Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility

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Title: Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility - Chapter 44 A Gathering of Giants
Author: MerlindaDragon
Rating: PG-13
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Characters: Myranda Cousland & Party, Arl Eamon, Riordan, Loghain, Moneca Alfstanna [Cousland], Banns Wulff, Bryland, Ceorlic, Sighard, Vaughan and Teagan, Anora, a couple unnamed Chantry priestesses, and certainly a couple people I've surely forgotten.
Pairing: Myranda/Alistair
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all characters from it belong to Bioware.  Except for Myranda.  She's mine.
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Chapter 44: A Gathering of Giants
"Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge."
~Tamora, Titus Andronicus

The debates in the Landsmeet started two days later.  On the advice of Arl Eamon, Myranda and Alistair did not attend.  Instead, Myranda prepared to do the small job the sergeant had given her, enlisting Oghren, Morrigan, and Zevran to help.  The dwarf could use the exercise, the witch wanted to see the city, and the elf, Myranda thought, would be amused at the location.  Alistair offered to go along as well—after trying to keep her in bed for the second day in a row, which he almost succeeded in doing—but finally agreed to stay behind, spending the day with Morrigan not being his idea of a good time.

The job had gone smoothly enough, and it came as no surprise to Myranda that they had run across a woman in the brothel who knew Zevran.  The assassin had introduced her as "Queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn," a Rivaini pirate queen named Isabela.  The woman had run her dark eyes over Myranda once and immediately offered to teach her two sets of skills—one for the battlefield, the other for the bedroom.  And while Myranda had appreciated the offer of the first, she declined the second—even when Isabela tried to sweeten the deal by offering to let Zevran join them.  They left fifteen minutes later, Myranda having gained a new skill set and, surprisingly, she had Zevran in tow, though she had told the elf he could stay if he wished.

On the street, however, the mercenaries that she had evicted from the whorehouse had returned for vengeance—and they had brought backup.  Fortunately, a patrol headed by the sergeant from the market that Myranda had spoken to two days earlier happened to be in the neighborhood, and, with their help, the battle went quickly and well.  This time, punches were not pulled and when it was over, there were a half dozen dead mercenaries lying in the gutter.  Myranda and her group had done almost all of the damage, though the sergeant had held his own.

"And people actually voluntarily attack you?" he had asked after the battle, staring at the dead mercenaries littering the ground.  "Are they just stupid?"  This had earned a laugh from the Grey Warden woman.

On reaching the main square of the market, Myranda dismissed the party, giving a small pouch of coins to both Oghren and Morrigan to spend at the tavern and in the market, respectively.  Zevran, ever the gentleman, escorted her back to the estate.

Back in her room, she changed her clothes in favor of a silk gown of the softest green and scrubbed the blood out of her armor.  Alistair was not there, but she had a feeling she knew where to find him.  Leaving the leather breastplate draped across a chair by the fire, she left the room to head down the hall, knocking softly on the door that Arl Eamon had told her he had given to Riordan.  The murmur of male voices inside quieted as she opened the door and peeked inside.  "May I come in?" she asked.

"Ah, yes," Riordan said with a smile from his place in the bed.  "Please do, Sister."

Myranda smiled and stepped into the room, closing the door and waving the room's other occupant back to his chair before addressing him.  "So this is where you've been hiding."

Alistair smiled at her.  "Yes, I've been here.  I'm not going to run off to fight the archdemon alone any time soon."

Myranda laughed softly, walking over to stand by his chair, resting her hand on his shoulder before leaning over to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Alistair's been telling me about your campaign to raise the armies of Ferelden to stop the Blight," Riordan said.  "It's quite a tale."

"I'm sure he's been exaggerating to make me sound better," she said, looking down at her fiancé and grinning teasingly, tapping him gently on the nose.  "He likes to flatter me that way."

"Hey!  I've told it the way it should be told," Alistair said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers.  "I knew he'd never believe me if I tried to tell him how wonderful you really are."

Myranda smiled affectionately at him before looking back at the senior Warden, who was looking somewhat amused by their display.  "How are you feeling?"

"Much better now that I've gotten some decent food and proper rest."  He allowed a slight smile to cross his lips.  "I hear Howe's death has brought no small amount of cheer to the city."

