Moooooaaaaaar dramaaaaaaa

The theme of this chapter is fathers and death. : P

The fun part about this chapter for me (besides the fact that Elizabeth is becoming isolated from half the people she likes) is the (re-)introduction of Elra (and Gemmet), my elf servant OCs. We won’t see much of them in the rest of the story, but I’ve become pretty attached to them and they’ll definitely be showing up in the Awakening sequel. : D

Soundtrack of the day! Army Attack was used for the mad chase scene down to the docks.

I also checked out some swordfighting videos for help with the Loghain duel, but nothing really worth linking: 1) because I was in a hurry and didn’t keep track of the most helpful ones, and 2) because most modern matches pause the match every time someone scores a hit, which isn’t helpful if you’re going for “total submission” or something. : P

I’m running out of writing energy, which is probably fine; it’s time to draw more art anyway. I’ll finish this story for certain, first! This chapter’s a little shorter. Not sure how long the next chapter will be (long, probably) but I hold out hope of finishing in the first week of September if not before. I’ve put the next two chapters into one chapter so it’s a push to the end!

Previous chapter: Denerim; next chapter: The Archdemon

 

Landsmeet

 

The servants who came to wake her the next morning were scandalized to find she was not alone; she waved them away impatiently and set about getting dressed while Zevran lounged indolently in her bed. After a minute he also rose and did her hair again. She would take everyone into the alienage, even though they were mostly humans and likely to arouse great attention and suspicion. She wanted safety in numbers, unlike the day before.

As she approached the locked gate to the alienage, the guard on duty did a double-take and called to her. “Lady Elizabeth!” Huan barked at him in greeting.

She jumped in her turn. “Who- John?”

The guard had been a soldier of Highever, long months ago, before anything bad had happened to her home and family. “Lady Elizabeth, you’re all right!”

She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. “So you did make it to Denerim. Are …the others here too?”

“Yes, my lady. Gemmet and Elra moved into the alienage here, and I got a job as a city guard, as you can see. They’ve been looking for work as servants, but it’s been getting harder to find jobs with many rich people moving to Kirkwall or the Free Marches. Usually they come down to the gate every week or so to say hello, but… they should have been yesterday, and they haven’t.”

“I heard there was some unrest here,” Elizabeth said. “I hope they are all right.”

“Aye, my lady. There’s some kind of plague or sickness going around, and they kept their distance the last couple times they came to visit. I… really hope they haven’t gotten sick. But what brings you here, my lady?”

“Many things,” Elizabeth said. “I became a Grey Warden, and survived the Battle of Ostagar. Since then, I’ve been wandering Ferelden with my friends and companions, whom you see beside me, and I’ve come to investigate the unrest in the hopes it will give me a clue to uniting Ferelden against the Blight.”

“The Blight? So… there really is one?” John gave a curious look at her many varied companions, especially at Zevran, who stood a little closer than was strictly necessary.

“I’m afraid so,” Elizabeth said. “I have seen the archdemon. It… is terrifying.”

“I imagine it is, my lady. Well, I’m really not supposed to let people in because of the sickness, but I won’t cause trouble for you. Just… don’t tell anyone it was me who let you in?”

“I will not say anything,” Elizabeth said, and smiled. “Stay safe, John. Howe is dead and I want to see you back at Highever when the Blight is defeated.”

“Thank you, my lady, and you too.”

 

The alienage was differently laid out than the one in Highever, but it shared some basic characteristics with the one she knew. There were the squalid shacks, built five high to save on space, and there was the great oak tree that every alienage had at its centre, which Zevran told her was the Vhenadahl. “Elves plant these to remind themselves of what they once were. And then they pee on it. Charming symbolism, really.” Huan also wanted to pee on it, and while she tried to stop him, she couldn’t be sure that he had not after she turned her back.

She also noticed many elves lying or sitting in the street, more than she remembered in Highever; many of them looked listless and vacant, and many of them coughed or cried of pain. She wanted to do something for them, but she knew little of healing and certainly nothing of healing sickness.

Besides, gathered by the tree was a large crowd of angry elves. Their murmurs had not grown into shouts, but she knew something was wrong and asked Zevran and Leliana to investigate. She skirted the edge of the crowd, asking more isolated residents what was going on.

It seemed, when they regrouped and pooled their knowledge, that some Tevinter healers had come to the alienage to cure the illness. While they did seem to heal some people, it was said that they took many healthy people ‘to inoculate them’, people who were never seen again. When she asked about their Hahren, she was told he was among those missing. The crowd had been protesting for weeks if not months, and nothing had changed.

She turned to Alistair. “We have to get into the house the Tevinter are using. But the crowd is also trying to get in and they are turned away – and in the way.”

“Here, follow me. We found something,” Leliana said, and leaving the larger members of the group behind, Elizabeth slipped away with the her and Zevran, heading into a tiny back alley that led into a back street. The house had a rear entrance, and an elf stood guard there in obviously-borrowed Tevinter armour.

“No one’s allowed in,” the elf said, looking at them nervously – if it came to a fight, he was clearly outnumbered and overpowered.

“That’s fine,” Leliana said in a businesslike manner. “How much do they pay you?”

“Er… ten silvers a day.”

“I’ll give you three sovereigns if you let us in and forget you ever saw us,” Leliana said, showing him the money. “And you might want to keep your head down – I’m sure it will get messy.”

“We want to help the elves,” Zevran put in. “Help us help you.”

The elf looked at the money with wide eyes, and back at them, hesitating.

“I’ll give you another three sovereigns,” Zevran said cheerfully, and produced his own. “Genuine, at least it was when I was given it.”

“All right,” the elf said. “I’m going to go take a toilet break.” He took the coins and walked away.

“Easy easy,” Leliana said as now she bent to pick the lock. “This won’t take a minute.”

The door opened and Elizabeth went first, with her shield drawn but not her sword.

She was spotted almost immediately. “Who are you and what are you doing in here?” shouted an angry Tevinter, and the next thing she knew, they were under attack. They were pressed back towards the back door by ten or so soldiers, and they were going to be trapped in a moment, when a crash shook the building and Shale burst through the front door with a grating warcry.

