10

A bit more of a rambling chapter but that comes with the different points of view. It is also a time-skippy chapter, going over a large part of the civil war. That means next time we can go straight into the Origins finale.

Also, a pity no site lets me mark this chapter as 9 and 3/4

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

I. Commander Arnold Baines

Arnold was very honoured to be given this command. Cavalry was always big in Gwaren, despite its awkward placement between the Brecilian Forest and the sea. It had been his Teyrn, Loghain, that elevated them to an elite force, the best of what Ferelden had to offer. Sure, Highever prided itself on infantry and their mabari hounds but there were no better horses and riders than in his native Gwaren. They were formidable on their own but under the direction of Loghain they were unstoppable. Arnold decided to become a soldier from an early age, was disciplined, loyal and very good with the lance. Soon he was recognized to be officer material and despite lacking any noble upbringing he rose to Captain. He owed it all to Loghain, the man also was from humble origins and it was his sheer talent and brilliant mind that propelled him to Teyrn. And from then on he paid it back, always looking past titles and rewarding excellence. Arnod was beyond proud the Hero of the River Dane himself has deemed him worthy. And now, now he was given an important command, not the first one since he was given the title of Commander but definitely the most important one. He was to catch the traitor army from behind, be the hammer to Loghian´s anvil, so that together they could crush that scum between them.

It was a simple but effective strategy, one that will not be expected since the traitors made an alliance in the south, with the Avvar and Chasind barbarians. Arnold had always considered Arl Byland to be a smart man and a good commander but what had led him to ask for aid from uncivilized tribesmen, he would never know. Then again, he had not expected the man to turn traitor, yet here they were. Anyway, the barbarians took advantage of the darkspawn and occupied a lot of territory west of the Brecilian Forest which meant that Arnold and his cavalry had to first pass through them to get to Bryland.

Were he not a serious man, Arnold would've snorted – according to their scouts the barbarians built a wooden fort at the mouth of the Brecilian Passage. Wooden. And they had some forces guarding it. But men in furs and stone hatchets against Gwaren cavalry? Ok, Avvar had iron but still. He almost pitied them, it will be a slaughter. They should be damn grateful he only planned one heavy charge to break their ranks and then to veer north, leaving them in his dust.

Damn grateful since he already lost some men to whoever was hiding in the Brecialian Forest. Perhaps the Dalish elves or the barbarians, he didn't really care who, only that he and his knights got attacked in the Passage. The plan was to run through the passage at speed, not give any scout time to report back and catch the warriors at the fort by surprise. But Arnold had of course still instituted breaks, for the horses and men alike to rest so that they didn't arrive exhausted – the Passage was too long to make it through in one go. It was during one of those breaks that they got attacked. Their enemy retreated quickly but not before destroying some supplies and killing some men, not to mention horses. That was a bit of a clusterfuck. Still, Arnold dealt with it and their next break was much more cautious. The enemy did not attack at their breaks after that but ever since they sporadically harassed them during their crossing. It was mostly arrows, something they were ready to deal with having shields and armor, but every so often a man got careless and killed as a result. Still, they were almost through the forest and their losses were minor.

The best of Gwaren cavalry thundered through the passage, eager to get away from the trees and to join the fight north. Despite the complications, Arnold managed to time it perfectly – sunrise was almost upon them, they were reasonably rested, and it was almost time to break through the ranks of the barbarians. With the sun at their backs they will severely hinder any sentries, blinding the barbarians for quite a while, enough to execute their plan. Bloody them and then continue on to join the Regent.

Chet, his friend riding beside him, cursed under his breath. Arnold frowned too – it was clear some enemy scouts made it back because there were several organized lines in front of the wooden fort, more people than they had expected. He quickly whipped out his spyglass.

Now it was his turn to curse, a lot more enemies than expected. But no matter, the plan wasn't to get bogged down fighting them. Besides, they'll see how long will their organization last once he and his men charge in. He took one more look, noting the painted faces – yeah, it never paid off to underestimate the enemy but it was simply impossible for those wilders to take out a well-equipped and veteran force like his cavalry. Besides, he just can't lose - he was trusted by Loghain to lead this force and he won't let him down. Peasants and traitors liked to run their mouth about Teyrn Loghain but the man was a hero, doing what is best for the nation, and the fact that scum questioned his commitment to the country, make anger rise in his gut.

The anger steeled his resolve. Arnold straightened up in his saddle and issued some quick orders to be passed down. They all knew what to do, it was just a matter of giving the go-ahead, his men ran countless drills and knew damn well how to execute a charge.

Arnold raised his lance in salute and called out "For Ferelden! For the Teyrn! For Loghain!"

"FOR LOGHAIN!" his men bellowed in answer.