"I killed him for myself," Myranda said.  "That it fits into the grand scheme of winning Denerim to our side is merely coincidental."  She squeezed Alistair's shoulder gently.  "I'm glad to have everyone's support, however."

The three Wardens chatted the rest of the afternoon, about the Grey Warden order, about Duncan, about what needed to be done though there were only three of them.  A massive Joining was out of the questions—the process was dangerous, and even if they managed to raise a hundred recruits, perhaps only twenty would survive.

"So what are your plans now?" Myranda finally asked from her perch on the end of the bed.

"When I'm well enough, I'm going to continue my journey toward Ostagar," Riordan said.  "Hopefully, I will be able to trace the heart of the Blight and where the archdemon itself abides."  He frowned.  "If we want to defeat this archdemon, we need to know where it is and how soon it might strike."

The blonde woman's eyebrows lifted in surprise.  "You're going alone?  Shouldn't we go with you?"

"If there were more of us, I would agree.  But as it is, I don't think we can deprive all the armies you've gathered of a commander."  He added this last with a slight smile.

"They have agreed to fight for the Grey Wardens.  Not just me."

"Men don't just rally around causes, lass.  They need leaders.  Soldiers will follow a great leader after loyalty and belief in a cause have gone."

She smiled a little, looking over at Alistair when he took her hand.  "Thank you."  The words were for Riordan, though her eyes remained on her betrothed.  Her nose wrinkled in a silent giggle.  "Though I wonder if some of them aren't just following me looking for guidance in my swaying hips."

Riordan laughed at the intense blush that crossed the younger man's face.



Later that night, Myranda stood in the estate's receiving room, staring into the fire.  Eamon had informed them that the vote would be the next day—their presence would be required.

She saw a shadow pass by the doorway and glanced over, confirming the presence.  "Zevran."

"My dear Myranda," the elf said with a slight smile, stepping inside to join her at the fireplace.  "I understand the Landsmeet is going fairly smoothly.  The vote shall be tomorrow, yes?"

She nodded.  "Eamon is nothing if not popular within the nobility, and several of the banns I talked to are outraged at what was allowed to happen to my family.  So I'm not worried."  She gave him a pointed look.  "About the vote."

Zevran smiled knowingly.  "You are worried about what Loghain may do."

"I knew you'd understand."  She paused, considering her request before deciding to ask.  "I'd... like for you to be there.  If things start to turn violent..."

"Rest assured, I have no reservations about murdering my former employer."

Myranda smiled.  "Thank you, Zevran."

"You do, of course, realize the irony in my being there."

"Of course.  I was hoping you'd agree so I could see the look on Loghain's face."  A ruthless smile crossed her lips.  "It should prove a memorable occasion."

*~*~*~*~*

In the morning before dawn, after a mostly sleepless night, Myranda and Alistair rose and readied themselves.  Armor was shined or brushed, boots were polished, swords and daggers were sharpened.  Alistair questioned if the latter would be allowed in the chamber, though he couldn't argue with Myranda when she asked if he really wanted to walk in to the meeting unarmed.  Even Baby, who had been given a bath the previous evening, was brushed so that he looked presentable.

Much to Myranda's surprise, most of their companions were awake when they descended the stairs an hour later.  Leliana and Oghren offered to go along; Myranda refused them both for different reasons.  And while Oghren grumbled about how she was missing out on having his "political genius" there, Leliana simply gave her a hug and wished her luck.  Sten wished her victory and Morrigan failed to see the point of the errand, and told Myranda so, though she expected her sister would not lose.  Zevran would accompany them, and Wynne would not be convinced to stay behind, reminding the younger woman that she may need a steady voice of reason—a logic that Myranda could not fault.  When Eamon descended, Myranda threaded her arm through Alistair's and the group set off for the palace.

The nobles of the Landsmeet turned to them when they walked in, and the room exploded in whispers as Myranda and Alistair entered.  But only Moneca approached them, giving Myranda a hug.  Her eyes swept appreciatively over Alistair before she smirked at the blonde.  The Grey Warden woman introduced Moneca, and she would have introduced the bann to her evening's "appointment," only to find the elf had vanished somewhere.

"How has the debate gone?"

Moneca rolled her eyes.  "You know how these things go.  There's no telling, though I think you being here will help."  Light brown eyes met emerald green.  "Some of the banns have doubted you actually survived, either the attack or the battle at Ostagar."

