Doing What Is Needed, chapt. 5

Chapter 5...

"General Loghain! The gates won't hold!" a soldier that was trying to prevent another wave of darkspawns from swarming into the city managed to yell above the ever existent noise.

"Then stand back, and get ready!"

There was no use getting any of these men crushed as soon as the doors would inevitably break. He could only hope that they had bought both Riordan and Neria enough time to reach the Archdemon before any of these new darkspawns would be able to find them.

The soldiers immediately retreated and went to stand behind the line of archers with bows at the ready... The first welcoming committee for this new group of monsters...

Loghain, Oghren, Shale, and Sten stood right behind them, and would be leading the assault that would immediately follow. The plan was to trap as many darkspawns as possible directly at the gates so that they wouldn't have to fight the whole horde all at once, but only those that managed to make their way in.

Wynne would be remaining at range, away from the heart of the battle, but close enough that she'd still be able to deal some damage, and heal any ally that wasn't mortally wounded.

"ON MY COMMAND!" Loghain yelled, and the whole row of archers tensed, ready to take action. Most were seasoned soldiers from Redcliffe, while others were simply farmers, hunters, or merchants that had volunteered to help defend their lands. Those that could also fight with a sword or any other type of melee weapon would then join the fray. While the others were instructed to find a higher point and keep firing at range whenever they had a clear shot. Some had expressed their concern at involving such a large group of commoners in military action, but Loghain had quickly dismissed them.

Some of the greatest battles won during the Orlesian occupation had succeeded thanks to the involvement and dedication of such commoners, he'd said. What they lacked in military training, they possessed in motivation and determination. It was their families and their livelihoods that they were protecting, and they were not without skills.

As for keeping them in line, and getting them to fight in an organized fashion, he wasn't worried. Gareth, his father, had managed to lead and protect a large group of refugees for months before Maric had come along, after all; and he was pretty confident in his abilities to keep them working together, even through the chaos of battle.

While he resented Neria for asking him to stay behind and defend the gates... Well, not "asking" so much as openly threatening to cut his head on the spot in front of the whole army if he dared question her orders... The position in which he now found himself... The impossible odds, the heteroclite army, the group of archers awaiting his order just like his Night Elves had done years ago... Made him feel more alive than he'd ever felt in a very long time.

He was brought back to a time when life wasn't so complicated. A time when the enemy was painted in black, and the good folks shone in white... A time where he could still easily tell right from wrong, good from evil... A time when it had been Maric, Rowan and he against Ferelden's enemies!

And then, Katriel had come along... And from Ferelden's defender, he had also become its executioner. Anyone who would do so much as speak against Ferelden, or threaten its people would know his wrath. He would be strong, ruthless, unforgiving. The message they would send to other nations would be clear. No mercy was to be given, for neither Maric nor he would offer any. Anyone who would dare try to touch her would pay the price... Anyone...

And somewhere along the way, his world had turned to grey... It seemed he could no longer tell friends from foes, enemies from allies, good from wrong. So instead, he did what he always believed needed to be done. What was necessary. And yet... No matter how much blood he shed, or how much of himself he sacrificed to ensure that his nation would continue to thrive, and be safe... Something was amiss. It was like he was standing on the edge of a giant black chasm threatening to swallow him whole... And what's worse is that he couldn't shake the impression that he had been trying to pull Maric down into that darkness with him. And Maric had followed... That is, until he had come back from his trip into the Deep Roads with a small group of Orlesian Grey Wardens.

Something about him had changed afterward. He became much more involved in Cailan's life and education, father and son becoming near inseparable. And he also took an interest in the matters at court. He brought back the once banished order into Ferelden, and often listened to the advice of Ferelden's new Grey Warden Commander, Duncan. Once again, Loghain and Maric had found themselves divided. This time, not by their love for a woman, though different in nature... But by something much deeper...

Maric had chosen to embrace his duties as king and father, and had finally found some peace and joy in doing so. He openly talked and laughed with Duncan as he kept bringing him news about how his other boy was doing. Growing up, Alistair was proving to be quite a handful, apparently; unable to keep himself out of trouble despite the best of intentions. A wild prince, just like his father had been, once. And from what he'd heard, the child was just as charming, talkative, and utterly impossible to hate. Well, except if you were some stuck up Orlesian noble fearing for your own son's future, he supposed.

Though he tried to travel by night, and leave the castle unnoticed, Maric's increasingly frequent visits to Redcliffe had spun the tales of the king's many secret affairs. These tales would in return give credit to the lie they had so carefully fabricated regarding Alistair's birth mother. Coming back from these visits, where he would often just go and watch his son sleep, Maric would spend one day or two sulking in his chambers.