To Arnold's slight surprise the barbarians maintained their line and waited, he thought they would run at him and his men with some sort of nonsensical war cry. That got him to worry but they were already committed.

Some arrows whizzed around Arnold's head and some even pinged off his plate but he held steady. His steed did the same, well-trained and calm. Arrows were standard fare. And it was then that things turned away from standard.

Arnold gaped from under his helmet as several big fireballs shot from the last barbarian line. He looked in horror as the two men that got hit went down immediately, but the worse damage was to the horses behind them, all whinnying wildly and raising onto their back legs, afraid of the fire. The panic was contagious, even Arnorld could barely control his steed. They were almost at the barbarian line and they used fire once again.

Then came the wind. Dozens of his best riders were blown off their steeds, like their heavy plate armor was nothing! Arnold knew as soon as he saw them fall that those men were doomed, swiftly trampled by the unstoppable charge. Rage bubbled up inside of him. They had mages! Were they mad?! Fereldan soldiers will have enough to do around here and those painted madmen just added abominations and demons? Unacceptable. He will have to report this to his commander, to Loghain, the barbarians need to be exterminated to the last one. Using magic? Utterly irresponsible!

Arnold wasn't afraid, he was angry. How dare they! Most of his knights surely felt the same, all of them keeping the charge going as much as they were able. They kept going, they had to.

The Fereldans finally made contact, their horses and lances biting into the barbarian line. Chaos ensued, knights failing to get through very far with their broken ranks. But at least no more fire came now that their lines were intertwined. He heard thunder but he couldn't dwell on it, he was too busy putting his lance to use, his horse and his shield.

Yet the barbarians did not die easily, with a series of deafening roars they attacked in turn. Their weapons, were they glowing? Arnold kept he head on a swivel, no other way to live in the middle of a melee, and he saw it everywhere – the barbarians had glowing weapons, and even armor. It was a soft white light, almost lost in the white paint of their furs, but it was there.

More sorcery. Must be.

Just as he withdrew his bloody lance form a man who was almost twice his size, he saw it. Her.

Somebody was floating above the fort, glowing like a second sun but with that cursed white light instead. But he didn't have time to gawk, he was among enemies and had to get to his men. And not die in the meantime.

"Regroup! Reform the line further back!" Arnold shouted, trying to take control of the situation.

At first he had wanted to get further, towards the mages, but for that they had to regroup. The barbarians clearly knew that, now suddenly targeting him as the one giving orders. Or maybe because they liked to fight and he was one of the deepest in their territory still on a horse.

Arnold turned, slashing barbarians left and right, trying to get back. For the first time since he was a squire he had trouble to keep himself in the saddle, glowing arrows raining around him. With a sharp hiss he felt an arrow pierce his armour, going deep. Deeper that it should be possible. It surely was that blasted magic at play.

Suddenly something yanked him down. Arnold slid from his horse, unable to regain his balance, and he fell heavily into the mud. He wiggled, kicking blindly behind him. He head a pained grunt when his metal boots found soft flesh – so it was a barbarian to cause his predicament.

Dropping his spear now that he was on the ground, he unsheathed his sword. He had rolled a few times to get some breathing room and managed to get on his feet. He got caught with a few more arrows but those were shallow wounds – they would slowly sap his strength but he would survive. Finally up, he dispatched that one persistent enemy and then a few of his friends. He only injured them but they took a step back.

Arnold caught it with the corner of his eye – some of his men managed to follow through with his orders and reformed a line, coming charging once again. A small charge with not nearly enough momentum, but it was something at least. It will give the men on the ground like him a better chance. They all needed to retreat and try to escape north, continue their mission. There was no victory to be had here now.

Mocking laughter reverberated throughout the painted warriors as a near translucent wall appeared between them and the coming horses. Arnold didn't have time to get a good look but his hope plummeted. Knights impacted the barrier and the barrier won. It rippled in a peculiar way and his men fell when their run ended so forcefully.

That was it, the famed Gwaren cavalry was horseless. Arnold could only hope that some of the rearguard decided to cut their losses and veer north without the rest. He could only hope there was no more magic, or even mundane traps like spikes and pits, that way – it was clear now that the barbarians have expected them and prepared accordingly.

What hammered that point in was the barbarian reinforcements that came from the Brecilian Forest. It was mostly archers, their bows and arrows too glowing that soft white light.

Fuck.

Arnold saw it all around him, they were getting decimated. He knew his men would fight fiercely and take dozens of barbarians down with them but… that was the end. He was not one for prayer but he still murmured something he remembered from the sermons, hopefully the Maker and his Bride would look favorably upon him. After all, he would be entering their domain soon enough. But not before sending a lot of other people there too!