At that point, defeating the Tevinter soldiers was easy. Keeping the elves outside while she looked around was harder, especially when there were elves on stretchers crying out in fear and surprise.

“Elizabeth!” Wynne cried from a side room, and Elizabeth ran to her. The side room held an office, but behind the office was yet another room, and there…

There were elves in cages, cruelly small cages, or bound with ropes in corners. They shouted on seeing someone who was not Tevinter, reaching out their hands to them. Elizabeth called for Leliana, and told Wynne to search the office for any suspicious documents.

“Lady! Lady Elizabeth!” shouted one elf, and she turned with her eyes wide and alarmed.

“G-gemmet!?” Yes, that was his name. She barely remembered. “What was happening here?”

“They were healing some of us, but it’s all a lie! They’re slavers, my lady, please help us! They’ve taken Elra already! You have to save her!”

“Where?” she cried. “Where are they, where are they going?”

“There’s a warehouse, I heard them talking about it, behind the house and to the left!”

That was all she needed; she was off running. Whether or not the others were behind her didn’t matter. She might not know Gemmet and Elra well – if at all – but they were the last pieces of Highever left to her and she would defend them with everything she had now that she knew they were in trouble.

She flung open the first door on the warehouse at the end of the back street – nothing. She slammed it and ripped open the second one – Tevinter soldiers jumped to their feet. A stone came flying past her and smashed two of them to the ground. She called a thanks over her shoulder, drawing her sword, and hacking through the defenses of one of the others. Leliana killed the last one with an arrow, and then she was off again.

“Get them out of here!” someone shouted, and she arrived in the main room of the warehouse to see a covered wagon drawn by a pair of horses bolt through the loading doors on the other side of the room. She ran on after them, thanking everything that she didn’t wear massive plate armour.

She arrived out onto the street, and the sun came out from behind clouds. She could see the cart turning the corner to the right ahead of her. “They’re probably headed for the docks! Zevran, Leliana, don’t let me lose them!”

Right!” she heard them call, and they climbed the building beside her as fast as she ran, skimming across the rooftops to keep the cart in view. The cart would have to slow down the closer it got to the docks, with all the people and other carts and things in the way. Even if they didn’t care about running over civilians, the obstacles would become an issue for them, more than for her.

She rounded the corner with a skid and kept running. To her right, her two light-footed companions leaped to the next roof. “Keep going!” Zevran called to her, and she glanced up briefly to see his golden hair glimmer in the sunlight. Leliana was on the other side of the street from him now, her red hair flying.

At the next corner, the cart had startled a pair of yoked bulls and they had stampeded across the road and blocked it. To her surprise, Sten had caught up with her, probably because he was strong enough to disregard the weight of his armour, and his height gave him a longer stride than her. The Qunari moved smoothly over and grabbed the bulls by the horns, driving them back with brute strength until she could slip past them. “Don’t stop running, kadan!”

She panted for air, just trying to keep her pace rhythmic and unbroken among the shocked crowds in the wake of the cart. Her armour rattled and her shield bounced on her back, her sword bounced at her side, and her feet were beginning to hurt with the force of her stride. Her heart hammered and her breath roared in her ears.

“Liz! Shortcut – take the next alley on the left! Then right again!” She ran on.

She came out of the alley closer to the cart – she could see it, she could hear the panic of the crowd as they scrambled out of the way of its mad charge, she could even hear the wailing of the elves inside. But she wouldn’t be able to catch it before it reached the warehouses at the docks. She gritted her teeth and ran on.

Even if she did catch it, she realized, what could she do? Better to catch it just as it reached its destination, and see if the slavers there would fight her or not before the elves were unloaded and became targets. She vaulted over a pile of crates and ran on. Her legs were beginning to burn intensely, and her breath was beginning to come in gasps, but she pushed herself onward. If she paid for it later, she would pay for it later.

The cart reached a warehouse, made a sharp left, and almost tipped over entering it. The door slammed behind it, just as she smashed into the solid wood. There was a smaller door over on the side, and she drew her sword and kicked it, once, twice, three times. The lock on the inside of the door splintered and the hinges gave way, and she lunged in over the debris.

“Wait!” cried a cultured, commanding voice, and she stopped in the doorway, her sword and shield ready for combat, gasping for air and eyes flashing.

“What do you want?” she demanded, with all the air left in her lungs. Could she still fight? Yes, she could still fight. Especially if he wanted to talk first.

A Tevinter mage in furred robes stood at the centre of a group of armed guards facing her, tapping a silver staff against his open palm. “My question is, what do you want, Grey Warden? You’ve completely disrupted my entire operation here. What are you after?”

How did he know she was a Warden? Elizabeth glanced at the cart. Really, she was just after Elra, but there was also the source of the slavers to consider, and also the fact that she hated slavers on principle even if she had never met one before. “I want you out of Ferelden. Now. Or I kill you.”

“Now that’s hardly a deal, now, is it?” the mage cooed persuasively. “Let’s be civil. My name is Caladrius, and I propose a counter-offer. I understand the Grey Wardens oppose your Lord Loghain. It would be terribly damning to him if it were to come out, say, that he authorized our activities here in return for appropriate compensation. So: I give you his original letter, with signature and seal, and the one slave that I hear you’re after, and I take my earnings and the remaining slaves and return home.”

Elizabeth shook her head and bared her teeth. “You give me the letter and leave every slave you have here. And that money should go to those you have deprived of kith and kin, though it is poor compensation. Leave everything and I’ll let you leave with your worthless lives.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to refuse,” Caladrius said regretfully. “I can’t lose so much, and you’re a little bit outnumbered.”

“But not alone,” Zevran cried, and most of her companions burst into the room behind her, except for Shale and Wynne – Shale was slow, and Wynne was not suited for running, if she had not been distracted caring for the elves in the first house.

“Oh, now, this should be interesting,” Caladrius said, and grinned in anticipation. “Can you really stand against a Tevinter mage?”

The room exploded in fire. Elizabeth dove for cover behind a barrel. Caladrius was standing in the centre of the inferno, laughing, while his soldiers cowered around him.