The servants supposed that his "adventure" didn't go as planned, but only a few people knew the truth. Although he was determined to honor Fiona's wish that her son wouldn't be burdened by his heritage, both as the child of a king, and as the child of an elven mage; as well as to keep his promise that Alistair would be given the chance to choose his own life, and forge his own destiny... There was nothing in the world that Maric would have wanted more than to be involved in his boy's life. To let his son know that he loved him, and that he made him very proud. That both his mother and he cared for him... So much that they had been willing to give him up to protect him.

But Alistair would never know... And now that he had left, no one would ever be given the chance to tell him.

It seemed that after this fateful second trip into the Deep Roads, Maric had managed to emerge from the darkness that had been creeping upon them both until then. To find the light in his life that had been missing. Besides the fact that they both wanted what was best for Ferelden, even there they kept disagreeing. Maric had found it in himself to forgive what had been done to him in the past, and move on.

Loghain was still trapped in it, with no visible way out.

Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by people fighting for their families, for the ones they loved, for the things in life that they still held dear. A few of them were elves from the alienage; those of them that had trained and learned to use weapons in secret, and that still had the courage to take a stand and fight against the coming darkness, although their whole community still mourned the loss of those that had been sold to slavery... And those that had died from a plague without receiving any help from the outside.

When they had come to join their ranks, there had been tears, heartfelt embraces, silent prayers from their parents, spouses, and children. And despite everything, they still held their chins high, and had agreed to take orders from him without any sign of hostility. Any issues between them put aside in favor of a greater cause: ending the Blight.

For the first time in his existence, Loghain had been tempted to look away when he had met their gazes. He remembered his mother's rape and murder... He still heard her screams in his head every time he went to sleep. He would rather have died, a thousand times over, than agreed to fight by the side of anyone that was even remotely responsible for this horror.

And though he had known about the situation in the alienage, and had allowed the slavers to conduct their business... None of these elves had tried to draw their blades on him. Someone had tried to warn him about that possibility, but he'd only laughed bitterly, and openly said that it would be their right. Even gave the strict order that any elf that would make an attempt on his life shall be released and returned to his family immediately, without any charges held against him. Even if said attempt was successful.

Somehow, he could not bring himself to ask for the mercy he wouldn't have shown. And instead of feeling sad about it, he felt incredibly cold. No wonder people would talk about his icy blue stare.

The Archdemon let out a resounding roar, and finally, the gates were torn apart. The first darkspawns that had lost their balance as the large wooden doors gave way were crushed under the feet of the upcoming herd.

"NOW!" Loghain bellowed, and a huge bunch of arrows were released all at once, raining upon their enemies and falling most of those involved in that first wave of assault.

As he was about to give the next order, a loud, angry battle cry that rivaled in intensity with the Archdemon's was heard, and the darkspawns seemed to fall back on themselves, angrily directing their attention to what was happening from behind.

The army froze, waiting for Loghain to tell them what to do. But even the general found himself disconcerted by the darkspawn's reaction. Rushing blindly into the battle without having any clue regarding what got the creatures' attention could prove very stupid indeed. He highly doubted that they were intelligent enough to lay a trap, but if there was any greater threat waiting to appear, they should probably get a chance to see what they would be facing while they were still in formation, before deploying their forces.

They waited, nervous, as the sound of metal against metal, angry shouts, and wet gurgling could be heard. Whatever the darkspawns were fighting, it seemed to be big...

And finally, there it was! The source of all the commotion! A gigantic ogre, at least three times the height of a hurlock, came rushing forward. A bunch of darkspawns angrily circling it and trying to climb on top of the beast, while it kept groaning and turning from side to side, its paws clawing at something that was at the level of its head!

Loghain found himself staring at Maric's youngest son, clad in his brother's golden armor and holding his father's sword, perched on top of the ogre. His legs were securely clamped around its neck, using both his sword and shield to either deflect the projectiles from the darkpawns' bows and crossbows, fend off the darkspawns trying to climb up to reach him, or slice at the ogre's hands that were threatening to either grab him, or cut him in half.

"Holy Maker..." he whispered, flabbergasted, thinking he'd finally lost it and gone insane. Apparently, everyone pretty much had the same reaction, as they all kept staring, unable to trust their eyes. The strength, speed, and precision behind each of the boy's blows and movements were astonishing!

"NEVER MIND ME!" Alistair yelled, visibly irritated "I DO THIS EVERY DAY! PLEASE WAIT UNTIL I'M CRUSHED OR EATEN TO MAKE YOUR MOVE, THANK YOU!"

"By the tits of my ancestors! It is the little pike twirler!" Oghren exclaimed excitedly, a large grin spreading across his features, before rushing forward bellowing with all his might!

That was all that Loghain needed to finally come to his senses "YOU HEARD HIM! HELP THE PRINCE, NOW!" he yelled, unsheathing his sword and running towards the ogre at full speed with a battle cry of his own.