With renewed vigor and the calm that came with accepting one's death, Arnold let out a primal roar and threw himself into the fight. But not with abandon, with cold calculation and skill he has honed over the years in training. He had his plate, his sword and his shield – he was a force to reckoned with. The barbarians will soon find that out.

Arnold fought on, several men and women falling to his blade. Some dead, some injured, it didn't really matter right now. He too accumulated injuries but Arnold no longer cared, he just went on. But he was smart about it, like right now – yet another Chasind of massive size chose him as his opponent, swinging an axe even bigger than himself. The weapon was wicked and the man was skilled but Arnold was quicker on his feet, even with his armor. With a shout of triumph best Gwaren steel bit deeply into his giant opponent. Arnold capitalized on it swiftly, striking his enemy once more.

The Chasind fell onto one knee so Arnold quickly went to strike at his throat. But then light, that cursed white light, seeped into the barbarian's wounds and they started healing before his very eyes! Urgency replaced surprise and Arnold continued his strike, hoping to finish the man quickly, before he healed.

Arnold was too late, the man overpowered him with his newfound strength and health and threw him away from him. The knight managed to regain his balance and not fall, but before he could charge the barbarian again, an impossibly strong kick struck the middle of his shield, sending him flying.

A pained cry came out of his lips unbidden, his arm was clearly broken and the weight of his shield on it was making the pain spike to unbearable levels. With his good hand he drew a dagger instead of his sword and cut the bindings on the shield, dropping it. He had expected to be struck down before he managed all that but to his surprise that did not happen. And once he got onto his feet again, he saw why.

A woman in peculiar armor that once was perhaps white or silver, same as her hair perhaps, but now was drenched in blood, was standing near the man he almost felled and was holding him back with only a hand and a glare.

"He is for my apprentice," he head the woman say, "Maybe he could give her a good fight. You find somebody else. Now, shoo."

The Chasind had to outweigh the woman by magnitudes, and was so much taller and muscular, but he flinched away from her and obediently collected his wicked axe, walking away. Arnold gaped but then he noticed the evil smirk and mad look in her eyes. He gulped.

"Your opponent is me" a different female voice brought his attention elsewhere.

This woman, he would even term her 'girl', was smaller than the first but equally bloody, with the same thirst for violence in her eyes. Arnold idly noted the peculiar amour again and exotic purple hair. Her eyes were narrowed and she had a long curved blade in her hands, holding it with confidence.

Arnold immediately pegged her as dangerous but she was too young and inexperienced, if she had approached him at the beginning of the fight he would've surely prevailed. Now though, he would have to be careful but he still could take her. Pity about her youth... Then he looked into her eyes and all his hesitation flew away – the girl was a monster. She was enjoying his pain, anticipating the fight.

"Here I come"

Arnold almost shook his head in reproach, the girl was treating this as a duel. War wasn't a series of duels, that was only in storybooks and songs. He knew a fair share of young squires and knights who had thought the same, but they learned. Or they died. This girl would have to die.

Her speed surprised him but he evaded her thrust and following slash. It put her in the perfect position for Arnold to ram her with his armoured shoulder, it would stagger her and he would…

Huh?

Arnold was utterly taken aback by her pivot and only after that his brain processed the new information of his body suddenly missing a hand. The commander looked at his bloody stump that only moments ago had been his sword arm and stood petrified.

The girl tsked and buried her entire curved blade in his stomach, somehow completely ignoring his armour.

"Phe. Weakling" she spat and turned her blade outward, cutting his belly on its way to freedom.

She left him bleeding on the ground, not even bothering to finish him off. The girl left, further complaining to the other woman who only laughed and led her away.

Arnold looked at his gut – the wound was fatal, very fatal, but death would not come immediately. He might actually die from the wound on his arm, if it could be termed that way, before the torn belly. Good, a cleaner death that way.

But that didn't come to pass. A panicked horse appeared from somewhere to his right and chose its path straight over him. Its hoofs thundered and one crushed his head like a grape.

II. Queen Anora

This was it, she was officially at war with her father. Her Resistance, the one she co-lead and was the face of, had entered the battlefield against her father. The two sides had fought, fiercely and bloodily, and in the end her father had retreated. It wasn't a major victory, even though it has been conveyed like that to the populace, but it did leave the Resistance in a better position than the Regent. No, not Regent, that title and power came from her own position as queen, and she was on the opposing side. It should be the Crown and the Usurper but she wasn't sure she could take that.

Anora shook her head, forcibly dislodging that thought. Still, her mind was on her father – Arl Bryland called this battle more of a draw in private but even a draw would be humiliating to her father. In truth, she had not expected the famed Loghain Mac Tir to lose. Of course, this was more a strategic retreat, but still. She had expected… more. She wasn't a warrior or strategist, she was a politician and administrator, so that was understandable. Still, she had asked Arl Bryland in private about the battle. She still didn't really understand even after that, not that she let it show, and in the end it was a scouting report that finally gave her the information she was missing.