Myranda smirked.  "Surprise."  The smile faded.  "And Loghain?"

The redhead shrugged.  "No sign of him."

"Lady Cousland?" Eamon called.

The blonde sighed.  "Well, let's get this over with."



"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet," Eamon said, finishing up a long speech, "Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear!  He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands?  Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?"

There was a general cry of approval, as well a smattering of applause.  However, another set of hands, clapping slowly and sarcastically, sounded louder than the others.  The room went quiet and all eyes turned to the owner, who was striding slowly into the room: Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir.

"A fine performance, Eamon," Loghain said, stepping to the middle of the room.  "But no one here is taken in by it."  He glanced dismissively at Alistair.  "You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it."  His eyes narrowed.  "The better question is, 'Who will pull the strings?'  Ah!" he said in acidic triumph as he looked at Myranda, waving toward her.  "But here we have the puppeteer!"

Myranda stepped forward, pushing Eamon gently aside as he started to move in front of her.  She was the daughter of the teyrn of Highever, and she was not afraid.

"Tell us, Warden: How will the Orlesians take our nation from us?  Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?"  He waved dismissively at Alistair.  "What did they offer you?  How much is the price of Fereldan honor now?"

"I wouldn't know.  Perhaps you could tell us—or do you need a value as you have lost yours and need to buy it back?"  She scoffed in the audible silence that surrounded this subtle insult.  "The Blight is the threat here, Loghain, not Orlais."

"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," Moneca said.

"The south is fallen, Loghain!" Bann Wulff of the Western Hills Bannorn added.  "Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?"

"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff," Loghain admitted.  "But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?"  He looked around at the other nobles.  "They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers.  And once we open our borders to the chevaliers," he went on in the discontented murmur that followed, "can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"

"I am not the one who betrayed Ferelden!" Myranda said.  "And you will not accuse me of such a thing after your disgraceful actions on the battlefield."

"Some of us are curious, Loghain, about precisely what happened at Ostagar," Bryland of South Reach said.

"So one of Cailan's killers would dare speak of betrayal?"  Loghain stepped over to Myranda, expecting to tower over her though she was only a few inches shorter than he.  He was, however, obviously incredibly mindful of the mabari snarling at her side.  "You led our king to his death with your grandiose tales of griffons flying into battle."

"And yet you were the one who fled the battle and left him to die," she replied.

"Do continue," said the oily voice of an older man Myranda recognized as Bann Ceorlic.  "The Landsmeet hungers to hear the tactical analysis of Ostagar from a spoiled child."

Myranda looked at him coolly.  "As you have no knowledge of the subject yourself, Ceorlic, I doubt very much you would follow the conversation."  She spoke over him as he started to bluster a response.  "I saw no men of the Southern Bannorn at Ostagar.  Shocking, as you have always been known to cower under the boot of the teyrn of Gwaren.  Or were you and your men heading the pack as you fled from the field?"

"You goaded Cailan into making that charge!" Loghain said.  "He believed the tales, Warden!  He thought that your handful of men would turn the tide for him, strategy and consequences be hanged!"

"As you recall," she said, "I 'goaded' him to do nothing.  I insisted on being in the battle—by his side, as you should have been.  Do you remember that tidbit?"  She lifted one eyebrow.  "Or shall we add senility to your list of faults?"

Loghain turned away from her in disgust.  "What would you have me do?" he asked.  "Cailan's was not the only life in my hands.  Should I have sacrificed the entire army for his mistake?"  He turned back to her, the hatred in his eyes burning like the sun.  "Do not imagine you can shame me with Cailan's death.  He was Maric's son.  My king.  No one regrets his loss more than I do."

"As much as you regret selling elves into slavery?" Myranda asked clearly, pleased with the ripple of shock that coursed through the room.

"What do you mean, Lady Cousland?" Bann Sighard demanded.  "There is no slavery in Ferelden!"

Myranda pulled a folded sheet of paper from her leathers and held it up, allowing it to unfold to reveal the seal at the bottom.  "I have in my hands, lords and ladies of Ferelden, a document bearing Loghain's seal that authorizes the kidnapping of dozens of elves from the Alienage to the Tevinter magisters."

"Selling elves?!" Moneca repeated incredulously.  She leaned on the railing of the balcony on which she stood, glaring down at the self-proclaimed regent.  "Explain this, Loghain!"

