable 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 armoured 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 here!”

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, his outburst provoking far more dissent than he had hoped to quell. So dismissed, the assembled nobles moved to exit the grand throne room, 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 rumours 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, striding back into his office like some great armoured bear, seething with anger. As ever, Ser Cauthrien walked behind him, a second shadow, 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 too, 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 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 had 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? “Where’s Howe?” he demanded, setting his mind on the task ahead.

“I am uncertain, my lord,” replied Cauthrien, face set in stone.

“Bring him here,” 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. Bann Telmen was correct about one thing; Howe did break guest right to attack the Couslands, and such a crime cannot be forgotten. He is a greedy, honourless 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, he 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 saviour 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 wordlessly. “So 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.”

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 forces 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 that his haste had weakened his position in the Landsmeet. “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. Do you remember?”

“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 armoured fist shot forward, and Howe folded up like a sheet of parchment. “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 daughter 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 whinging 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.”

“What of Bryce’s she-wolf of a daughter?”

“She’s dead, my lord.”

“You’re certain of this?” demanded Loghain. Jessica Cousland was little more than a girl, but a talented fighter nonetheless, and her countrymen would rally about her without question. If Howe had failed to remove her, failed to remove any of them…

“We made certain, my lord. It’s hard to raise rebellion with three swords in your stomach. I put the last blade in myself. Bryce’s other child was at Ostagar, correct?”

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.”

“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 lord’s right at a wedding, and some of the knife-ears were stupid 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?”

“Regrettably not, my lord. From what I understand, the City Guard had arrested the murderer, only to lose him to the Grey Wardens. One Sagramor Tabris, I believe its name was.”

“Sagramor…” Loghain whispered, mind drifting back to his meeting with the young elf back at Ostagar. He’d been so dedicated to duty then. Had that all just been a mask? A Warden slaying a key member of his cabal could not be a coincidence… “Did he know about our plans?”

“Unlikely, my lord,” Howe reassured him nonchalantly. “If the Wardens knew anything incriminating, they would not have hesitated to inform Cailan and we would not be having this conversation. We kept Vaughan ignorant of the details, as per my suggestion; he could not have betrayed what he did not know.”

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 until the Maker’s return.”

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 notable, ruthless fighter. That ruthlessness ultimately spelt 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, and thus, the Hard Line were 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 from wrenching his neck like a chicken’s. Howe now ruled two arlings and a terynir, and though he hated the notion of giving that 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, analysing Anora’s protectors with an experienced 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 death; he had salvaged valuable men that would have otherwise been squandered to Cailan’s foolishness. They had not fled from the field in dishonour, 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 honour-bound to follow him to whatever when. 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 honour, 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 honour, 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 catalogued 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, 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 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.

Thinking back to his conquest of Highever, Howe gave a small frown, disappointed that he could not have taken Jessica Cousland alive. Bryce’s bitch-daughter had been a thorn in his side since the day they first met, and he would have enjoyed showing her the error of her ways. Then again, given the sheer damage she inflicted on his forces, capturing her would have simply been too risky. The wench had cut down more than a score of his men during the attack, even depriving him of one of his best knights. Howe cared little for such loses; even without considering all he’d gained in Highever, most of those men were peasants regardless, and infinitely replaceable. Even so, it had been the one black mark on an evening of triumph, though running her through had taken off the sting somewhat. One last insult from the Couslands. You and yours never did know when to lie down and die, Bryce.

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 Ganz 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, childlike 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 labourer, a common-born man of no great import, completely forgettable. Even the twin daggers 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. Ganz 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 Ganz 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 Ganz. “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 who 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…
Another hard-to-write chapter, mostly because of my attempts to maintain a balance between keeping Loghain both multilayered and unsympathetic. While I do agree with a lot of the Dragon Age fandom that he's not really a cackling supervillain (that's Howe's job), I did want to emphasis that at the end of the day, he is one of the Big Bads of the story (the other being the fallen dragon-god trying to kill everyone). Hence, this chapter focusing primarily on him and his growing Legion of Doom (we'll see more of them in the future, along with Anora). Raynald is also going to play a role in Leliana's character arc, and besides, every would-be tyrant needs a bunch of psychopathic, kill-crazy mercenaries to help out, doesn't he? (Bonus points to whoever gets the reference of his name).

Like with Chapters Four and Five, my initial plan was for this installment to be a lot bigger; it would feature both Loghain's machinations at court, along with Sagramor and company finally reaching Lothering. I decided to split it up due to length considerations, as well as the fact that the Sagramor stuff needs a bit more work, and at this point, I was just eager to get this chapter up already and move onto something else.

As ever, thanks for all your support and comments, I really appreciate it. Please let me know how I did with the characterization in this chapter, there's always room to improve, especially since I'll be examining Anora in detail later too. Thanks again!

First Chapter - A Day for Celebration (thephoenixking.deviantart.com/…)

Previous Chapter - Flotsam and Jetsam (thephoenixking.deviantart.com/…)

Next Chapter - The Road to Lothering (thephoenixking.deviantart.com/…)
© 2014 - 2024 ThePhoenixKing
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TheAnoraknophobe's avatar
Man alive, a cavalcade of jerkery. At any rate, you did a good job balancing Loghain's layers, I'd say. I should point out that this is about as far into the story as I got, so I'll be powerless to really tell between your interpretations/additions and what was in the story in the first place. Here's hoping that won't detract from my utility as a commenter, eh?