Fia Sky-Chosen has utterly smashed the Gwaren cavalry that was supposed to reinforce her father and flank the Resistance soldiers. Without the men to execute the maneuver, her father had retreated to a more defensible position after dealing substantial damage to Byland's own cavalry.

The young queen wasn't really sure what to think about that.

On one hand she was glad they had won, on the other, it was Lady Fia that had been a key player in their offensive. While Byland scraped up a draw, the Avvar got a resounding victory if the scout was to be believed. Fia's people had losses but her army was still strong while only a very haggard handful of riders managed to make it through what the Avvar had prepared for them.

Avvar… Perhaps with Fia showing herself such a strong player it was appropriate to refer to her people as the Alamarri as they claimed. It was as Fia had said in their discussions, they were clearly here to stay and had the might to back that decision up. That was a discomforting thought indeed.

Anora sighed and rubbed her brow – she didn't know what to do with the Av… Alamarri, Fia in particular. The nobles of the Resistance she talked to were delusional if they thought she could be easily handled. Byland knew, Alfastanna was vocal in meetings about it also, some others as well. Now perhaps, with her victory over such an elite force, they might start take Fia seriously. Anora did that from the beginning. No, that was a lie. When she met her in Denerim she wanted to use the mage to secure her freedom and her crown, and then chase her back into the Frostbacks with the united force of Ferelden. Now it was clear that was a naïve idea, Fia was just too powerful for them. If there was no Blight, no civil war, then they would have a chance. Now that chance was minimal.

All this power the woman casually showed, where did it come form! Why Fia has not come into prominence before? What did she want?

Fia was terrifying. A mage that can appear out of nowhere, enter any fortification unimpeded, cross enormous distances in a blink of an eye, cause so much destruction with a flick of her wrist… And that was just her personally. Now she had a large and near fanatic mass of warriors behind her, a force also full of mages which were at least less powerful than her – disorganized barbarians no longer but a force to be reckoned with. A force that was coming north to join the Resistance to push towards Denerim.

Anora was sure some of that force was also in Gwaren, doing Maker knows what. She didn't really have a strong connection to Gwaren in particular, despite her father being the lord of it – Anora grew up mostly in the Denerim palace and she considered it her home. Still, knowing her father's lands might be under siege by her Alamarri allies chilled her heart.

Fia took her on a tour of Ostagar and some of the adjoining lands and Anora had to admit the populace looked happy, even native Fereldans. She had been skeptical at first but was more or less convinced. Fia was just way too smug to this be anything else than the truth. Also, Anora was a politician and knew how to spot liars well – she was still surprised Howe tried to lie around her, he really should know better – and while Fia definitely didn't tell everything, she wasn't lying. Hopefully Gwaren will not give her so much difficulty for that to change.

Yes, Anora has given up on the hope that her father's lands would hold out against the Alamarri. She how only hoped the people would be treated fairly.

Again she spared a thought to her father. Knowing his temper, one he seldom showed before the Blight begun but now seemed to be a staple for him, Anora was very glad to be away from the Capital. Her father had started to scare her and the less said about Howe the better. That was another thing – she knew her father never liked the man overly much, considering him a weasel, but now he was Loghain's right hand man. With the famed general back in the field of battle, Howe was surely still in Denerim, ruling in her father's stead. That thought made her shiver. Hopefully there would be still peasants left when she returned.

"My lady?" Erlina, her handmaiden, friend and lover called at her after a gentle knock on her door.

"Yes?" Anora sighed and turned away from her window she had been gazing from.

"Lord Cowen would like to talk to you. He is being respectfully pushy, you know the type"

"Do I ever," the queen sighed once more, "No doubt he'll try to 'respectfully push' his son at me. Again. I can barely remember all the names of the young lords that I suddenly popped up."

"You remember them all, along with all the dirt on them, and their families" Erlina smirked proudly, "You are brilliant. All these minor lords are seriously underestimating you."

Anora smiled gently and leaned into the other woman. It was true, she could handle the minor lords, the major ones too. She had no intention to remarry in a hurry, though she would need to at some point – if she wanted her rule to last, she would need an heir. Still, no rush. She would need to pay the game, to appear open and let the lords fight among themselves and take the focus off her. Luckily for her, she loved to play. Now if she could just handle Fia that easily too…

That though brought a small wave of attraction. Really, the barbarian had no right to be that beautiful. Plus, and Anora was loathe to admit it, but she liked the other woman was so powerful – both personally and politically. She would surely be a wonder to bed.

"My lady? Will you be receiving Lord Cowen or should I tell him you're busy?" Erlina once more had to wake her from her thoughts.