From behind, he could hear the soldiers shouting "FOR THE PRINCE!", effectively rallying the troops... The enthusiastic cries that followed told him that Alistair's sudden appearance had given hope, courage and strength to their men.

The sight of a heroic figure riding atop an ogre and single handily keeping the horde of monsters at bay had heartened the troops, proving to them that darkspawns could be fought, and defeated.

Alistair waited until there were enough soldiers nearby distracting the darkspawns that surrounded the ogre to run his sword through one of its eyes. "STAND BACK!" he yelled as the beast roared and then went silent, falling forward and landing with a large "thud". Holding on to his sword and ignoring the sickening sloshing sound it made as it came out of the ogre's skull, he managed to roll out of the way and land on his feet, finding himself back to back with Loghain.

"Took you long enough!" he said, assuming a defensive position and shielding them from any enemy that would try to flank them from his right. The other Warden mirrored his actions, putting his shield to deflect blows coming from the other side, slicing through any darkspawn engaging them directly.

"I had to make sure that you hadn't switched sides!" Loghain replied sarcastically, before noticing a hurlock trying to swing its double handed sword at the level of their heads. "DUCK!" he yelled, hoping that the boy would hear and follow his lead, while he took advantage of the darkspawn's momentum to cut through its exposed stomach. He saw another enemy fall dead on his left, after having been run through by Alistair's sword. So far so good.

"Well, you know, they did try to seduce me with a lovely vacation plan to Ortan Thaig...", he replied, "...and full dental care expenses coverage... But I realized that I really wanted to slay the dragon..." he explained, not missing a beat.

Loghain felt a strong pang of guilt, and his heart gave a painful squeeze. This boy was all Maric... From his fighting skills, to his strength of character, all the way to his inability to remain serious even in the most impossible, desperate, or dangerous situation. Not to mention that, in his book, only a Theirin would ever be able to attempt something as crazy as taking on a full horde of darkspawns from behind by himself, and be lucky enough to survive!

"You wanted to slay that dragon so bad that you were willing to swoop down upon a whole group of darkspawns on your own?" he yelled back, as another enemy fell at his feet.

"Swooping... Is... Bad..." Alistair acknowledged, killing a darkspawn at the end of each word.

They seemed to be attracted to them like magnets. Must be that whole Grey Wardens thing... Loghain thought. Being able to feel the darkspawns and knowing that they also felt him still made him feel pretty uneasy. Perhaps no one ever really got used to it.
The good news, though, was that they were winning. And from what he could see, with minimal casualties. Shale was tearing up an emissary in two, while Sten and Oghren had just killed another ogre. There were but a few minions left, and the army was doing an amazing work of dispatching them.

A few moments later, they declared victory, and the cheers that followed became almost deafening.

Alistair and Loghain turned around, now facing each other. Loghain felt at a loss of what to say, or what to do... It seemed that there was so much the young man deserved to know, and not enough time...

"Where is Neria?" Alistair asked, slightly out of breath, yet his eyes still held fierce determination.

Wynne had now managed to reach them. The elder mage immediately cast a regenerative spell to replenish Alistair's strength and stamina. He turned briefly to give her a small, grateful smile, and then brought his attention back to the ex-Teyrn.

Before he had any time to answer though, their attention was caught by the loud roar of rage and pain coming from the sky. Looking up, they saw that Riordan had managed to jump on the Archdemon's back, and had his daggers deeply embedded in its wing.

With a sharp turn, the corrupted dragon managed to free itself from the Warden's grasp, but not without suffering further damage to the wing, and rendering it useless.

They both fell... Riordan to his death... And the Archdemon to the roof of Fort Drakon.

"No..." both Wardens whispered at the same time, knowing what it meant.

The look of anguish on the boy's face told him everything he needed to know... Alistair loved her. He had suspected that much at the Landsmeet, but if he'd ever have any doubts, they were all gone now. Not just that, but if not Duncan, then someone had obviously informed him of what it took to defeat an Archdemon.

The young prince swiftly gathered Wynne in his arms, holding her close for just a moment before saying "Thank you... For everything... Please tell the others that it's been an honor fighting by their side, and that I couldn't ever have wished for better friends..." He pulled back, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek, and before she had any time to recover, he was gone. It was as if he had just vanished.

Loghain was breathing hard, trying to come to terms with the conflicting emotions raging inside him.

It wasn't right... Something just wasn't right... Everything he had done, he had always done for Ferelden... Always... Every action, every word had been meant to protect what Maric and himself had begun when they had first met... He'd sacrificed everything, including his own chance at happiness with the woman he loved, in order to honor his father's death, and make sure that Maric would become king. And then he'd been willing to damn his very soul in order to keep Maric's legacy alive.

To ensure that Orlais would never have another chance to enslave them, he'd even been willing to sacrifice Rowan's only son.

