14 Haring, morning

"And so as you hear these words telling you now of my fate, I tell you to enjoy life; I wish I could but it's too late."

Leliana continued quietly playing the riff I'd taught her but was quick enough to add a little emphasis on the final notes at my cue. I thumped the rock I was sitting on three more times then tried to push the song out of my head.

Leliana's eyes were wide enough to be seen clearly in the dim light. "The words are sad, if strong."

Paranoid, technically, but I happen to agree with her, so I did, and didn't say anything else.

Leliana softly strummed her dinged-up lute, strummed again, tuned a string, then strummed a third time before speaking. "Your idea of speaking with Loghain: Neria is not happy with it. She calls it a 'get someone killed' plan."

"More likely it's a 'get me killed' plan, but it's the only thing I can think of. Unless, of course, we want to assault Denerim with an army of elves and dwarves and hope the darkspawn don't hit us while we're doing that."

Another strum. "Do not forget the mages."

"Yeah, well…."

"You are right. Attacking Denerim would be an unneeded distraction. I believe diplomacy is our best option right now."

"Really?"

Strum. "Yes, but it must be done carefully."

"So that rules me out."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Leliana starting picking out a soft tune. "You have a way of choosing the lit paths, if I might borrow the phrase."

"Yeah, well…."


14 Haring, afternoon

"Let me guess: you disapprove?"

Sten was watching something off in the distance that even with glasses I couldn't see.

"I do not disapprove, yet neither do I approve."

I figured that was something, at least.

"We must confront Loghain in some manner, but for Alistair or the Warden to do so would be foolish. Yet given his antipathy towards Orlesians, the bard would be a poor choice. And Loghain would be most unlikely to listen to either myself or the elf. The Mabari does not communicate well. That leaves you."

I started to ask the obvious question.

"Only you," Sten emphasized. "And yet, as a Warden, your very presence when confronting the Archdemon will likely be vital. It is a difficult choice, but one that must be made. Hence my dilemma."

"Of choosing to approve or disapprove?"

No answer, which for Sten meant, "Of course, dumbass."

"Well, either way, wish me luck."

"The Qun does not acknowledge luck. It acknowledges preparation. Prepare yourself for your mission as best you can."

"I'll do that."

Because, after all, luck is when preparation intersects with opportunity.


15 Haring, morning

Darkspawn oozed out of the ground and slithered darkly forward through oblivious trees. Small animals started from their nests and fled, but many were snatched up by hungry hands and thrust into greedy mouths. A sharp squeak or chirp and the darkspawn were fed.

For the moment.

Fifty pushups are literally zero problem right now. The problem is finding the motivation to do them. It's cold, despite the dream I'm hungry, and, like I've said before, I'm tired.

So I'm standing there in the pre-dawn watching the sky roll through the spectrum and trying to convince myself that pushups are what I need when a second party cleared his throat.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"They're called glasses."

Alistair ignored the fossilized joke. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"Nope. But it's the only thing I can think of."

"But..."

"Yeah, I know."

"But...Loghain..."

"Yeah, I know."

I didn't see Alistair's mouth open so much as I anticipated it. "Yeah, I know."

We stood quietly for a moment.

"Here," Alistair finally said and handed me something.

Half a small, beat-up, but still firm apple. "Where did you get this?"

"The elves. Traded a dwarven knife for a few of them."

"Thank you." And I really meant it.

"You're welcome." Sounded like he really meant it. "So...Loghain...what's your plan?"

"I'm not completely sure. Try to convince him that the real threat's the darkspawn and that we're here to help. And that we're not planning to overthrow him or bring in the Orlesians."

Alistair didn't say anything to that, but I swear I could hear his teeth grind.

"What? Would you rather overthrow him? Is starting a civil war right now the best idea?"

Sigh. "No, that's not what- No, that is what I want, but you're right. No, wait, it isn't- I mean, I don't want Ferelden to just end up as a darkspawn nest, but I don't want Loghain in charge, but I don't see any way to keep that from happening unless we use these armies against him, but it's too late for that now, and I guess what I want doesn't matter."