“Ranged attacks for the soldiers! If we can get close to him, it’s all over!” Fireballs hammered her barrel and she winced. Her shield wouldn’t guard enough of her that she would be able to get close while this storm was going on. If Morrigan could do something…

A wave of icicles shot past her, and the mage shied back from them before redirecting his fire towards the door. Elizabeth snuck a peek around the barrel and saw that at least one guard was down from one of Leliana’s arrows. As she watched, another guard began clawing at his face as it began to erupt in welts.

And then her dog, her dumb faithful dog, charged. Huan ducked a fireball, dodging and weaving, throwing himself at the mage and missing, and settling for attacking one of the remaining two guards, but if she didn’t do something, he was going to be overwhelmed.

She yelled and charged, shield first. She felt immense heat blistering the paint from the steel of her shield, scorching the Cousland heraldry into blackness. Embers fell on her legs, but she didn’t feel them through her drakescale boots. One guard rose up to challenge her, and she blocked his sword with her sword before Leliana’s arrow pegged him in the leg and he fell with a shriek. Alistair was charging with her, drawing the attention of the guard on her exposed side.

The mage struck her with a blast of ice and the heat followed by such sudden intense cold made her gasp – it hurt so much it stole the air from her lungs. It was hard to move forward with suddenly stiff legs. But she kept going.

She struck him with her shield and he fell backwards, clutching his nose. When he saw she was standing over him, sword poised to stab, he raised one bloodied hand towards her defensively.

“Wait! Don’t kill me! I can help you!”

Elizabeth waited impassively, condensation dripping from every part of her armour, her sword ready to strike, but motionless.

“I… I can make you stronger! No one will be able to stand against you in physical combat, not men, not darkspawn, not the archdemon!” His eyes darted back and forth nervously. “I just- I can take the lives and strength of all these elves and put them in you!”

Elizabeth was still motionless.

“Please don’t tell me you’re considering such a thing,” Alistair said.

“As if I would,” Elizabeth growled at Caladrius. “You don’t understand a thing, do you! I’m fighting for these people, not for myself! I despise you!”

“A pity…” Caladrius suddenly seemed to regain some measure of dignity, and flung his hand towards her suddenly, lightning crackling along it. She ducked, feeling her hair stand on end even under her helmet, and slashed him across the chest. He wheezed and fell dead.

Elizabeth immediately turned to the cart, sheathing her sword and shield. “Are they all right? Elra! Are you in there? Everyone, search these buildings for elves!”

Oghren released the back door of the wagon and about twenty elves spilled out. Elizabeth searched their faces frantically, but she needn’t have bothered. One brown-haired elf woman staggered in front of her and curtseyed to her. “I-it’s good to see you, Lady Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth reached out and hugged her close. “Thank goodness you’re all right. I… know I was never the best noblewoman. But I’ve lost too much of Highever and I’m not losing you.”

Elra shyly hugged her back. “Th-thank you, my lady. I-I didn’t know you cared. But you are too hard on yourself. You are a fine noblewoman. You… always treated us elves with respect.”

“I care now,” Elizabeth said. “John told me he was worried about you, and then I found Gemmet in the first Tevinter house. He told me you were here and I came as fast as I could.”

“You chased us all the way here,” Elra said, giggling nervously. “You really have grown so much stronger, Lady Elizabeth.”

“I cannot offer you a place to live,” Elizabeth said, letting go of the woman finally. “Howe is dead, but Highever has no lord, and I cannot take that position as a Grey Warden. I have to fight the Blight, and then… I don’t know.”

“I understand,” Elra said. “I can wait. Is there some way I can help my lady in the meantime?”

“Liz, darling,” Zevran called, “that rotten scoundrel had the letter he was speaking of on his person.” He bounded closer, handing her a flattened roll of paper with a kiss on the lips.

Elra stared. Elizabeth blushed. “I, ah, suppose many things have happened since Highever. One moment.” She scanned the letter. It appeared genuine, and quite damning as far as Loghain was concerned. “If this doesn’t convince Loghain to step down, nothing will.” She looked at Elra. “Elves are just as much Fereldan citizens as humans, after all. I have an idea: you and Gemmet – and John – should all come to Arl Eamon’s estate with me. He is a good man and will give you work until I can arrange something better, and then we can… um…”

“Become better acquainted?” Zevran suggested, with a wink.

“That,” Elizabeth agreed. Zevran chuckled, clearly having implied something other than what she had caught, and she shot him a glare before turning back to Elra. “What do you think?”

Elra curtseyed. “As my lady wishes.”

“I am not your lady anymore,” Elizabeth said. “I am only a warrior. I lead a rag-tag band of misfits who are all older and more accomplished than I am, and leaders at all levels of state listen to me for reasons that are beyond my ability to comprehend.”

“It’s because you are still Lady Cousland inside,” Elra said confidently. “May I go let Gemmet know I am safe? I’m sure he is worried sick about me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Elizabeth said. “Alistair! You’re in charge here. When you’re done searching everything, I’ll meet you at the Redcliffe estate.”

“Understood,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Have fun!”

“Wait,” said an older elf. “I will come with you. I am Valendrian, Hahren of the Denerim alienage. I would like to let my people know I am safe, and thank you for your efforts on behalf of the elven people.” The other elves who had been in the cart followed him.

“You are exactly the person I would like to speak to,” Elizabeth said as they began to walk back – Alistair would escort any other rescued elves. “Do you know how long this has been going on?”

“The paper in your hand will probably tell you all you wish to know, but we have been suffering sickness since before King Cailan left for Ostagar. The Tevinter showed up a few weeks after Ostagar. How many they have taken, I cannot be sure, but it must be several hundred, a dozen or so every day.” The elder sighed. “I tried to find out what was going on, to protect my people, but even I was powerless. Many ships must have sailed to Tevinter by now, and none of them will ever come back…”

“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said. “I knew nothing of this until yesterday.”

“We don’t blame the Wardens,” Valdenrien said. “Duncan was my friend, and he came to visit a couple weeks before Ostagar, and he offered what help he could, but the situation was not so bad then. And when he died, we did not expect that his successors would know of us.”