Anora ignored the words for a moment and gently caressed her maid's side, leaning to kiss her gently on her neck. The other woman shot her a reproachful look, making Anora retreat with yet another sigh. Back to work.

"Bring him to the parlor. I'll make him wait a little and then he can have his meeting"

"As you wish, my lady"

With Erlina leaving with her orders, Anora returned her gaze to the landscape behind the window. There can be a lot said about her person, but she really did love her country. Loghain loved it fiercely and almost to obsession, and she has definitely inherited a lot of it. This civil war pained her beyond it being a conflict with her father. Ferelden had so many enemies – from the Darkspawn to Orlais – and they just went and started fighting internally. With Fia in play, the Chantry, eagerly backed by Orlais, will once more try to 'pacify' Ferelden, or at least what Ferelden is left after the Blight sweeps it through. Why couldn't her father just stay the course! With him at the helm, the Alamarri's war with the biggest religion in Thedas would barely touch them. Now they were in too deep and will have to get involved.

Anora withheld her sigh and put on her best queenly smile, it was time to go out again. She loved being queen – she liked the power, she liked the administrative side, she liked dealing with the nobles. Still, it was tiring at times. And there were times she wished she could just punch them in the face. Or kick between their legs.

Or whatever else. Surely Fia, with all that magic, would have some fun way to deal with annoyances. Could be fun to ask in front of the other nobles.

With a small sanguine smirk that was smoothly phased back into a smile, Anora left her room. She was definitely not fantasizing about teleporting Lords atop the Frostbacks in their skivvies.

III. Arl Eamon

Where did it go so wrong.

His wife, his brother, his son, his people. Not to mention the recalcitrant Alistair, ambitious Anora, mad Loghain. And Howe, Cousland…He could only bury his face in his hands and sigh. So much has changed from before his poisoning. It was like he woke up into a different world. So much had gone wrong.

Eamon had been the best and main advisor of King Maric, and then when he passed away, his son. Cailan listened to his council well enough, though with him being young and cocky it was a bit of a chore. At least Anora was smart enough to see just how valuable his advice was, his influence. He knew the royal couple from since they were children and knew them inside and out. That, combined with his various achievements and connections, made him the most influential noble in Ferelden.

And now, all that was gone. All his influence, gone.

But he had a good way of regaining his stature, maybe even improve it – Alistair. The bastard prince was his last chance at staying prominent. But Eamon could already see it would be hard – Alistair has grown, and normally Eamon would be beyond proud. But he had grown stubborn and so very unambitious. Alright, he could see his own hand in that, but he had hoped he could build Alistair back up. Duty was important, and Alistair had a duty to Ferelden. Being a Warden was important and an honorable calling, but Ferelden needed a king more. Let the pretty mage be the Warden, especially since apparently she was the one to bear the mantle of Commander of the Grey. Despite being the junior Warden. Oh, Alistair.

The mage, Amell, will be an obstacle though. Eamon could plainly see Alistair was involved with her. But it surely was only because of the stressful circumstances, it will pass if given a chance. The girl might be from a noble line, Kirkwall his research said, but she was a mage. Nowhere fit to be a queen. Also, from what he heard about Wardens, they had trouble conceiving enough, no need to add another Warden to the mix. Alistair was still young, and a recent Warden – give him a young and fertile woman, and Ferelden should get at least one heir.

First though, first he would need to convince his ward to claim his rightful place, claim the crown. Alistair denied his destiny point blank, but now he surely had time to think it over. He must know they can't let Anora stay queen, the daughter of a traitor. She played the game well but Ferelden needed a strong man at its helm. Maric's son. Alistair might be soft, but Eamon would guide him, help him rebuild the nation. Loghain, for all his worship of Ferelden, has weakened it massively - Loghain's madness and Howe's ambition started all this, true Fereldans needed to end it.

That was another thing – the so-called Alamarri. The barbarians banded together, a miracle on its own, and took advantage of the weakened Ferelden. They would need to be taken care of right after the Darkspawn. Them staying in the lowlands, worshiping Maker knows what, would just further tempt Orlais and provoke the Chantry. Already Ferelden would need to make quite a few compromises to keep the peace, peace they needed. Eamon was a politician first and foremost and he would take care of it, but convincing the nobles to play along would be tricky. Alistair would probably need to take an Orleisan wife but maybe they could avoid that by being clever. Offer more but on the down-low. And marry off a few other nobles.

Speaking of marrying Orlesians – he was seriously considering setting aside his wife. The thought pained him – Isolde might be a difficult woman, but he respected her and liked her. It was a political marriage, but it wasn't an unhappy one. And Connor had been an answer to his prayers – a strong heir. And then, as with all the rest, it went wrong. Isolde, Teagan, Connor –did they all lose their minds as soon as he was poisoned? And that blasted magic, ruining it all! Magic and stupidity. Short-sightedness.