Loghain looked up at her coolly.  "There is no saving the Alienage, Bann Alfstanna.  Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired.  There are bodies still rotting in their homes.  It is not a place I would send my worst enemy.  There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here."

"And this justifies selling them into slavery?" Moneca fumed.  "And why, pray tell, has the damage 'yet to be repaired' in the months you have been regent?  Why haven't you seen to it that the dead have been taken away and their bodies sent back to the Maker?  Is it because of your racism toward a people who have never wronged you?  They are people, and deserve no less respect than you or I or any of us assembled!"  She pointed furiously at him.  "How dare you condemn them to a fate worse than death on your claim that the sewer that you cram them into cannot be held!  If it truly cannot be held, then evacuate them as you have the humans!  They deserve no less!  Their lives are no less precious than your own, and they have the right to be treated as they should be!"

"The busty redhead," Zevran murmured to Myranda as she stepped back from the middle of the floor, allowing the conversation to continue around them, "she is a passionate one, isn't she?"

The Grey Warden nodded minutely before bowing her head toward him and murmuring her reply.  "You know your 'appointment' for after your mission tonight?"  She pointed at Moneca.  "That's her.  And I believe her handmaid—a pretty little elf, might I add—will also be joining you."

She had his complete attention now.

"I told her you were up for anything."  She looked at him.  "So is she."

Zevran grinned wickedly at her.  "You have excellent taste, my dear Myranda."

"So I've been told."  She turned back to Loghain then and lifted her voice to be heard around the room.  "What say you, Loghain?  What have you to say for yourself in the face of this heinous offence against the elves of Denerim?"

Loghain sneered at her.  "Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty.  Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."

"And this includes allowing Rendon Howe to imprison and torture innocents?"

"It's true!" Moneca cut in.  "All of you know of my brother Soren: a good and fine man, respected by his fellows and a damned good city guard.  My brother had been kidnapped and left in a prison cell no bigger than a mabari's kennel!  His leg had been broken in three places, and he was left to die of the injuries or to go mad with the cramped quarters!  Howe captured and tortured one of the Denerim City Guard and—"

"And here starts another rant from a madwoman," Ceorlic sneered, cutting the redhead off.  "Are we of the Landsmeet to believe the words of a lunatic and this spoiled brat?" he waved a dismissive hand at Moneca and Myranda, respectively.

"Lady Cousland speaks truly!" Bann Sighard said.  "My son was taken under cover of night.  The things done to him... some of them are beyond any healer's skill."

"Howe was responsible for himself," Loghain said.  "He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life.  As must we all."

"Nice dodge," Myranda said, putting a hand on Baby's head when he barked.

"All of us have crimes for which we will have to answer."  The teyrn leveled a glare at the blonde young woman.  "But you know that," he said.  Though his voice was soft, it carried through the silent room.  "You were the one who murdered him."

She lifted her chin.  She didn't have to justify her actions to him.  And she knew that had she been her father, this would never have come up.  But she was unfortunate enough to be born after the rebellion, and as such everything she did was questionable as far as he was concerned.

"Whatever Howe may have done," Loghain went on, "he should have been brought before the seneschal.  There is no justice in butchering a man in his home."

"Then you agree that my father had no justice, either," Myranda said.  "Howe stole into Highever Castle under cover of darkness and murdered my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland.  As the sole surviving Cousland, I had blood rights.  A revenge killing is not murder.  You know that law as well as I—it came from your pen."  She pointed at him.  "You wrote that law to save your friend, Maric, after the revenge killings he committed in the name of his mother, the Rebel Queen."  She waved her hand dismissively.  "I am no little girl—do not think you can intimidate me or shame me with Howe's death.  He was my father's murderer.  And no one regrets his death less than I."  She threw the last part back at him, defying him with it.  She wanted to smile at the way his eyes narrowed, but spoke over him as he started to respond.  "And if you have such distaste for killing a man in his own home, then why did you send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?"

Loghain's lip curled in a sneer.  "I assure you, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers.  I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

"Indeed?" a Chantry priestess asked.  "The templars I know tell a very different tale.  They say you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice."  She lifted an eyebrow.  "Coincidence?"

"Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain," the Revered Mother said sternly.  "Interference in a templar's sacred duties is an offense against the Maker."