That just made Elizabeth feel more regretful.

“Valendrien has been very good to us, my lady,” Elra said earnestly. “He has been a great comfort since we came here from Highever.”

“I’m glad,” Elizabeth murmured. “You have my thanks.”

 

Valendrien and his people were returned safely to their home, and many elves came to thank Elizabeth and Zevran after Valendrien announced that they were some of his rescuers. Gemmet hurried to them, and gave Elra a big hug; she also saw that an elf woman was following him, and after some prodding, he introduced his fiancée Firiel to them. She gathered them all, with their permission, and headed for the entrance to the alienage.

John brightened on seeing them. “Oh, you found them, my lady. Anything untoward?”

“Certainly,” Elizabeth said a bit grimly. “Tevinter slavers almost made off with both of them. The danger is over, I believe, but I’m taking them to Arl Eamon’s for my own peace of mind.”

“Er, I’m not really supposed to let them out with the sickness and all…”

“I’ll have my mage healer friend check all three once she returns from helping the remaining freed elves. I don’t want Arl Eamon to become sick again either. And, John, you are also welcome to work for Arl Eamon.”

“Would he really have need for another guard?”

“He owes me a small favour,” Elizabeth said confidently. “Only tell whoever meets you that I sent you. That is, if you would like that. I don’t have much power, certainly no property, or anything beyond what I earn as a mercenary, but I want to do what I can for you. I… have neglected my responsibility towards you for a long time.”

“I’ll resign after my shift,” John said cheerfully. “Us Highever folk must stick together, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll see you later, then, I’m sure.”

“You certainly like collecting together the people who belong to you,” Zevran commented as they walked on towards the estate. “Why are you so protective of them? Not that I am complaining, only curious.”

“I don’t like seeing the strong hurting the weak,” Elizabeth said. “I suppose… The first instance I can think of is when I was a little girl, and I was playing in Highever Castle when I found some older squires bullying a younger squire. I was… six, maybe, and he was nine or ten, and the older boys were thirteen or fourteen… but I walked right up to them and told them to stop that. I formally took the boy into my service as my personal knight, and that’s how Ser Gilmore became my best friend besides Huan… until Howe killed him.”

“That’s a downer ending,” Zevran said.

“I wasn’t a very good noblewoman then; I only knew Gemmet and Elra and the other servants by name and nothing more. But now that I realize that everyone’s important, I want to protect everyone left to me. It’s my own small way of looking to the future.”

“Well, we appreciate it, my lady,” Gemmet said, smiling shyly. “You were always kind to us, even if you didn’t realize it. Your whole family was. We would have rather worked for you than any other noble house in Ferelden. And you’re still kind to us.”

“And you… your father was always good to us, but you are even more… um… progressive than him, if you have taken an elf for a lover,” Elra mumbled even more shyly. “Any lover of yours would be your equal in your eyes.”

“Wait, what?” Gemmet exclaimed. His fiancée Firiel gasped audibly.

Zevran turned, laughing. “Indeed, it’s good to meet you. My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and I am an assassin from Antiva. We met when I tried to kill her and she knocked me down instead. She’s quite a minx in bed, would you believe it?”

“My lady!” Elra and Gemmet said together. Elizabeth punched him in the arm and he ran off laughing, and she buried her face in her hand, blushing and exasperated.

 

Anora and Eamon were very excited by the contents of the Tevinter’s letter, and Anora said she would rest a little more easily that evening. Arl Eamon asked to speak to her in private, and informed her that he had sent messengers on her behalf when they had left Redcliffe, asking her allies to gather at Redcliffe three days after the Landsmeet. “If we are successful, they can move immediately. If we are not successful… perhaps Loghain will still accept their help.”

“I asked him if they might, while I was prisoner in Fort Drakon. He called me naive and avoided the question. I suppose we shall find out.”

Zevran met her in her room again in the evening, and without any serious preamble they fell happily into bed together. It had been a while since she felt so lighthearted, and she worried it was inappropriate, but the Landsmeet tomorrow was sure to prove a challenging test for her one way or another, and after everything that had happened… one more night to be happy wouldn’t hurt.

She told Zevran and he nodded mock-seriously. “See, that is my philosophy. You take the difficult times in your stride, and you seize the good times when they come. And I didn’t know you could giggle so much. It’s been an illuminating evening.”

She giggled again, hiding the lower part of her face under the sheet so all he saw was her laughing blue eyes. He dropped a kiss on her forehead before half-rolling off the bed to get at something in the pile of his clothing. “It seems an appropriate time to give you this, then.”

She took it from his outstretched hand curiously. It was a ring of gold set with rubies and sapphires. An attached pin, slightly bent, from being in his pocket perhaps, suggested it was an earring rather than a finger ring. “You don’t have to, Zev.”

“I may not have to, but I want to,” he said, and she got the odd feeling that he was feeling shy. Surely there was some mistake. Zevran was never shy, in bed or in a crowd or on a battlefield. Cautious, yes, gentle, yes, seeking permission before trying anything new on her, yes, but not shy. “I acquired it on my very first mission for the Crows. The target was a Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that was about all he was wearing.”

“I am not surprised,” she said, smiling.

“I am not surprised you are not surprised,” he countered. “Anyway, I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. It’s… yours, now.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s special to you. You should keep it.” Inwardly, she was both delighted by the idea that he wanted to give her something, and slightly horrified that it was a trophy from his first kill. But she kept her face neutral, because really she was mystified as to why he would offer it at all.

“We killed Taliesin. As far as the Crows know, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now. You can… wear it, or sell, it or do whatever you like with it. It’s the least I can give you.”

“It’s not as important to me as your presence,” she said, trying to hand it back to him.

He tried to fold her fingers around it. “I… look, just… just take it. It’s meant a lot to me, but so have- so has what you’ve done for me. Please, take it.”

She shrank back a little from his insistance. His sudden intensity was overwhelming her. “You’re… you’re scaring me. I don’t understand.”

