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Samahlen	By : BronxWench Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1569 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I make no money from this story.

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Kingmaking

"I remember you," Teryn Loghain said, his voice dripping disdain as he looked at Wraith. "You're the elf that Duncan brought to Ostagar."
Wraith looked at the taller human, his vallaslin masking his expression. "You make me sound like some souvenir Duncan picked up in his travels. But yes, I'm one of the two Grey Wardens you've failed to kill."
Loghain merely smirked, but the armored woman at his side bristled. "You'll not speak to the Regent that way, elf." She spat the word out like a curse.
"Be still, Cauthrien. I'm not offended by this pup." Loghain arched an eyebrow at Wraith. "But to the matter at hand. I'm surprised at you, Eamon. I thought you cared more for Ferelden than to put some untried bastard on the throne. You were Maric's brother in law. You fought beside us."
Eamon's smile did not touch his eyes. "I fought the Orlesians at your side, and I hoped we'd fight the Blight side by side as well. That's what is important right now, Loghain, not ghosts and phantasms. The Orlesians are not the enemy."
Loghain kept his eyes on Wraith as he answered, his voice icy. "And when we have spent our forces fighting the Blight, the Orlesians will ride in with their legions of chevaliers, and we will be theirs once again."
Alistair could no longer keep silent. "If this civil war doesn't end, we won't have forces to fight the Blight."
"Ah, the bastard has a tongue," Loghain said, his smile cold. "You think you know more than I do about what Ferelden needs, whelp? Have you bled for her like I have?"
Alistair stiffened, and Wraith laid a hand on his arm. "Don't," Wraith murmured. "He wants you to explode, and make a fool of yourself."
"And the would-be power behind the throne speaks as well. You'd set yourself up as his adviser, the quidam that rules, then?" Loghain sneered.
"Do you see yourself in me?" Wraith replied. "You rule through Anora, as your daughter's Regent."
Cauthrien's hand came up, ready to strike Wraith for his insolence, but Loghain threw his head back and laughed.
"Don't bother, Cauthrien," Loghain chuckled. He turned to look at Eamon. "You'll have your damned Landsmeet, and when they side with me, we'll turn our attention to the darkspawn. There's still no evidence that this is a real Blight."
Alistair looked at Wraith in utter disbelief, and Wraith's lips tightened imperceptibly. "We've seen the archdemon, deep within the Dark Roads. Think what you will, but this is a Blight, and Ferelden will burn." Wraith arched his own eyebrow. "And if you remember your history, Ser Cauthrien, it was the Grey Warden Garahel, an elf, that ended the Fourth Blight when he slew the archdemon in single combat."
"I'll see you at the Landsmeet, Eamon." Loghain turned on his heel and stalked away, Cauthrien and his guard following in a clatter of plate mail.
"Well, that went better than I expected," Eamon observed dryly. "But you see what we're up against. His arrogance is matched only by his obsession with this fictional Orlesian conspiracy he's dreamed up. We need to get an idea of what Denerim thinks, of what the Bannorn is thinking."
Wraith nodded. "We can ask around while you contact the nobles that you think you can count on. I'd just like to wash up a bit first." He gestured at his armor, dusty from the road. "We won't get much of a reception if we look like a bunch of mercenaries."
"Is that really why all those men and women died at Ostagar? Because the Wardens arrived with Orlesian troops?" Alistair spoke bitterly, his memories of the slaughter still fresh.
"Can you explain Loghain's reaction any other way?" Eamon shrugged. "This is why we need you, Alistair. The Landsmeet will support a Theirin for the throne, as will the Banns. For all his past heroism, Loghain was born a commoner, and that matters."
"And if I refuse?" Alistair asked, his eyes dark. "Will you try for the throne yourself?"
"My claim is not strong, but at least my blood is noble, and I was Cailin's uncle," Eamon replied. "But I will not have the backing you could muster, and it's likely that Loghain would prevail. What happens to Ferelden then?"
"The weak link will be Loghain's right hand," Zevran said, stepping forward. "I was hired to kill Wraith by one Rendon Howe, who styles himself the Arl of Denerim these days, or so I'm told." Zevran gave an elaborate shrug. "An unpleasant little man, but his gold was good."
Eamon looked at the Antivan assassin thoughtfully. "Howe is a thoroughly despicable man, and there's a great deal of chatter about how he rose so high so fast."
"I could arrange for this Rendon Howe to meet a similar fate as what he had planned for our dear Warden," Zevran offered casually.
"No." Wraith's voice was flat. "Alistair's reign won't begin under that shadow. Let them use the dirty tricks."
"Wraith," Alistair said. "Can I count on you? Will you be there, always?"
"There's no place else I'd be, emma lath, I've told you that." This time, Wraith's hand reached up to cup Alistair's cheek. "I'm yours, however it has to be."
Alistair nodded slowly, his expression hardening. "Then call your Landsmeet, Eamon, and I'll face Loghain as a Theirin. Maker help me, I'll take the throne."
Wraith looked at Alistair, his lover and the man he was going to make a King. Alistair's face was subtly harder, his eyes not quite as warm, and Wraith let his hand fall away as he contemplated how he would live with what they had begun this day.

Prompt word: Quidam
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