The Stolen Throne

Maric was about to answer but hesitated as Rowan shot a pointed look in his direction, frowning. He seemed taken aback, and clearly uncertain what he had done to deserve such a hostile greeting.

“I’m leaving,” Loghain announced, interrupting the confrontation.

Rowan’s head snapped back to Loghain, her expression softening into confusion. “You’re leaving? For good?”

“Yes. For good.”

“I’ve been trying to convince him to stay,” Maric chimed in, sighing with exasperation.

Rowan stood in the doorway, shifting in her armor uncomfortably. She opened her mouth several times as if to speak but said nothing, and Loghain did his best not to notice. If Maric was aware of the tension, he made no indication of it. He turned and hobbled toward one of the horse pens, leaning against it with a wince. Finally Rowan found her voice. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Not like this.”

“There’s no reason for me to stay,” Loghain said gruffly.

“What about the Orlesians?” Maric asked. “I know how you feel about them. We’re finally making headway against Meghren. Don’t you want to see him defeated? If you were going to do anything for your father, why not do that?”

Loghain snorted scornfully. “You don’t need me for that.”

“You’re wrong! We do!”

Rowan stepped forward. “Maric is right. You told my father once that he is not flexible enough. All the best plans have been yours, Loghain. Without you, we would not be here.”

“I think you are giving me too much credit,” he snorted. “The Night Elves were my doing. Everything else you could have done on your own. I am only a lieutenant, if you’ll recall.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our memories.” Rowan’s cool expression returned. “If you truly wish to leave now, with so much left to be done, then we cannot stop you.” Her eyes became hard. “But I had assumed you a better man.”

Maric’s eyes widened with shock. Loghain went still. He clenched and unclenched his fists in fury while Rowan stood her ground, unflinching. “I have done everything that was asked of me,” he said in even, angry tones, “and you would demand even more?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She nodded. “We do not have the same luxury you do, Loghain, to come and go as it pleases us. We either defeat the Orlesians and drive them from Ferelden or we die. But if there are more important things to concern yourself with, then by all means . . . leave.”

“Rowan,” Maric cautioned uncertainly.

She ignored Maric and walked up to Loghain, placing her face an inch away from his own. He did not flinch away. “Are you not a Fereldan?” she demanded. “Is this not your future King? Do you not owe him your loyalty? From what Maric has told me, your father understood that.”

“Rowan, don’t,” Maric said more forcefully.

She gestured toward Maric. “Is this or is this not your friend? Have the three of us not shed blood together for years now? Is that not a bond that is more important than anything?” The plea in her gray eyes betrayed her harsh words. Loghain found it hard to hold on to his fury.

So he said nothing.

There was silence for a time, and then Rowan backed off reluctantly. Loghain sighed heavily and turned away. He couldn’t face those eyes.

“Loghain,” Maric began slowly, “I know you never promised you would stay. I know I was dumped in your lap and all of this should never have happened.” He grinned sadly and shrugged. “But it did. You’re here and I’ve come to rely on you. We all have, even the Arl. Please don’t walk away from this.”

Loghain winced. “Maric . . .”

Holding tightly on to the staff, Maric got down on his knees. Alarmed, Rowan ran over to support him, to try to pull him back up, but he refused. The staff quivered, and he grunted with effort as he dropped down fully and then looked up at Loghain. “Please, I’m begging you. You and Rowan are the only friends I have.”

Rowan stopped short, her hand flinching away from Maric as if he were red hot. She stiffly backed away from him, her face a mask of stone.

Loghain stared down at Maric, horrified by the grandiose gesture. Worse, he felt his resolve crumbling. This had felt so much clearer in the night. Now he felt like a coward. “You are opening your wound,” he complained at Maric.

Maric winced, holding his bandaged side gingerly. “Umm . . . probably, yes.”

“Must be from all the exertion,” Rowan commented dryly.

Loghain shook his head in disbelief. “Maker’s breath, man, aren’t you supposed to have some dignity? Somewhere?”

“Me? Dignity?”

“Being the supposed future King and such.”

“I think Rowan took my dignity.”

She snorted derisively, folding her arms. “There was nothing else worth having.”

Maric chuckled and then looked up at Loghain again, serious. “So does this mean you’re staying, then? I practically ran here in my smallclothes, you know.”

“If you had, that would certainly make this quite the picture, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m serious.” Loghain could see that he was, serious beyond a doubt. “I don’t think we can do this without you.”