“Fine.” He took it back, a little more roughly than she thought he meant to, and rolled out of bed. “You don’t want the earring, you don’t get the earring. Very simple.” He began to dress himself with sharp movements. “…You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, you know that?”

She watched him, motionless from her nest of pillows and blankets. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her heart sinking down to the pit of her stomach for some reason, she knew not what.

He shook his head briefly and stormed from the room.

Her heart constricted, and she found it hard to breathe. What had just happened?

She slept very little that night, wandering her room restlessly with worry.

 

Elra came to her in the morning. “Can I help my lady prepare for the Landsmeet?”

Elizabeth was exhausted again, and would rather have slept for another six hours, having finally fallen asleep in spite of the birds beginning to twitter outside her window, but the Landsmeet wouldn’t wait for a love-sick Warden. So she let Elra help her with a sponge bath – it was a special occasion, after all – and to dress her in a clean tunic and pants and finally her mismatched armour. “What happened to your old armour, Lady Elizabeth?”

“It got broken,” she said distantly. “My father’s sword and shield still survive, but I have an enchanted sword now.”

“Very exciting, my lady,” Elra said, fussing over the buckles on her drake-scale greaves. “Did something happen last night? …Something with your lover, perhaps?”

Elizabeth turned to look at her in alarm. “How did you know?”

Elra blushed. “You have the look of someone unhappy in love, but you didn’t have that look yesterday, my lady. I… can’t offer any advice, but maybe you would tell me about it?”

Elizabeth began to refuse, then hesitated. Why not? Elra was loyal to her and trusted her, she was sure. Why should she not trust Elra?

So, slowly, she told of Zevran and his mysterious, important earring.

Elra brightened up right away, even as she dabbed make-up on Elizabeth’s face to hide the shadows under her eyes and brighten the colour in her cheeks. “Ah! Don’t you see? He was trying to propose to you!”

“Surely not,” Elizabeth said. “I am special to him, I think, but not that special. He is not one to bind himself to one person.” She tried to explain about his past, but Elra was having none of it.

“My lady, has he shown any serious interest in any other woman since he met you? Or man – it sounds like he might have had something with this Taliesin man in the past. His very insistence and shyness prove it. He likes you more than he knows how to understand, and thought that you, with your more traditional, genteel background, would understand what he meant.”

“Are you sure you are not projecting?” Elizabeth asked doubtfully. “It sounds more like a fairytale than… Zev. Zevran.”

Elra nodded, an odd gleam in her eye. “I imagine he’ll avoid you for a few days, but just be gentle with him when he comes back to you, my lady, and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. It’s not the end of your relationship, however you feel now.”

Elizabeth shook her head doubtfully, and Elra sighed at her as she handed her helmet to her. “My lady, you’ve grown up so much since you left home, and yet… you are still a young girl in so many ways. Just wait and see.”

 

True to Elra’s word, she saw nothing of Zevran all morning, which did nothing to quell the gnawing weight in her stomach. When everything was ready, they set out for the the Royal Palace with Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan. Ser Cauthrien was guarding the door to the Great Hall with a large number of soldiers. She singled out Elizabeth immediately.

“I knew you would be here,” she said. “I am not surprised that you eluded my lord’s sentence. But you, Alistair, if you were truly worthy of being called Maric’s son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, wouldn’t you? You have both torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to go further. The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as Regent, and we can finally fight the darkspawn as a united kingdom.” She reached for her two-handed sword.

“Ser Cauthrien, wait,” Elizabeth said. “Even you said to me that Loghain has changed. Can you not see what sort of things he has been doing, with or without Howe? I don’t wish to fight him but I do not think he is a good ruler. I have evidence of it. The truth must be known, for better or for ill.”

Cauthrien hesitated, her conflict clear on her face. “I have had… so many doubts of late, it is true. Lord Loghain is a great man in a difficult place, but… despite what I said to you the other day, even I wonder if his hatred of Orlais is misplaced at this time.” Her face began to wrinkle in unhappiness. “I know he has done some terrible things, but I owe him everything. I will not betray him; do not ask me to!”

“Then only let us pass,” Elizabeth said. “Let us stop him. It is for the best.”

“I never thought duty would taste so bitter,” Cauthrien said, and stepped aside, bowing her head. “Stop him, Warden. Stop him from betraying everything he loves. And please… if you can… show mercy. Without him, there would be no Ferelden to defend.”

“I will do what I can,” Elizabeth said solemnly, and they passed by the knight to the great double doors, which the soldiers threw open for them. Elizabeth and Alistair passed through first, then Eamon and Teagan, and then the others, who went to the galleries to observe.

Loghain had begun early, and she found they were interrupting a speech he was making. “A fine speech, Bann Sighard. You have my sympathies for your son. But the crimes of Arl Howe are not mine, for I have been focused on the larger picture.”

“My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It has been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldens have proven time and again that we will never truly be defeated while we stand united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself.”

Elizabeth felt herself moved, and finally learned first-hand why men looked up to Loghain as a leader and a general. His dark eyes glittered in his face, and his silver armour shone in the sunlight that streamed through the stained glass windows.

Then he noticed their entrance.

“If you do not stand with me, my nay-sayers would put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The next question is, who will pull the strings?” He gestured to the group who had just arrived. “Will it be his uncle, Eamon, Arl of Redcliffe, or will it be his dear friend, Warden Elizabeth Cousland? Tell us, Warden Elizabeth, how will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their armies, or will they simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? What is the price of Ferelden loyalty these days?”

All eyes were on her. Elizabeth took one second, one breath, and let out all her fears and insecurities and worries – over Zevran, over the Blight, over her friend Alistair forced into a position he desperately wanted out of, over the insults Loghain had just hurled on her. This was not the time for that.

Her eyes opened, her chin came up. She had never actually addressed the Landsmeet before, but she knew what she was doing. This was time to put on a show.

She spread her hands as she walked forward. “My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet. I was once Elizabeth Cousland, younger child and daughter of Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. I am now only a humble Grey Warden and I beg your forbearance for daring to speak in these lofty halls. Teyrn Loghain has done a fine job in fighting the darkspawn, yet he still fears and hates the Orlesians more than these horrible monsters. Whether or not the Orlesians would come to save or conquer us, who among you would deny that the Blight is a far worse enemy, one that knows no honour at all, genuine or bought?”