The teyrn gave the two priests a sour look.  "Whatever I have done, I will answer for later.  But enough of this," he said with a dismissive wave.  "I have a question for you, Lady Cousland."  He sneered the title.  "What have you done with my daughter?"

The question startled a laugh out of the Grey Warden woman.  "What have I done?" she repeated.  "I've protected her from you."

He pointed at her.  "You took my daughter—our queen—by force, killing her guards in the process.  What arts have you employed to keep her?" he demanded.  "Does she even still live?  Or have you murdered her to heighten your own bid to the throne as the whore of this royal bastard?"

Myranda would have drawn her sword against this insult but for the voice that suddenly rang through the hall.

"I believe I can speak for myself."

Every eye in the room turned to the entry, where Anora stood, straight and tall, in her state robe.  All that was missing was the crown she usually wore on her blonde head.

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden," she called over the explosion of murmurs that had erupted with her entrance, "hear me.  My father is no longer the man you know.  This man is not the Hero of River Dane."  She made her way slowly into the room.  "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 reveal his treachery."  She stopped beside Myranda, looking at her.  "I would have already been killed," she said, "if not for this Grey Warden... if not for Lady Cousland."

Myranda nodded to her, acknowledging her words and her support.

"So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?" Loghain asked, sounding disappointed.  "I wanted to protect you from this."

"By allowing Rendon Howe to kidnap her?" Myranda asked incredulously.  "Fellow nobles," she said, addressing the assembly.  "The Blight is upon us.  I ask you remember that now more than ever the Grey Wardens are needed.  Without the Wardens, we are surely doomed.  Stand with us, and we will end this Blight!"

Loghain looked around the room.  "My lords and ladies," he said, "our land has been threatened before.  It's been invaded, and lost and won times beyond counting.  We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered so long as we are united.  We must not let ourselves be divided now.  Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself."

Vaughan spoke almost immediately: "The Warden!" he cried.  "I'm with the Warden!"

"South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens."

"Waking Sea stands with the Grey Warden!" Moneca added her voice.

Bann Sighard added: "Dragon's Peak supports the Warden!"

"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens!  Maker help us!"

"I stand with the Warden!" Teagan added.  "The Blight is coming; we need the Grey Wardens!"

Most of the voices that rose in the hall rose in support of the Wardens; only Bann Ceorlic spoke against them, claiming shrilly that they'd no hope of victory without Loghain.

Myranda looked around, glancing back at Alistair, who smiled a little at her in relief.  She turned back to the older teyrn.  "The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain," she said.  "Step down gracefully."

Loghain's face darkened with rage.  "Traitors!" he yelled.  "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?"  He pointed furiously at Eamon.  "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!"  He looked around the room again, pointing at the assembled nobles.  "None of you deserve a say in what happens here!  None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have.  How dare you judge me!"

"So you will go against the will of the Landsmeet?" Myranda asked.  "Will you dissolve us and rule as dictator as the Orlesian emperor once did?"  She looked around as Loghain's men closed in slightly.  "Call off your men and we'll settle this honorably," she said.  "Your quarrel is with me and mine.  There is no need for undue violence."

"Then let us end this," he said with a sudden calm, waving at the men, who backed away again.  "I suppose we both knew it would come to this."

She nodded once.

"A man is made by the quality of his enemies.  Maric told me that once."  He looked at her a moment.  "I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me."  When she made no reply to this goad he waved a hand.  "Enough.  Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

Myranda nodded again.  "Bann Alfstanna," she called formally.  "Will you dictate the rules?"

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

Loghain nodded his approval.  "Will you face me yourself, Lady Cousland, or have you a champion?"

Myranda looked back at her companions.  Alistair nodded at her, reaching for the hilt of his sword until she held up a hand.  She answered Zevran's raised eyebrow with a small shake of her head, patting Baby when he whined up at her.  "Wynne will stand as my champion," she said, turning back to Loghain.

"Then prepare your champion, and let us see an end to this."

"Myranda!" Alistair whispered.  "Let me fight him."

"No.  I will not risk you to the Hero of River Dane," she hissed at him.  "It's not that I doubt your skill, my love.  I don't trust him."  She jerked her head toward Loghain.

"I've wanted a private word with him since Ostagar, anyway," Wynne said with what could only be described as an evil smirk.

"Let Wynne settle this," she said.  "She lost friends on the field as surely as we did."  She looked at her betrothed.  "I beg you trust me."