Sigh of my own. "What you want does matter, but a wise man once said, 'You can't always get what want.'"

"That is so true."

"But the same man also said, 'If you try, sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.'"

"That makes sense. Except, what do I need?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Wish I knew, man."

"Me, too."


16 Haring, morning

Fifty pushups. Five-zero. Twenty-five if you're four-counting them. Five sets of ten. Ten sets of five. Half a century. Fitty.

Try it if you can. Stop as much as you need to without going to your knees. Just make sure they're good pushups; that is, you go down until a line from your elbow to your shoulder is parallel to the ground, and you go all the way up, too. It's good for you, physically, but Sten's right: it's meditative. It's the minute or so of making your body work and simply concentrating on the form that makes it a meditation.

But I don't get the full minute anymore, so when I feel like it I do more. Except I haven't felt like it. And I know why. But I'll come back to that.

"Still doing the pushups? Aren't you tired of that?"

I didn't look up. "Yeah, but…."

Neria knelt down and tried to catch my eye. "Are you sure about this?"

"Nope. But I'm not sure about anything anymore." I hit my fifty and recovered.

Neria stepped back but stared intently at me. Then she suddenly raised her hand and flexed a bit of power. "I could stop you, you know."

I suddenly felt cold (well, colder) but shook it off. "I thought we figured out that doesn't work on me."

Neria's intensity turned into confusion then into anger. "Maker! You'd think I'd- No! I've- No. Jowan…taught me some things, but…." She shuddered. "I've- I can't. At least not to you. Or maybe anybody."

My response was to try to step back. I couldn't. That cold I was feeling? Neria's fault, but it wasn't blood magic.

"No," she continued. "I can stop you. Not that way, but this way." And she pointed down.

My feet and calves were encased in ice. I have to admit it was a good idea, but it also had its limits. "You can't keep me like this forever."

"Maker."

And I was free. My legs were suddenly cold (well, colder) and definitely wetter.

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. Wish I was, but-" Ding. "I just remembered what you need to do. In Denerim. Remember those bounty hunters? The ones we ran into in Denerim? You know: forever ago."

Neria went from angry to confused. "Uh…."

"They said they worked for Howe. While I'm dealing with Loghain you need to check out Howe's mansion. See what you can find there. I'm sure he's up to something that we can use as leverage, or blackmail, or just to get Loghain to do what we want."

"But…why?"

"Because I don't think everything that's going on is Loghain's doing. Even Zevran said Howe hired him. And those bounty hunters specifically mentioned Howe. Not Loghain. Just…trust me on this."

"I trust you, but…."

"Do it," I insisted.

"Okay, but are you sure about this?"

I nodded, and despite being cold and wet and tired I suddenly had a rush of confidence. "A lot surer than I was when you walked up."

"That's good, but I still think it's a bad idea."

"Oh, so do I." But I felt good enough that I dropped and knocked out another fitty.


Afternoon

Damn mood swings. All that energetic optimistic confidence is gone. Now I'm just worried about what's gonna happen when I get to Denerim. Can I pull this off? Is this even the way to go? Will I end up in Fort Drakon? Or worse? Who invented liquid soap and why?

Sigh.


17 Haring, early morning

Brand new fresh diary. Always feels nice opening a new book, smelling the fresh paper, and despoiling the first page with my admittedly much improved handwriting. The last diary? Simple: closed, tied off with string, and the knot sealed with some wax to which I've added my thumbprint and the impression of my knife's saw blade. And then handed it off. (I'm not carrying it with me; that would be a major OPSEC violation.)

"What's this?" Oghren asked.

"My memories. Keep'em safe for me."

"Didn't need to say that part, but I will. Who do I give 'em to when you don't come back?"

I took an instant to appreciate the optimism then shrugged in the pre-dawn light. "Your call."