“There are refugees enough in my bannorn to make that abundantly clear,” cried a lady Bann, whom Elizabeth vaguely remembered as Alfstanna of Waking Sea.

“The South is fallen, Loghain!” shouted an older Arl, Gallagher Wulff of South Hills. “Will you risk civil war and let the darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais? I lost my sons fighting the Blight. All of southern Ferelden is covered by black clouds, the ground rotting beneath your feet, plagues and darkspawn raids going on until even the crows get sick of the smell of carrion.”

“The Blight is real, Wulff,” Loghain said. “But we do not need Grey Wardens or a bastard prince to fight it. The Wardens claim that they alone can end this Blight, yet they failed spectacularly at Ostagar. Now they ask to bring twelve divisions of chevaliers as ‘reinforcements’.” He pointed at Elizabeth, who bit her tongue at the Ostagar comment and did not flinch. “Once we open our borders to chevaliers, can we really expect that they will simply return from whence they came?”

“I imagine you learned that information from Arl Howe, who tortured Warden Riordan and held him so long that Orlesian support is now moot.” Elizabeth stared him dead in the eye. “If you know they have in readiness twelve divisions of chevaliers, you also know that Ferelden has less than a month to live unless we act now.”

The room burst into uproar. Loghain spread his arms for quiet, and he gained it after a few moments. “And you say that you are the only ones who can end this, of course.”

Elizabeth wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t the faintest idea of how Grey Wardens were any better at fighting Blights, darkspawn-sensing powers aside. “You have done much for Ferelden, and you can keep fighting for her freedom.”

“He can?” Alistair asked skeptically beside her in a low voice.

She ignored him. “But your time as Regent is done. I have proof that you are not fit to rule.” She held out the letter Zevran had found on the Tevinter mage. Alistair had wanted to carry it for her as usual, but he was overruled by Arl Eamon, because Alistair was a prince now. Besides, she could carry her own damn papers. “Lord Loghain has sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund his war. Shall we be slaves of the Orlesians or of the Tevinter Imperium? It seems that one is less heavy than the other to our noble Regent.”

“There is no slavery in Ferelden,” Bann Sighard exclaimed, and all eyes were now on Loghain’s impassive face. “Arl Bryland, please do us the honours.”

Arl Bryland took it from her and read it aloud. “It seems clear enough. Explain yourself, Loghain.”

“There is no saving the Denerim alienage,” Loghain said sternly. “Damage from the riots last fall has yet to be repaired. Sickness has taken root there, and there are bodies still rotting in homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There would be no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here.” He raised his voice against the murmurs. “Despite what you may think, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden.”

“You have done many terrible things, or allowed them to happen, which I question benefited Ferelden in any way,” Elizabeth challenged him.

“And what terrible things would you lay at my name?”

“Assuming power on the death of King Cailan even though your daughter is queen. Poisoning Arl Eamon so that he lay in a deathly coma since Ostagar. Allowing Arl Howe not only to assume the title of Arl of Denerim on the death of Arl Kendalls as reward for murdering my family in cold blood, but to imprison and torture innocents for his own benefit. As his master, you are at least partly responsible!”

“These are all weak charges you bring. And what have you done with my daughter?” Loghain demanded. “You kidnapped her, your queen as you say, by force. Where have you taken her? How do you keep her? Does she even yet live?”

“I believe I can speak for myself,” Anora announced from behind him, appearing in the door used by royalty to enter the hall. She had somehow traveled from Eamon’s estate to the palace without Elizabeth seeing her all morning, and she was dressed in her royal gown, though with no crown on her golden-haired head. “Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you knew. This man is not the Hero of River Dane.” Anora’s voice was strong, but Elizabeth could hear a tightness in it, and she could see a terrible hurt in Loghain’s eyes as he turned to look at his daughter.

“This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan’s throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not gainsay him. This man allowed Arl Howe to imprison me and I might be dead now if not for the Grey Wardens.”

“So the Wardens’ influence has poisoned you against me, Anora. I… had hoped to protect you from this.” He turned away from her, and Elizabeth could see his resolve hardening before her eyes. “It seems that the Queen herself cannot be trusted with the freedom of our nation. I am the only one with the experience and the power to protect us now. Let us not descend into civil war but follow me to victory over the Blight!”

Both sides were losing rhetoric, Elizabeth realized. It would come to a vote soon…

“Then let us have a vote,” Anora cried. “My lords and ladies, who do you stand with? Teyrn Loghain of Gwaren, or the Grey Wardens?”

There were cries of “South Reach stands with the Wardens!” and “Southern Bannorn stands with Loghain! We hold no hope of victory otherwise!”

When every arl and bann had given their vote, it was clear – Elizabeth and Alistair held a majority.

“You’ve lost, Loghain!” Arl Eamon said. “Step down gracefully.”

“You are all traitors,” Loghain growled. “How many of you stood against the Orlesian Emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives? You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once, before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. And you, Bryland, to you I could say the same! None of you have shed blood for Ferelden like I have! How dare you judge me!”

“I may know nothing about the Orlesian occupation beyond what my father told me,” Elizabeth cried, “but I have given plenty of blood to fight the darkspawn! I do not judge you for your bravery – I judge you for your cold heart!”

“Then let it be decided in a duel,” Bann Alfstanna suggested. “Honourably, in the traditional way.”

Elizabeth froze for a moment. Loghain was bigger than her, stronger than her, far more experienced than her. But she was no coward and she wasn’t backing down from him now. “I accept.”

“As do I,” Loghain said. “I suppose it was bound to come to this… You are very much like your father.”

“Thank you, ser.”

“A man is known by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once.” The corner of his mouth might have twitched wryly. “I wonder if it’s more a compliment to you or to me.” He turned to Alfstanna. “What terms for the duel does the Landsmeet decree?”

“It shall be fought according to tradition: a test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome.”