Maker...
"Loghain... Loghain, are you alright?..." he heard Wynne's voice ask, filled with concern, but she sounded very far away...

Maric's legacy had never been about ensuring that Orlais wouldn't get a chance to invade Ferelden again. It had always been about reaching out to people, and making them stand united. Everywhere he went, people were naturally drawn to him, his plight so pure and sincere that he was able to find allies in the most unlikely places, even the Deep Roads.

He would bring out the best in people, show them their strength, and make them believe that anything was possible if they were willing to work together. He would regard every life with respect, no matter who the person was, where they came from, or what race they belonged to. A person's worth wasn't determined by birth, but by whom that person chose to be.

He would always be fighting on the front lines, as if desperately trying to shield his own soldiers from any incoming blows. He was a king driven by love, compassion, and a strong desire to protect. His ability to forgive stem from a profound desire to live in a nation ruled by hope and pride, not fear and hate.

Maric's real legacy lived on in his two sons.

Cailan, who had sought to heal Ferelden from its past wounds, and help the nation prosper by showing the people all over Thedas, including Orlais, that it had nothing to fear anymore. Ferelden had been rebuilt, its throne secured, and was now powerful enough to make alliances with past enemies without worries.

And Alistair, whose very presence was enough to give courage and strength to a whole army! More than anything, Alistair shared his father's heart, and selflessness. And while he didn't actively seek power, and was content with simply following orders, he had the innate quality to be a strong and just leader. One that his people would have adored, and would have readily followed into the heart of the Black City itself!

Cailan, he had cruelly abandoned on the battlefield and left to die... Alistair, he had hunted down relentlessly all across Ferelden... Even going as far as hiring an assassin to have him killed. Of course, the assassin had had a change of heart and had joined their cause instead. What else could he have expected?

You've rage enough inside you, tempered into a blade of fine steel. Into whose heart will you plunge that one day, I wonder?

Keep him close, and he will betray you. Each time worse than the last.

Maric should have listened to the witch's warnings more closely, for she seemed to have been right, after all. Everything that his friend had built, Loghain had unwittingly sought to destroy. Even after all these years, he was still obsessed about revenge for what they had done to her... Not Ferelden, his mother. The crime had called for blood, and at some point, Loghain had stopped to care from where that blood flowed from.

He'd let his rage destroy everything he had ever cared for... All the while trying to convince the world and even himself that it was all in the nation's best interest. But it had been a lie... All of it had been a lie...

Katriel had been willing to risk her own life, becoming a wanted fugitive to support the man she loved. She should have deserved a chance to start anew, or at least the opportunity to make amends. Maric should have been told of what she had risked and sacrificed to remain by his side, and protect him.

Rowan had loved her son just as much if not more than she had love her country. He should have honored her memory by ensuring that both of them stayed safe.

His wife had been nothing but understanding, patient, and loving towards him... And yet, he had barely ever truly looked at her. And Anora... Anora... Oh Maker, what have I done?

Anora idolized her father... In everything she ever did, she tried to make him proud, and earn his respect and attention. She was a remarkable young woman, yet he had shaped her into a miniature version of himself. She had closed off her heart in favor of cold practicality, and would use any means necessary to justify what she would consider a worthy end.

Deep inside, she had a very good and strong heart, but she kept holding it back instead of using it. Loghain had never been one to encourage what he considered useless displays of affection, and so she had never been one to give any. The only one he knew that had been able to draw her out of her shell, and bring forth that side of her personality, had been Cailan.

Like Rowan and Maric, the two of them had grown up together, and part of Cailan's bubbly personality had inevitably rubbed off on Anora. But it was a part of herself that she would allow to show him, and him only.

To ever believe that Cailan would have considered for a minute to annul his marriage to Anora in favor of some Orlesian Empress was pure blasphemy. Cailan had always been smitten by Anora. He loved her, with all his heart and soul. And she loved him just as much. By letting him die, he'd also killed part of his own daughter's soul.

His misplaced paranoia with everything Orlesian had done more damage to Ferelden and its people than the nation of Orlais itself.

"Loghain? I think he's gone into shock..." he heard someone say, until he realized that he was lying on the ground, staring into space, as someone was trying to make him smell some strange looking herbs.

Suddenly, he sat up, his gaze locking with Wynne's. And then he, too, was gone, running as fast as he could towards the fort.

"What is this? Is this a Grey Wardens thing?" Oghren asked, wondering why both Alistair and Loghain had felt such an urge to leave so suddenly and so fast.

"I don't know..." Wynne whispered, not quite able to decipher what she had seen in Loghain's eyes. He'd looked like a man who had seen the world for the very first time. And had been both fascinated, and deeply terrified by it.

"Perhaps we can ask them when they come back..." Shale tried to offer helpfully, while Sten only nodded, frowning.

To be continued...