Now he lost his heir at the worst possible time, adding a new worry to his already full list. He had so much to do, strengthen the ties with the other nobles, convince them that Alistair was the best option for everyone. The civil war, and the Blight, had shaken up a lot territory lines in Ferelden, and Alistair would be better suited to grant favors. A fresh start. This will surely tempt the minor lords to support him, they had only to gain. And once he, and Alistair, have some wider backing, the other lords will eventually fall in line. Eamon knew how to appeal to them, had been doing it most of his life after all. The biggest obstacle will be the fact that some lords clearly wanted to marry Anora into their line and become the new power behind the throne. Fortunately, those lords were numerous and had grudges between them. Arranging a stalemate in that area should be easy enough and then Alistair would be the compromise that everyone would accept.

Eamon sighed. He had so so much to do. But he would do it, he had been the guardian of Ferelden for a long time and he would not falter now.

IV. Regent Loghain

He paced in his tent, trying to channel his fury into his steps. It wasn't working but there was little else he could do at the moment – his men needed to see him in control, strong and absolute, not fuming and about to blow his top.

Two battles and several skirmishes down, and he was actually considering retreating to Denerim. Or rather to Rionn, the fort along the Pilgrim's Path - he would never risk an urban fight if he could help it. Besides, that would look desperate, something which he was not. Far from that. Also, retreating so far would give the wrong signal to the nobles – his men had faith in him but nobles were problematic as they often were. It irked him that he was questioned, on military tactics to boot.

Howe was whispering something about a conspiracy, but Loghain was not gullible, he knew well Howe's character and ambitions. He needed the man though. A strong and free Ferelden was all he cared about. He had fought too long and too hard for it. To think that Cailan, that blond idiot, thought he could get away with putting aside his wife, Loghain's own daughter and proud Fereldan, and marry the Orleisan empress? Absolute lunacy, no two ways about it. Handing over their independency on a silver platter.

…chevaliers all over the place with their stupid colorful feathers, peacocks more like, and shiny armor. Loghain was a soldier, commander, strategist – he knew what type of people had a shiny metal plate. Disgusting. Stupid masks and sense of superiority. It simply could not be allowed!

Speaking of his daughter, Loghain was actually a little proud of Anora for taking command of the insurgence. It showed spine, a trait she gets form him. Sure, he was angry at her, quite a lot, but he was still a little proud. Just to mention everything, he was also sad, sad he would have to fight against his daughter. And win. Loghain was certain of his eventual victory. His title, Hero of the River Dane, hadn't been earned in vain. He was patient, pragmatic, and could think outside the box. He would win, and Anora will be captured. Then they will reconcile. He was sure of it.

Still, Loghain could admit to a mistake – he had underestimated that Avvar in the south. He dismissed her and focused on the wrong players. Or rather he should've cast a wider net and not relied so much on Howe's information. But now he knew of this Fia's capabilities and, impressive as they were, he could work around her.

It was rather refreshing to have an opponent he could actually respect. Fia fit the bill. The Avvar had long tried to invade Ferelden and it had never worked mainly because it was a few tribes against real troops. Fia though seized the opportunity the Blight, he finally acknowledged it as real, provided and managed to unite the clans. Keep them united. And even add the Chasind. Impressive. The most impressive thing though was the fact she made mage troops actually work. Fia was a talent he would love to have work for him. Pity he would have to kill her, these 'Alamarri' were too ambitious.

After losing his Gwaren cavalry reinforcement during that opening battle, Loghain chose a cautious approach with a few surprises for his enemies. As such he lost ground, sure, but not too many men. The main problem though was the insurgents had access to some serious healing, negating his strategy to a degree. Not to mention enhanced bolts that penetrated armor all too easily. Both things were hard to counter but he knew how, and more importantly when, to adapt. He did lose more ground than he expected though, that irked him. What made him angry though was the fact the traitors boasted about their 'victory'. For one, he lamented the intelligence of the populace, for two, if he were to attribute any success on their part it would be to the Alamarri alone. What infuriated him were his own allies who needlessly questioned him and were teetering on the verge of treason.

But he had many reliable people around him, he always got along far more with the soldiery than any noble-borns. Case in point - Ser Cauthrien.

"I have the scouting reports, my Lord" the woman said crisply, bowing her head but still keeping her eyes open for any threats. A true warrior, her.

"Proceed" Loghain stopped his pacing and went over to his war table.

His well-trained mind easily managed to follow the report, collate it with the information he knew already and visualize it on his map. And still continue his own private train of thought.

Darkspawn were an issue – they already ruined a few plans of his, turning an offensive into a simple skirmish, both sides having to disengage to fight the blighters instead. Of course, they were hindering both sides. Which was surprising since he reliably heard the Alamarri had some kind of ward to keep them out. A tactic? A ploy from Fia? Maybe simple logistics, but he couldn't discount anything.