Loghain turned to her and nodded once. “It is you or me the men will follow. It is only right that we fight for it. Prepare yourself!”

The nobles around them stepped back quickly, giving the two warriors space to manoeuvre. Elizabeth still felt it was a very small space, worried she might hit someone. Loghain began to circle her, watching her warily without drawing his two-handed sword. She stepped back, watching him just as warily, but she readied her shield, still blackened from fighting the mage.

She was almost caught unprepared as Loghain unsheathed his sword and brought it down on her shield in one smooth swing. Her arm was jarred and she took a step back to mitigate the weight of the blow, drawing her sword with her other hand without counterattacking. Loghain’s armour was thick. If she was going to force him to surrender, she would have to disarm him – and then beat him down with attrition, because surely he wouldn’t surrender simply on being disarmed. Maybe she would use her tactic of hitting him in the face with her shield… but she doubted that would work. It might work on Howe, but Loghain was a far better warrior and would definitely expect that from her.

He let her retreat and circle a little. She had to use her lightness and youth to her advantage. He was fast, but she could be quicker, if she knew how, and she was more resilient. But he was waiting for her when she darted in, and flung her back.

She narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t telegraph her moves like that. She had to stop fighting like a trainee. After all the fighting she had done in the last months, she was better than that.

She was just nervous because she hadn’t fought a serious duel before… and against Loghain Mac Tyr of all people.

She yelled to distract him – and give her fortitude – and charged. Slipping under his counter swing, she crashed into his side and forced him back a few paces – not quite overbalancing him. He recovered quickly, bringing his two-hander back around into a guard position, but she was dancing now, stepping more quickly around him trying to force him back, her sword flickering here and there, slashing and lunging. He didn’t bother blocking every attack she made, and when he made a counterattack she attempted to dodge it rather than block it. Violet-blue lightning sparked along her sword, but it didn’t seem to affect him. Enchanted armour, no doubt. She was all right with that. Frying her opponent was not the sort of victory she had in mind.

Loghain lunged with a yell and for once she couldn’t dodge, only endure a sudden rain of blows on both shield and sword. She jumped back as he swung at her feet and counter-slashed, trying to knock his sword from his hands, but instead she was forced to one side.

Could she keep this up? Loghain was as old as her father, but he had kept in better shape and he had certainly been fighting as hard as she had in the last months. His endurance was hardened and wouldn’t be worn down quickly by her youthful stamina; in fact, the opposite might happen.

They separated again, both beginning to breath hard, and watched for what the other might do next. Elizabeth adjusted her grip, and he responded to her new stance. She darted in again, and failed to dodge or block his counterattack; she caught the slash on her side with a yelp and staggered away, on the defensive, as all the observers gasped and the ones closest to her backed away some more. She quickly glanced down at her side, which was bruised and stinging, but the ironbark had held.

She lunged back into the fray with another shout, forcing him to retreat a pace. She needed to win this. He would probably kill her if she lost. And then Alistair, and then Ferelden would be lost. And Zev-

She gritted her teeth and swung again and again, and to her surprise she began to connect – with his shoulder, with his leg, and even as he lashed out she deflected his blow to the floor and got right into his space, forcing him back with all she had. His two-hander would not help him in such close quarters, and even as he stepped back to regain his reach as he had before, she tapped him on the leg and he fell to one knee with a grunt. Before he could recover or attempt to sweep her feet, she stepped back just far enough to bring her sword to his throat.

“I underestimated you, Elizabeth,” Loghain grunted, dropping his sword and raising his hands. She withdrew her blade courteously. “I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong. There is a strength in you that I have not seen since Maric died. I yield.”

“Maybe before my journey I might have been like King Cailan,” she said, giving him a hand to his feet. “But I learned much in the last six months. I accept your surrender.”

“I did not just hear you say that,” Alistair said. “You’re going to let him live? After everything he’s done? Just kill him already!”

She shot him a sharp glance and bit back an angry comment about his bloodthirstiness. “I know he must pay for his crimes,” Anora had said, when she had met with her in private at Eamon’s estate, “but if he could be allowed to live… He is my father, after all…”

“Wait,” said another voice, and the Orlesian Warden, Riordan, stepped out of the crowd. “There is another option. The Teyrn is a warrior and a general of renown. Let him be of use to you. Put him through the Joining.”

“That would be acceptable,” Anora said, jumping at it. “I have heard it is dangerous. If he survives, you gain a general. If… if he does not, you have your revenge. Doesn’t that satisfy you?”

“Absolutely not! Let Loghain become a Grey Warden?” Alistair said, shocked. “That’s not right. Becoming a Warden is an honour, not a punishment! He abandoned our brothers and blamed us for the death of our king! He hunted us down like animals. He let Howe torture you, Riordan. How can we simply forget that?”

The Great Hall was silent, the banns and arls watching, waiting.

“There are too few of us,” Riordan said simply. “It’s not a matter of what we like. It’s a matter of what we must do. Our duty is to slay the archdemon. No one else can. We aren’t judges. Kinslayers, bloodmages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits: anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up arms against the darkspawn is welcome among us. There are only three of us in all Ferelden, and there are… compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon.”

“No,” Alistair said. “I won’t allow it. We need him like we need getting stabbed in the back! Or did you forget how his being a great general didn’t help us one whit last time? I didn’t want to be king. I still don’t. But if that’s what it takes to make Loghain see justice, I’ll take the crown!”

“Is it justice you want, or revenge?” Riordan asked gravely.

“Shut up! I can’t do it. Ask me for a pound of flesh, or all the gold in Orlais, but don’t expect me to accept that- that monster as a brother.” He turned to Elizabeth. “You aren’t seriously considering this, are you?”

Oh. She had forgotten. Alistair still looked to her to lead.

When she stayed silent, his jaw clenched and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. “How can you do this to me? I thought we were friends! Well, if… if you make him a Warden, I’m- I’m leaving!” He turned and began to march back down the Great Hall.

“W-wait,” Elizabeth stammered. He was serious, wasn’t he? “Wait. Alistair.” She needed his support, his friendship, to finish the battle against the Blight, and if he abandoned her too, it would break her. “I-I’ll… I won’t make him Warden.”