Alistair looked hurt and upset, but he conceded.

Wynne smirked as she stepped to the middle of the room.  Loghain looked as if he was trying to keep from laughing at Myranda's chosen champion.  Minutes later, after being encased in ice and being the recipient of several magical attacks, the teyrn suddenly didn't find the choice so amusing anymore.

"Enough," Loghain called ten minutes later, lowering himself to one knee and bowing his head.  "Your champion has won.  I concede."

Myranda stared down at the man kneeling at her feet for several long, quiet moments.  Every drop of nobility within her suddenly abhorred this man who, she knew, started as a nobody.  But he was the Hero of River Dane.  She knew the stories as well as anyone: her father had told them to her since she had been a babe.  The hall around her was quiet, waiting for her word to settle the matter.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering her good breeding and upbringing around her like a protective cloak as she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders regally.  "I accept your surrender," she said.

"What?!" Alistair cried.  "I didn't just hear you say that!"  He stared at her as she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes blank.  "You're going to let him live?" he demanded, his anger burning like a brand.  "After everything he's done?!  Kill him, already!"

"Wait!"

All eyes turned again to the door, where Riordan was standing as if he had been there for some time.

"There is another option," he said, walking into the room.

"Which is?" Myranda asked.

"The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown.  Let him be of use.  Let him go through the Joining."

Myranda's eyebrows dropped.  "No," she said firmly.  "That's crazy."

"There are too few of us," Riordan said.  "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."  He looked between the two younger Wardens, who gave him similar incredulous looks.  "We aren't judges.  Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits: Anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us."

"He stood against us before," Myranda said.  "Why should he stand beside us now?"

"There are three of us in all of Ferelden," Riordan said.  "And there are... compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."  He gave Myranda a look that indicated that she should know what he was talking about.  But she didn't, so she only glared back.

"Absolutely not!" Alistair said.  "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed!  He hunted us down like animals.  He tortured you!  How can we simply forget that?"

"I will not make him a Warden," Myranda said coldly.  "He does not deserve the title."  She looked at Anora, meeting her eyes evenly.  "And justice must be done."

Anora's eyes widened in horror.  "You can't do this!" she cried.  "My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people!"

"Anora," Loghain said, softly but firmly.  "Hush.  It's over."

"Stop treating me like a child!" she cried in the manner of stamping one foot petulantly.  "This is serious!"

Her father turned to look at her with a soft, gentle smile on his face.  "Daughters never grow up, Anora," he told her.  "They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

The words struck Myranda, and she had a vivid memory of her own father staring at her with similar affection that Loghain was showing to his daughter.  It broke her heart all over again, and suddenly she had a sour taste in her mouth.

Anora's blue eyes started to well with tears.  "Father—" she managed before the rest of her words were choked off.

"Just make it quick, Warden," Loghain said, looking back at Myranda.  He paused before amending her title.  "Lady Cousland."  He said it with all the respect her family name had always carried.  "I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

Myranda's will failed her.  Damn him, it was his last betrayal.  She looked at Alistair, a question in her eyes.

He nodded.  "I will," he said.  "I owe that to Duncan."

"Very well."  She closed her eyes and bowed her head, listening to the soft singing of a blade leaving its scabbard and the terribly long pause before the soft whir of the blade slicing through air, followed by the soft thud of the severed head hitting the floor.

The room was silent for several long moments as the teyrn's body and head were carried reverently away.

"So it is decided," Eamon said with an air of moving on to new business after ten minutes of solemn silence.  "Alistair will take his father's throne."

Alistair and Myranda looked at the arl in surprise.

"Wait, what?"

"What?"

"No!" Alistair said, slightly panicked.  "When did this get decided?  Nobody's decided that, have they?"  He looked imploringly at Myranda, silently begging her to do something.

"He refuses the throne," Anora said, jumping into the conversation with the ferocity of a wolf on injured prey.  "Everyone here has heard him.  I think it's clear then, that he abdicates in favor of me."

"I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora," Eamon said sternly.  He looked at Myranda.  "Lady Cousland, will you help us?"

She nodded.  "I shall."

"Then as the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision?  Who will lead Ferelden?"