"Will do, Shaper. Watch your stones."


The wretched hive of scum and villainy better known as Denerim is right there. Just a short walk; not even an hour, maybe, and then

Well, I don't know what then. I can guess, but I'm really rolling the dice here. Although it's not really random; there seems to be some kind of deterministic inertia keeping things from getting too far off course. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.

Like Flemeth said: fate or chance? Or like she hinted at: something else?

"Second thoughts, mio amico?"

"Of course, but do I really-?" I cut that off. Except for obeying the laws of physics, I always have a choice. "No, I think this is the best option."

"But not our only option?"

"We've already talked about that."

"Si. And if you aren't allowed to walk out of the castle?"

"Then you and Oghren come bust me out of Drakon Keep."

Zevran grinned wickedly. "Certainly."

"Just…try not to leave a mess. We'll probably need those soldiers."

The grin stayed. "Certainly. But do tread carefully."

I reached out gripped Zevran's arm. "You be careful, too."

Zevran gripped back and turned away. "Watch over him," he said to my unwanted companion.

I looked right and jerked my head back left. "Come on, you."

"Hurf!"


Late morning

Getting into Denerim was much easier than last time. I just showed the town guards my armor and told them I was there to offer my services against the Blight. They told me where to go and let me right in.

Aside from that there are two other things different about Denerim from the last time: first, there're lots more dwarves running around. Second, the distinct smell of fried onions is just about everywhere.

And at least one good thing came out of this: I hit the market. Not to shop, really, but to get to Wade's. But first I hit the food stalls. A couple of pigeon (I hope) pies, some bread, another pie, some kind of pastry. You get the idea. I grazed, Cullen grazed, and we both grazed some more. It's the first in a long time I've really felt full, and Cullen looked content.

As for the market itself it isn't deserted, but it feels empty. It's got maybe two-thirds the active stalls that it had when we were here forever ago, and most of those are selling necessities, or at least not as many luxury items. No scented soap, not too many cookies, and no coconuts. It was even a little tricky trying to find some more ink. And there's a definite hint of nervousness in the air that's tainted by an undercurrent of panic.

And then a shout. "Shaper! Is that you? By the Ancestors it is. And the Stonelicker, too!"

It was Ingerd, but not the Ingerd I remembered. She's cleaned up, better fed, and wearing a different armor set. And accompanied by a handful of serious looking dwarves who were actively sizing me up.

And she's a lot talkier.

Ingerd said something in dwarvish then continued so I could understand. "This is one of the topsiders who helped us find Carridin. Oh, that's a story for the Ancestor there, but, Shaper, look at you." She slapped me on the hip and theatrically shook her hand. "You got bones sticking out; want to get a meal? There's a place here that makes a good soup out of this orange ball you topsiders grow."

I started to decline but my stomach decided to growl.

Ingerd laughed. "Come on; I'll buy."

I gave in to the dwarf and my stomach. "Okay, but one stop first." I hefted the bag with my armor. "Gotta this worked on."

A broad smile. "Deal."

I smiled back. "Good to see you again, Ingerd. How've you been?"

Ingerd took a deep breath. "About that: I've been well, Shaper. In fact, better than well. And there's something I need to tell you." She pulled out a visibly sharp sword and held it straight up in front of her face as if she were saluting me. "House Aeducan honors you."

I didn't wait for the next part. I jumped forward and drove the heel of my hand into Ingerd's face. The dwarven woman took the blow right between the eyes; tears welled as she staggered backwards and fell on her butt. I jumped back and away from the other dwarves and drew my sword and dagger and prepared to sell my life as dearly as I could. It was gonna be tough; Ingerd's escorts were carrying a lot of steel, and my armor was in a sack on the ground behind me.

And Cullen was no help. He just plopped down and tried to scratch his balls.

But the dwarves didn't move on me. A couple of weapons came out, but most of them just stared at me like I was crazy.

One of the dwarves was holding an axe and watching me carefully. "[dwarvish]?" he asked without turning his head.