“What? No! You can’t execute him!” Anora cried, her blue eyes growing wide. “My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people!”

To everyone’s surprise, Loghain smiled. “Anora, hush. It’s over.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” Anora protested, distraught. “This is serious.”

“Daughters never grow up, Anora,” Loghain said quietly. “They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever.”

“Father-” Anora turned away, burying her face in her hands.

Loghain turned to Elizabeth and knelt. “Just make it quick, Elizabeth. I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is in your hands.”

Elizabeth swallowed, feeling the weight of Starfang in her hand. Could she… could she kill? Not even in battle, but in execution…?

“Let me do it,” Alistair said. “Stop hesitating.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, much too loudly, and Alistair nearly stumbled backwards from her vehemence. Loghain was owed that much – to be killed by someone who respected him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, and raised her sword.

 

Spattered in blood, almost in more shock than Anora, Elizabeth stumbled away to stand in a back corner. She heard nothing of the Landsmeet, her own breathing and heartbeat drowning out the heated discussions behind her. She was trying valiantly not to cry, but her eyes were blurred anyway. What had she done?

At least Alistair hadn’t done it.

She felt a touch on her shoulder a few minutes later, and turned to see Teagan, his face concerned. “I’m afraid we need your help once more.”

“What? Why?”

“The vote between Anora and Alistair is exactly even. Everyone who can give a vote has given it, and you will be the tie-breaker.”

Elizabeth returned with him. Anora and Alistair turned to face her, Anora’s eyes bright with mixed emotions – with betrayal not least among them. Alistair was looking anxious, shooting little glances at Arl Eamon’s stern face.

Elizabeth did not look at Eamon. She didn’t look at anyone except Anora and Alistair. They were the ones who would have to live with her decision. And she already knew what that was.

“Anora will be queen,” she said, and both candidates breathed a sigh of relief. She turned away again before she could see Eamon’s disappointed face, and she barely heard Anora’s elegant thanks.

Many people would criticize her decisions this day. She would be first among them.

 

She wanted to leave the palace and retreat to her own room as soon as possible, but she was not permitted. Anora had sent for her, briefly, in between appointing councilors and reviewing military reports.

“So it’s done,” Anora said. “My father is dead. I… never thought he would go so far. I never thought it would end like it did. …Seems like such a waste,” she ended bitterly.

“I…” …wish it could have gone differently, Elizabeth wanted to say. But the fact was she had bowed to Alistair’s demands and she was in no place to speak of wishes when she had had the power to make it go differently. “I know.”

“He accepted his fate well,” Anora said, and shook herself. “I will be coming with Arl Eamon to oversee the armies I am told are gathering at Redcliffe. …You have united Ferelden, Elizabeth Cousland. Now it is time to face the Blight. You have gathered the army we will be using. You will be its general.”

Elizabeth was too numb to show her surprise, though she twitched a little. “Me, Your Majesty?”

“You are the only one who has met each individual leader. It will be up to you to keep them in line. You have your own councilors. I suggest you use them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Elizabeth said obediently.

 

She should have spent time with Alistair, and probably Sten and Oghren and Wynne as well, planning what she should have done next, making strategies for how to deal with this army. But she did not; whether she could not, or just didn’t want to, she wasn’t sure. But she was desperate to get time to herself to process everything that had happened, let it shatter her, and build herself back up again into the leader they needed.

Arl Eamon cornered her just outside her door. “Well, the Theirin line is ended, after four hundred years. I hope you are proud of yourself.”

She couldn’t break down. Not here, not yet. She couldn’t lash out in all her pain and regret and confusion, not at this man who was still her ally and leader of half of Ferelden’s remaining army. She swallowed everything and raised her chin. “I am not. But it is done.”

“Anora is a capable administrator, but her father’s legacy-”

“My loyalty is to Alistair, and believe me, I am questioning that right now too,” she said angrily, backing into her room.

“If your loyalty was truly to Alistair, you would have given him your vote! He is not a child anymore.”

“No, he is not,” she said quietly. “But he is free, at least a little.” She closed the door before Eamon could say any more, and leaned against it, wondering how her life had gone so wrong.

 

Alistair knocked on the door to her room half an hour later and entered without waiting for an answer. He was beaming, almost skipping and singing. “You did it! You really did it! I’m so happy, and all thanks to you.”

“Good,” she said thickly, looking up from where she slumped at her desk. “Now get out.”

“What? But why? What’s wrong?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not still regretting Loghain, are you? He was scum for what he did, no matter who he was before.”

“Get out!” she screamed at him, springing to her feet, her tears finally breaking through. “Everything I did today, I did for you. You have everything you ever wanted, and you don’t even have the grace to acknowledge I might be conflicted about executing the Hero of River Dane!?”

“He killed Duncan, or good as killed him! I thought you would understand! You got to kill Howe!”

“That is different! Howe was only out for himself. Loghain did terrible things but he believed he was working towards Ferelden, whatever else! And now I have slain Anora’s father right in front of her! I should have made you king so you could feel what I’m feeling now! You are happy, gleeful, at this horrible turn of events; you questioned my friendship, used my friendship when I hesitated over the most difficult decision of my life; what kind of monster are you?”

Alistair flinched and drew back, his face hardening. “I-if that’s the way you feel, I won’t trouble you any more.” He left, shutting the door a little harder than was necessary, and she flung herself on the bed, all her emotions finally flooding out in a storm of sobs.

She didn’t have to be so angry at Alistair. He was inappropriately happy at the death of a man who was neither wholly good, nor wholly evil, yes, but he didn’t have to shoulder the burden of a whole country, either, and if she was in his situation, she might be a little blinded to the sacrifices of others as well. And she had driven him away, turned him against her. She felt awful.

And she couldn’t even turn to Zevran for comfort. She had thought she caught a glimpse of him in the gallery of the Great Hall, but she had not seen him otherwise.

She tried, however futilely, to sleep, clutching her silver amulet. They would march to Redcliffe early in the morning to await the army she had gathered.

 

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