"There is no dispute, Arl Eamon," Myranda said calmly.  She looked at Alistair, facing him squarely and taking his hands.  "I place Ferelden in the hands of one whose claim is legitimate and right, the only one who can lead us now.  One whose heart is just and pure and true and will serve this country well."  She saw the panicked horror in his eyes—not to mention how Anora stiffened with hostility—and smiled a little before winking at him.  "Her Majesty Queen Anora should continue to rule Ferelden."

It was the closest she'd ever seen Alistair come to fainting.

Eamon looked as if he was about to protest, but subsided at the look Myranda gave him.  It was not a look from a young woman to an older man, it was a look from a higher-ranking noble daring a lower to defy her word.  She was not just Myranda—she was Lady Myranda Cousland, teyrn of Highever, and she greatly outranked him.  The low, warning growl of her mabari only reinforced the stupidity of contradicting her.  He closed his mouth and bowed his head, conceding the point.

"Thank you, Warden," Anora said.  "You were wise not to disrupt Ferelden's governance any further in a time of such crisis."

The green eyes turned to her, the look in them making it obvious that her actions were not motivated by concern for Ferelden's political stability.

"My first act as queen must be to insist on receiving Alistair's oath, before all the Landsmeet, to relinquish all claim to the throne for himself and his heirs."

"Oh, I never wanted it!" Alistair said.  He realized then that a certain protocol was called for, cleared his throat, and tried again.  "I mean... yes.  Of course.  Happily, in fact."

Anora nodded and turned to the assembled nobles.  "And now, lords and ladies of Ferelden.  There is still a Blight to defeat and armies to gather, and I appoint this woman, Grey Warden Myranda Cousland, to lead us in both."  She gestured to the other blonde.  "We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the archdemon.  Gather your forces and await the Warden's command."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Myranda said.  "Call up your soldiers, fellow nobles, to gather with all haste at Redcliffe.  On the morrow, we shall begin our struggle against the greatest threat Ferelden has ever faced."

*~*~*~*~*

Back at Arl Eamon's estate, the two Wardens retired to their room, begging off of the celebration of their victory in the Landsmeet.  After a tense three hours in the gathering room, Myranda wanted some time to herself.  She dropped into a chair by the fire, leaning her head back and breathing a deep sigh as she closed her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked.

"Politics gives me a headache," she said.  "And that was one of the worst situations I've ever been in.  I almost wish we had a Proving like the dwarves... that would have been easier on my nerves."

He looked at her for a while, then turned away to stare into the fireplace.  He loved her with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't help the anger that welled up inside him.  How could she?  How could she have even considered...?

Myranda opened one eye and looked at him, noticing the stubborn set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.  And a minute's contemplation of their fire did nothing to assuage it.  "What's bothering you, Alistair?"

"You were really going to let Loghain live, weren't you?"

She found herself laughing softly.  "That was politics, darling.  By accepting the surrender it made the Grey Wardens look honorable, rather than simply seeking revenge.  But taking his life proved we value justice as well."

Alistair continued to stare at the fire as she spoke, but eventually the angry line left his face.  "It's a good thing they didn't make me king," he muttered as he dropped into a chair next to hers.  "I don't have a head for politics if that's the way it works."

"I know.  It's complicated.  It surprised me, too, if it makes you feel better."

He looked at her then.  "Although... if they had forced me to be king..."

She smiled gently and reached over to take his hand.  "I would have stood beside you and guided you."  Her grin took on a more teasing quality.  "It wouldn't be the first thing I've taught you."

"That was more enjoyable to learn, though."

She giggled a little, lifting their hands and kissing his fingers.  "But it's one of the reasons I didn't ask you to rule Ferelden... the other, more important reason being that you didn't want it, and I would never force you to do something you didn't want to."

"Except sit on the sidelines while you walk into dangerous situations alone."

She blinked.  "When did I do that?"

"In Haven.  And at the Proving.  I was scared to death the entire time."

Myranda laughed again.  "I told you I'd be fine."

"They set two against you.  That's hardly a fair fight."

"And, as you recall, I trounced them both thoroughly."  She smiled at him, standing and moving to sit in his lap, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck.  "You worry too much, my love."

"Of course I worry," he said, hugging her gently.  "I love you, Myranda.  Of course I worry about you."

"I'd expect no less of a prince."

"I'm not a prince anymore."

"You're still a prince.  No longer Ferelden's, but mine alone."  She kissed him softly.  "My prince, my beloved, and my future husband."  She smiled.  "A king in my heart."