Ingerd started laughing. Not evilly, not bitterly, just sincerely it seemed. "Hold," she chuckled. Ingerd pulled herself up by an offered hand. "Shaper, relax. We're not here to hurt you."

I kept my blades ready. "Last I heard-"

"Last you heard House Aeducan was trying to figure out how to kill you." She laughed again. "It'd be tough; you're jumpier than a nug in a deepstalker nest." Ingerd held out her sword horizontally across her chest. "But Bhelen's lackeys aren't in charge anymore." The face went hard. "I am." The sword went vertical again. "So House Aeducan honors you and the rest of the Wardens' cohort." The sword came down and Ingerd's face softened. "I thank you. Well, except for killing Bhelen; I wanted to do that myself, but at least he's dead. So, I thank you."

My blade stayed ready. "You're welcome?"

Ingerd laughed again. "It was good working with you, shaper, and the others, too. You all have some honor. Real honor."

... "So wait. Who are you? Really?"

Ingerd bowed. "Sereda Aeducan, at your service."


After that blue screen it was back to the mission. With the dwarves trotting alongside I picked my way through the occasional crowd, made one quick stop, and walked straight into Wade's. The armory wasn't as neat as before, and Herren didn't look as smooth as before, but business was obviously up. Steady hammering came from the back; Wade was obviously working on another set of simple plate to match the multiple sets just lying around.

Herren gave me a look. "Ser...?"

I dropped a small package on the counter then shouldered the bag with my armor onto the counter with a clank. Wade must have really been busy because he didn't react at all to the noise. "I need this tuned up."

Head shake. "Ser, we're-"

I dropped a small gem (another Deep Road souvenir) on the counter.

No beats were missed. "-happy to accept your custom. Wade!"

A crash and a yell from the back. "How am I supposed to finish this with you constantly interrupting?"

"I haven't talked to you all morning! Just get out here!"

Another crash followed by fast, light footsteps, and a frazzled Wade appeared around the corner. Whatever emotion was on his face disappeared when he saw me and was replaced with - well, something else I couldn't read. "You. You're still alive." A broad smile. "Caddell's armor was built for the ages, after all. So, why are you back?"

"I need some repairs." I rolled up my sleeve and showed the black scar on my forearm. "And an adjustment."

Wade frowned in the way that meant he was thinking about that problem along with some others. "I'm currently commissioned by the Regent to provide-"

"Uh-uhm." Herren held up the gem.

Wade looked at Herren, the gem, me, Herren, and me when I spoke again.

"There are pastries in there. For you, of course." I pointed to the little package on the counter.

Wade looked back at his partner. The gem seemed to sparkle unnaturally. He turned back to me, pulled out a knotted string, and ran the string along my arm in multiple directions. His frown deepened. "Come back not before noon tomorrow."

And with that I was dismissed. Wade turned and checked the pastries then opened the bag with the armor. I turned around and hustled out of the building, but had only just left when I heard an outraged shout.

"Was this done with a rock?"


Lunch was enlightening.

It started with a double-take. We took seats in a random establishment and were immediately told the place was out of onions.

"Merril," Ing- Sereda said. "Help the man out. One for every two of us should do."

I looked around for an elf with an enchanting accent.

"Aye, [dwarvish]," came the reply, and a dwarf with short brown hair and a braided beard reached into a sack and pulled out three onions. Some looks were exchanged and he brought out a fourth.

Okay.

Next thing: Orzammar has a new paragon by the name of Joastin.

Huh.

"Yep. Really. They elevated him not too long after you and the Wardens left." Aside glances, then Ingerd (because that's how'll I'll probably always think of her) snorted. "The Younger Paragon, they're calling him, although they're also calling him the Sane Paragon. I think they did it to balance out Branka. But built a new weapon he did; some kind of blasting thing. I haven't seen it, but House Hunter is outfitted with them, and I've heard they work well. Just chew right through the darkspawn. Of course, that's only rumors, but rumors always have a bite of truth."