Speaking of Fia, how peculiar she had not entered the battlefield in an offensive role. Her healing and support magic was enough to count her an individual threat but he was sure she was hiding some significant firepower. Another reason to shoot her down from the skies as swiftly as possible. Loghain was sure that Fia was a danger to Ferelden – she was probably holding back so she could backstab Anora's alliance. Or maybe even take both sides out in one go. He underestimated her once, he won't do so again.

Magic… It was always a factor. He understood the Chantry's stance, but he always thought that it was a matter of discipline above all. Now he was proven right. Perhaps in the future he could look into this matter more deeply. Loghain had heard what happened at the Circle but he could admit in having a hand in that. Or Howe's hand. Still, he would attribute that to lack of discipline – Uldred, the traitor mage, was simply too greedy and impatient. And Redcliffe… Isolde was an emotional woman and Connor was a child. Again, the same applies. Magic was a powerful tool but a dangerous one. A sword without a hilt, as he heard say somewhere. But it could be used, tamed – the Alamarri stood proof of that.

And that Warden mage as well. She was not nearly as powerful as Fia but she still was a thorn in his side. Loghain didn't really have anything against her personally but she was a threat to him. Doubly so that she was in cahoots with Alistair. Even sleeping with him is the rumor was to be believed. If she had any thoughts of being queen she better forget it real soon. He will help that out by severing her head from her body. The same goes for Maric's bastard son. Loghain was a little sad about having to do that but he simply could not allow another stupid boy on the throne. Especially one with no princely education or command experience.

"…and that concludes my report"

"Thank you"

"Everything alright, commander?" Ser Cauthrien hedged.

Loghain allowed a rare sigh escape his lips, not needing to overly dwell on appearances in this company "Just thinking on what has to be done."

"The Summer Sword is eager for blood of traitors"

"As it should" the general nodded, "But some things are… unfortunate. I hoped we could save Ferelden with less bloodshed that it looks like now."

Ser Cauthrien frowned minutely "Do you regret any of our actions?"

"No," was the resolute answer, "I simply regret widespread stupidity and greed. This is what necessitated all this, us saving our country. Again."

"And we will do so"

"So we will" Loghain nodded, shaking off the slight melancholy, "Let's get to work then." With a gesture he motioned Cauthrien forward towards his war table and grabbed a few flag tokens. Time to do what he did best. Planning a battle.

And saving Ferelden.

V. Grand Cleric Elemena

Another letter done, the sister sighed and rubbed her eyes. She always felt the oldest when at her table with the candle burning – her eyes hurt, her back hurt, her hands did not shake only because she simply refused them to. But there was little time to contemplate that now, now she had to send the letter on its way.

It wasn't the first letter she was sending to the Grand Cathedral. Not even the second. Not third… She still had not heard back. Elemena suspected most of her missives didn't even reach the border - between bandits, deserters, refugees, darkspawn and those heathens, the chances were small. Which is why she has taken to send her messages by ship. Not that the sailors that had remained around after the Blight has proven to be true were of the most savory sort. It was mostly opportunists, extorting exorbitant prices to ferry out refugees out of the city. Some were merchants who again stood much to gain to import goods to Ferelden during these tumultuous times. Less said about ships belonging to… mercenaries, the better.

This situation was surely a problem but not unexpected. What was a more serious problem, one much less expected, was the alliance that Anora has formed with the Avvar. A disaster, really. Heathens cannot be allowed to spread their ideas among the populace. Lady of the Skies, was it? What utter nonsense. And having a mage as a tribal chief? Have mages unguarded and part of the "government"? Elemena snorted at the sarcasm in her own thoughts. She sobered really quickly – this was the unfortunate reality. Hence, her urgent correspondence with the Grand Cathedral.

The unacceptable coalitions Anora formed with the Chasind and Avvar, calling themselves Alamarri – the nerve! – was only the beginning. The Ferelden Circle of Magi was in tatters. Blood mages unleashed demons on it, decimating the Circle to a handful of mages, most of them children. Worse news, the Templar stationed there suffered a similar fate, only a dozen or so having survived the abominations. Wisely they sent for the Right of Annulment but fortunately the matter had been contained before there was necessary. The Circle would still need careful monitoring, maybe scatter the mages around other Circles just in case.

Speaking of Templars, one of her own had been apparently captured and imprisoned, tortured even, by Arl Howe. She was loathe to believe that but the boy escaped and testified to that effect. Not that the young Templar was in his right mind any more, spouting nonsense about the Avvar woman being Andraste reborn. The stay in the dungeons clearly rendered him mad. His madness aside, local nobility simply could not decide to interfere with Templar business because of politics. This incident needed to be investigated and dealt with. Harshly. Elemena personally disliked Howe so if he indeed was the perpetrator, she would lose no sleep at his punishment.