Alistair smiled, lifting his hand to run his fingers along her face.  "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You were yourself: kind, witty, charming, and delightfully awkward."

"'Delightfully awkward?'" he repeated.  He looked confused.  "Women really go for that sort of thing?"

"Most do.  A man who's shy and slightly awkward is endearing."

"Huh.  Leliana said the same thing."

"When was this?"

"Before we got to the Circle tower.  I was trying to ask her advice about..."

"...About how to woo me?"  She smiled when he nodded.  "What did she say?"

"Well I can't say the conversation started off all that well.  I didn't know how to ask, so I started off by asking if she was female."

Myranda laughed softly as he blushed just remembering.  "You are adorable when you're flustered."  She smirked at him.  "Ali-bear," she added, cooing the nickname at him.

He grinned and growled playfully at her, pulling her to him as he kissed her deeply.

Myranda broke the kiss several long minutes later and shifted to straddle him in his lap before kissing him again, deeper this time.  She tightened her arms around him as they kissed, moaning softly as his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her against him and making her aware of his growing excitement.  "I will say," she whispered between kisses, "that it was rather exciting to think of you as a king."

"Was it?" he whispered.

She moaned, as much in answer to his question as to the feeling of his hands slipping under her shirt and up her back.  "I thought it would be exciting to call out 'your Majesty' while we..." the rest of the words were cut off by another moan as the linen undergarment that cupped her breasts suddenly fell off her body to be replaced by his hands and he started to trail hot kisses down her neck.  She leaned back and moaned louder as he kissed her hardened nipples through the fabric of her shirt.  She whispered his name before he slid the hem of her shirt up toward her shoulders to take her right breast into his mouth, suckling hungrily.  "Oh Maker," she breathed.  She gasped sharply when he moaned, the vibrations sinking into her chest and pulsing through her body.  "Oh my prince... my king..."

Alistair moaned louder.  Oh, that was exciting.  He slid his hands down to her hips as she started to rock against him, wanting nothing more than to make love to her here in this chair... then on the floor, then against the bed post before falling onto the bed... they could order a bath and he could make love to her in the tub as well....

Myranda was working furiously on loosening the ties on his trousers after unbuckling his belt when a sudden, sharp knock sounded on the door, causing Alistair to pull away from her and her shirt to fall back down to cover her.  She growled at the interruption.  "What is it?"  She turned as the door opened and stood slowly as the young queen entered, wary at the determined look on her face.  "Your Majesty."

"May I speak with you, Warden?"

"Of course."  She held out a hand to Alistair, who had started to rise to join her, dropping her eyes to his lap with a smirk before she followed the other woman out into the hall.

"So it's done," Anora said without preamble.  "My father is dead."

She had said it without open judgment or hostility, but Myranda heard the undertones loudly and clearly.

"I never thought he would go so far.  I never thought it would end like it did."  She shook her head.  "Such a waste."

"I'm sorry," Myranda said.  "I wish it could have been otherwise."

"It could have been," Anora said harshly, her blue eyes hardening for a moment before she heaved a deep sigh.  "But what is done is done.  My father had no illusions about the consequences of his actions, and neither do I."

The other blonde nodded.  "You shall do well with that attitude," she told her.  "I've no doubt that you will rule Ferelden as you always have: justly and well."

Blue eyes lifted.  "Thank you, Myranda," she said, and obviously meant it.  "I understand Arl Eamon will be leaving soon for Redcliffe?"

"Tomorrow, he told us.  With the business done here, he's anxious to get home."

"You will be joining him?"

"No... I think we have a bit of last minute business here.  We'll also need to resupply before returning to Redcliffe."

The queen nodded then.  "I will be heading there, myself," she said.

Myranda's brow furrowed.  "I'm not sure that's a good idea.  The darkspawn are increasing to the south.  It may be best if you stay here."

Anora's shoulders straightened.  "I am queen of Ferelden.  It is my duty to see to my people and the army that gathers to save my country.  I owe it to them... and to you."

The Grey Warden bowed her head slightly.  "If you think that best.  I've given my advice; do what you will with it.  But..." her voice trailed off and the corners of her mouth lifted.  "Thank you."

A slight smile crossed the young queen's face.  "You have united Ferelden, Myranda.  Now we face the Blight."