Huh.

"But speaking of Branka: she's got followers. Not enough to reestablish her house, but enough. Watch out for her and them, although I don't think they're in Denerim right now." She crunched into an onion ring. "But I'll you who should be a Paragon: you, for coming up with these things."

Modest shrug.

"Still scribbling in that book of yours, huh?"

Helpless shrug.

"So this Steward or whatever you call him Loghain: first time I've seen someone with a score of Legions standing by his command and look chaffed about it. Seems to think we're here to overthrow him." Ingerd raised an eyebrow. "We're not, are we?"

Head shake.

"Good, but there's a couple Legions that might help with that given how he acted over the winter."

Good to know.

"Wish I could have been there when Missy put the crown on Bandelore. There must have been lava coming out of Bhelen's ears. Only real regret is that you lot got to stab him and not me. I love this soup. So when the Legion got back into Orzammar I shook out some sand and called in the few favors I had left, and even got the Paragon to speak for me. It turned out the Assembly didn't want to see House Aeducan ended. And it's all thanks to the Wardens."

And, finally:

"I need a favor."

Ingerd nodded. "Anything. Within reason, of course."

"Of course." I handed her my sword. "Watch this for me while I speak with the Regent. If I don't make it back…. I don't know. See that the Warden gets it, I guess."

Ingerd took the scabbarded weapon and eased it out a bit. She gave it then me a serious look. "This the same blade that took you through the Deep Roads?"

Nod.

"You name it yet?"

"Uhm…."

She pushed the sword carefully back into its resting place. "Blade like this needs a name." And then she waited.

So I thought about it for a minute. Ingerd was right; the sword did need a name, but what to give it. I thought for another minute and decided Zoloft and Xanax were too flippant. Glamdring and Sting were already taken. Arizona was too obscure. Stormbringer just wasn't apropos. Master, Souldrinker, and Thunderfury were all right out.

"Don't think too deep about it, Shaper."

Snort. "But that's my job." Ding.

That was it. And that's why when I go see Loghain I won't have to worry about losing Deep Thought.


evening

I pulled on my rugby shirt on and conspicuously made my way through Denerim and finally arrived at the palace. The guards couldn't help but notice me but it was the random (and non-random) onlookers I wanted to stand out to; I was hoping they'd remember that strangely dressed fellow going into the palace and, eventually, coming out again. It wasn't much insurance, but it was something.

"Okay," I said to Cullen. "Go find Neria and tell her-" I shook my head at myself. "You know what to do."

"Erf!" The Mabari just watched.

"You can't come in with me."

"Huff-huff-huff."

"Go tell Neria I fell down a well."

"Roo-row."

Sigh. "Fine."

So I shivered in a damp breeze as I approached the steps; the guards shivered and hunkered into their coats as they suspiciously watched me approach. I stopped short, showed them my hands, and lifted up my shirt to show I was more or less unarmed.

"Get on with it." I was getting a thorough examination but the guard's tone was bored.

I took the same tack with them that I'd taken with the guards in Redcliffe: I simply walked up the last few feet, flashed some (silver) cash, and told them I was there to see Loghain. "And," I added, "I've got good information regarding the whereabouts of the Grey Wardens."

Despite the interest shown in my clothing that only earned me a snort. "And so does half of Denerim. What makes you different?"

I reached up under my shirt and pulled out a stained Grey Warden tabard. "This. And this." I flashed some more cash.

To be honest I'd been expecting the guards to be on the thuggish side, but these guys simply raised some eyebrows before one of them stepped forward for a closer look at the tabard. He lifted it with one hand; the other happened stay open at a convenient angle. I dropped the coin into his palm and the man reacted professionally.

"I'll need to show this to the captain."


I basically went through the above twice more, got questioned a couple of times about my info, and handed off a couple more coins before (finally) being escorted (a little bit roughly) to a sitting room where I got to sit for a while. Cullen, OTOH, got admiration and praise, and ate up every bit of it.