Another noble who needed to be taken in hand was whoever was responsible for the clusterfuck in Redcliffe. Young Connor Guerrin was a mage and nobody knew, his family having hidden that. And of course their people suffered for it when the boy lost control. This stupidity wiped out half a city! Consorting with demons, this is exactly why the Templars were necessary. Of course it was hard for parents to let go of their child but it was necessary. Clearly. Tragedies such as the one in Redcliffe had to be avoided at all costs.

Denerim was not being overrun with demonic undead but things weren't looking all that much better. For one, the Chantry's position was frankly horrible and she wasn't sure just how that happened. For some reason the public was more and more against them. Sure, there had been a few, let's call them episodes, that were a little unfortunate but the Chantry has withstood worse scandals. Like the instance of one of her priests visiting ladies of the night. Unfortunate, but it happens. But he was nearly lynched! The orphans who vanished were frankly baffling but she could not understand just how people could think she and the other Sisters ate them! The hoarding food rumor was very much untrue as well, and she would not deign the nightly orgies one with a comment. Them spying for Orlais was a classic rumor she had thought she had finally done away with but at least it was a coherent rumor, not like the other, smaller, ones that started circulating. Those were ranged from stupid to so outlandish that Elemena was quite disturbed. And her opinion of her flock took a serious dip. She never would have thought her people could be so, so, so… perverse. So deranged.

Not that the Chantry was the only one to be the target of heinous rumors. Howe capturing young Irminic was one thing, she could ultimately believe that, but that Loghain and Howe would actually sell the whole Denerim Alienage to slavery in Tevinter was clearly a lie. It would be unfathomable. Plus the sudden influx of elves to the south, to Ostagar, made it patently false. Heathens flocked to heathens. Clearly the elves were receptive to conversion. A pity, they were so close to salvation. But they made their choice, they would have to live with it. And an Exalted March looked like the only possibility now. But that needed to be handled delicately in Ferelden, very delicately indeed.

It boiled down to the animosity the Fereldens held for Orlais still. Many locals were still alive during that time so the anger has yet to die down. Elemena knew that well, Grand Cleric was a political position as well as a spiritual. But nobody was interested in her spiritual guidance nowadays though the Chantry was here to give support to everybody in hard time such as those. Not that anyone was interested in speaking to her in the political arena either. Again, the Orlais thing. Not that Elemena didn't understand, she was of Fereldan origin, a fact that helped her appointment as the highest Chantry representative in this country. But, nowadays Chantry seemed almost synonymous with Orlais, and that was a problem.

Honestly, Elemena was starting to fear for herself and her sisters and brothers. Rumors and insults was one thing, glares and spit, but people throwing rotten fruit at them was another. That was a step before rocks. Also… and here Elemena hoped she was wrong, she had people missing. One Chantry brother was even found killed. It looked like an accident but she had a very bad feeling about it. She still had her Templars, a good strong core with iron wills, but some of the fresher recruits had clearly heard Irminic and his delirious nonsense. He had been a brother in arms to them so his words carried some weight. The Knight-Captain had to curb their behavior once already and it looked like discipline prevailed. Which was good, they had enough outside enemies, no need to add to them internally.

The clear enemy was this Fia. She heard enough about her to label her thus. A mage, a demon, one with great power with a hunger for more. She had no restraint, no piety. A heathen wannabe conqueror. The world might be going mad around Elemena, maybe Loghain was not giving her the time of day, and maybe she found herself losing time lately, but there is absolutely no way she would let Ferelden become the next Tevinter where mages run around supreme.

Fereldans were good hardy people, loyal, fierce, devout – she cannot let any more doubts settle in. They cannot forsake their souls! She cannot allow it! She must reach the citizens and nobles alike, reach their hearts. This was surely a trial for Elemena, and she must remain strong. The Maker chose her to be the voice of reason during those trying times. She would rise to the challenge!

Elemena rose resolutely from her desk and collected the missive whose wax seal was finally set. She felt a new vigor in her old bones and frail veins - she had a mission. She would fight against evil. Like the most notable Divines she would rally the people and they would prevail. She was a woman of iron will and determination. She would not let Ferelden down! It was time to take matters into her own hands!

She must.

Notes:

My horrible horrible work-packed year is about to end – on the evening of 21st December I will finally get to breathe freely. Then there should be calm winter holidays and then a true holiday the first week of the new year. After this year, I'm looking forward to doing nothing on a beach. This time off should be also conductive to my writing so the next chapters should come far more often.

Thank you for bearing with me this year! Have a great winter time and hopefully 'see' you in January!