I considered examining the decorations or maybe going through one of the books there but every time I started moving towards one my escort started looking more belligerent than was comfortable for me, so instead I took advantage of the room, sat in a cozy chair, and managed to doze off.

The first time I did my escort grabbed my shoulder and roughly shook me back to wakefulness. The second time I dozed off I maintained just enough consciousness to snap awake on my own and tell the fellow, "Touch me again and I'll break your arm." The third time I dozed off I managed to snooze until a door opened and a nicely dressed guard took charge of me. I moved to another room and dozed off for a fourth time. I didn't wake up until a set of double doors opened.

"Lord Regent Loghain will see you now."


Loghain's a big man. He's easily got several inches on me, and although he's not as barrel-chested as I am there's a lot of mass there. He moves with the easy efficiency of an experienced soldier and has a penetrating gaze that curiously took in my details and clearly dismissed me as a threat before I even walked through the door. His face was hard and lean, but expression wasn't the bitter or angry or calculating one that I'd expected. Like us he just looked tired.

His voice, though, was commanding. "What is it?"

My escort jumped in as I opened my mouth. "This...fellow...claims to have reliable information about the Wardens."

Loghain's eyes flicked to me and back to the guard. "Does he?"

The guard held up the Warden tabard. "It appears so, my lord."

The eyes flicked back to me. "Do you?"

I nodded. "I do."

My answer was pretty relaxed, too, and the guard didn't appreciate my informality. He turned towards me, slapped a hand on my shoulder, and jabbed a fist at my side. "Show-"

What happened next happened out of pure reflex. The rugby shirt is, at least to me, 'civilian' clothing; I felt relaxed and, more importantly, acted relaxed while wearing it. That's why Loghain made the mistake of dismissing me when he first saw me. Loghain realized his error when I spun into and blocked the guard's punch, stepped into him and hooked his leg, and finished the move with my own jab that sent the man crashing to the floor. I stepped back and spun around to face the other guard as I considered my action; I was pretty satisfied with how well I'd executed.

The guard I'd turned to face hadn't drawn a weapon yet and didn't get the chance.

"Hold!" Loghain shouted.

I glanced his way; he'd calmly and smoothly drawn a long dagger from somewhere but didn't seem too upset at the proceedings. I stopped moving and held up my hands. The second guard still moved towards me while the first struggled to get up.

"I said 'Hold'!" Loghain snapped.

Both guards froze. So did I.

Loghain gave me a closer look. "You're one of the Wardens."

I shrugged and gave a deceptively honest answer. "I travel with them."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "And you're here to betray them?"

I shook my head. "I'm here to negotiate on their behalf."

Loghain's eyes narrowed further. He looked me up and down; I could hear his hard drive spinning up. After a brief eternity he looked at his guards. "Get out."


There's a map of Ferelden on the table Loghain was working at. It's large and detailed and marked up with different colors of paint and/or ink. Of note was the blue to mark areas around Lake Calenhad, the green used to represent darkspawn incursions in various locations, and the red 'X' over a couple of towns.

"What's this?"

Loghain was looking through the handful of items I'd carried in with me: the journal, a pen, ink, a small non-Swiss knife, and a pouch with a handful of varied coins and one other item. He'd opened the journal and glanced at the entries, but, like I said, OPSEC. No useful info.

At least not the kind he was expecting.

"Physics," I answered.

Loghain tried to make sense out of an equation but ended up shrugging and closing the book and eyeballing me.

"Tell me," Loghain started, "why I shouldn't just beat the Wardens' location out of you."

My answer was smoother than butter. "Because I don't know where they are. I haven't seen them in a couple of days, and they'll contact me when they're ready to link back up."

Thoughtful nod. "A sensible precaution. But won't they come for you?"

Head shake. "They agreed not to. And they're smart enough not to risk themselves for me. They know what the true threat to Ferelden is."

Loghain scowled. "Ah, yes. The Blight." He turned away from me and rummaged about his desk and came up with a couple of papers. He looked at them before continuing. "Your Wardens have been busy. The Knight-Commander at the Circle of Magi has pledged his mages in support of the Grey Wardens. They're currently being housed at the Chantry." The scowl deepened. "He also provided an exhaustive detailing of Uldred's failings. You wouldn't happen to have anything to say about that, would you?"

I definitely had something to say about that, but managed to close my mouth before the words escaped.

Loghain raised an eyebrow at me then shuffled the papers. "King Bandelore of Orzammar sent me greetings and the promise of a dwarven army." He waved vaguely at the window. "And a dwarven army, as well. Also pledged to the Wardens." The papers were thrown back on the desk with a scowl.

I interrupted whatever he was planning to say next. "You might be interested in that." I pointed at the pouch.

Loghain opened it, raised an eyebrow, and reached in. He pulled out a folded paper, opened it, and began reading. Somehow the scowl deepened even further. "So you've even convinced the Dalish."

Shrug. "It didn't take much."

Loghain bent over the map. "Mages, dwarves, elves. And now you're here to-. What? Overthrow me? Intimidate me into stepping down? Put Maric's bastard on the throne? Oh, don't think I don't know about him..."

I just kept shaking my head until Loghain ran down.

"Then what?"

I spoke calmly and evenly. "We just want to stop the Blight. Ideally with your support."

"And if I don't give you my support?"

I took a pointed look at the map. "Then we'll make our stand in Redcliffe." Shrug. "If we decide to stand at all."

Loghain sneered. "And if you do stand I suppose you'll invite the Orlesians to stand with you."

Yet another shrug. "Maybe. But if that happens there won't be enough left of Ferelden to fill a teacup."


"That Mabari-"

"Huff?"

"-is he imprinted on you?"

"No. He's N- The Warden's. She sent him along to keep an eye on me."

"To watch over you or watch out for you?"

"You'll have to ask him."

"Mabari."

"His name's Cullen."

"…. Well, then; Cullen!"

"Ror-ow?"

"Is this fellow trustworthy?"

"Hurf!"


"I've told you a dozen times: all the Wardens want is to stop the Blight. That's it. Well, that and have a safe place after it's all over."

"That's not what Teryn Howe has told me."

"Seriously? Haven't we been over this, too?" I facepalmed and turned that into a forehead rub. "Okay, fine. You know what: I'm just gonna come right out and say it. 'You're being an idiot.'"

Loghain turned purpler.

"Howe's been playing you this whole time."

"Playing?"

"Using you. Feeding your fears. Only letting you hear what you're afraid might be true. 'The Wardens kidnapped Anora. The Wardens are lying about the Blight. There is a Blight but they're using it to get the Orlesians in. The Wardens want Alistair on the throne so they can control Ferelden.' While he builds his own army, plots behind your back, and dumps you as soon as you're not useful anymore."

Loghain scowled. He's good at that. But sarcasm dripped when he responded. "And when will that be?"

"As soon as he doesn't think he needs you to help put him on the throne."

The scowl disappeared. "Howe has a legitimate claim-"

"Bullshit! And you know it."

The purple faded but the the scowl came back.

I kept going. "He's made himself Arl of Denerim and Teryn of - what is it? - Highever? But how did he do that? Oh, yeah; he killed the Couslands and made the rightful Arl conveniently disappear."

Loghain's teeth were almost grinding but he held his ground. "You dare accuse a noble-"

"I'm not accusing. I'm stating." I looked at the window. It was late enough that everything should have panned out by then. One way or the other. So time to play my hole card. "And, by the way, have you seen your daughter lately?"

Loghain's face blanked so fast I thought he was about to pass out. "What do you know of my daughter?"

"So I'm right; you haven't seen her in some time. I'm pretty sure Howe's holding her. If you ask he'll deny it, but if he gets found out he'll claim it's for her safety, but it's for his own reasons." Ding. "Think about this: Howe wants to end up on the throne, right? What better way to do it than by marrying the queen? Whether or not she wants to."

Loghain's hand went to the dagger. "The Wardens - or their supporters - they have Anora. They'll use her to gain concessions from me and stop shaking your head!"

I stopped. "Why would we hold Anora? When would we have taken her? How would we have taken her? How would we have held her wandering around the country like we've been? No, we don't have her. If we did I'd have some kind of proof with me that we do." I shook my head. "I'd probably need that just to have a decent chance of walking out of here alive."

Loghain's hand tightened on the dagger and he snarled. Not pretty. "If you have hurt my daughter..."

I raised my hands, shook my head, and tried to project sincere innocence. "We don't have your daughter. I'll swear that by any oath you want me to. But I know where she is."

"Where is she?"

"Howe is holding her." Well, by the time we had that conversation it was very unlikely Howe was still holding her. "And I'll swear to that, too. On Cullen if you'd like."

Loghain's dagger hand went purple. "If that dog hadn't spoken for you…."


Green tokens to represent Ferelden forces, blue tokens to represent Orlesian, but they're turned over to the blank side. I moved them them around while I spoke.

"Don't assume the horde is mindless. That was proven false at Ostagar."

Loghain didn't look happy but didn't look unhappy, either. He looked thoughtful. "Agreed."

I dropped some tokens on the map. "This is what I'd do: stage my forces south of the King's Road so you can't readily scout them, but to the east of Lothering. Feign a major assault on Redcliffe, but with a big enough force that you have to respond with the majority of your army. Then-" I pushed a big force towards Denerim. "-split Ferelden in two, catch the bulk your army between the main and the diversionary forces, seize and cut off reinforcements from Denerim, and grind your army down."

Whatever Loghain considered the map and nodded slowly. "A good plan, provided attacking Redcliffe is truly a diversion. Easily enough countered, though." He reset the pieces and moved a darkspawn attack towards Redcliffe. "Assuming it's a feint I'd respond with one of my own." He moved a couple of tokens along the King's Road and some more into the center of the map. "The darkspawn would see an army leaving Denerim and feel emboldened. Once they attack the city these forces return and hit them from the rear. We kill the darkspawn leaders, drive the rest off, and the Blight's over."

"No," I answered. "We have to kill the Archdemon. And that…won't be easy."

"It's a dragon, you say?"

"Not just a dragon…."


"Do you know anything about this new weapon the dwarves are rumored to have?"

"Only that it is new, and seems to be pretty useful at close range. Seems like it's a massed crossbow volley but each dwarf counts as two or three or four."

Another thoughtful nod as Loghain looked at a map of Denerim. He moved some more tokens around. "That could be useful…."


"Put him in the upper dungeons. I'll decide what to do about him in the morning."

"A favor, if you will?" I motioned towards the journal and pen and ink.

Loghain just shook his head tiredly. "Take it."

I bowed. Seemed the least I could do; he'd earned it just by being willing to listen to what I had to say. And I'd said a lot that clearly upset his take on things. So the dungeons were expected, and I assumed the upper one was nicer accommodations than the lower. I collected the journal and followed the guard out of the office.

"And fetch me Ser Cauthrien!"

Pretty sure she'll be too late to the party.


A quick bribe from a hidden pocket for the dungeoneer (dungeon keeper? [I refuse to use the obvious descriptor]) got me a cell with the remnants of some outside light, a decent meal, and the promise of a candle and another meal later. So I sat down, got as comfy as I could, and, you guessed it: started writing.

And eventually it did get dark, and I got my promised meal and my promised candle, and another bribe got me the promise of some privacy later tonight. I'd planned on taking advantage of that by breaking out my well-but-painfully hidden Swiss army knife (it was in a boot you sick bastards) and sawing away enough bars to affect an escape, but was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Excuse me while I deal with this.


A/N: Been too damn long, hasn't it?