A Fereldan Carol (A Dragon Age fanfiction)

Stave 4

The shadow stretched forth a dark hand, a finger beckoning to Loghain. He walked toward it, feeling an unmanly tremble in his knees. "Shadow," he whispered huskily, "as your fellows have shown me the past and the present, is it true that you are here to show me the future?"

The shadow's head dipped slightly in what Loghain took to be assent.

"I have learned much already," Loghain said, surprised to find that it was the truth. Many things seemed clearer now than they had been when Maric's dripping ghost arrived this evening. "Take me to what you want to show me."

The spirit expanded, the blackness growing until it enveloped him. Loghain struggled against an overwhelming sense of suffocation.

There was a field of mud spread out before him, the ever-present rain falling into the puddles. As Loghain moved forward, he couldn't at first see what the spirit wanted to show him. And then he saw it, the two mounded graves and the woman who knelt at their side. When he came up next to her, he saw that she was red-haired and pretty. And that she was crying as she laid a single rose on the muddy grave before her.

He recognized the blond elf who came up behind her. It was the Crow he had hired to kill the Grey Wardens. What was he doing here?

"Leliana," the Crow said. "We have to go. Isabela is waiting for us, but she is anxious to get under way. The horde is coming."

"How can I leave him?" The red-head had an Orlesian accent, Loghain noticed. Where had she come from? And whose were these graves?

"Alistair is gone, Leliana," the Crow said, his voice gentle but his hands firm as he tugged her to her feet. "And Donal with him. There is nothing left for you here."

"Didn't Loghain know that by killing the Grey Wardens, he almost certainly doomed us all?"

"Remember that we did not know that until Riordan told us," the Crow answered. "Now, please, Leliana, let him rest. He would not want you to die here, mourning him." The Crow's eyes sought the other grave, apparently the Cousland's, and rested on it for a moment. Then he walked off with the Orlesian red-head leaning against him.

"'Doomed us all'?" Loghain echoed. "What could that mean?" The spirit didn't respond—it just stood there in all its empty blackness. Loghain snorted. "Typical Antivan dramatics," he said scornfully. But deep down, he didn't believe it. Something told him that he wouldn't have been shown this scene if there hadn't been a lesson to take away from it. He looked at the two sad graves, all alone in the rain and mud, forgotten. Was this really what he contemplated doing with these two young men? Executing them? To whose benefit? He didn't seem to know anymore, he who had been so sure.

Turning toward the spirit, he started to tell it he was ready to go, but the blackness met him before he could speak. Loghain felt as if he were swallowing the darkness, choking on it, and he fought to breathe within it.

At first, he couldn't tell that the shadow had receded. The darkness didn't lift as he had expected it to, and he blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. But it didn't clear, and he looked up into lowering dark grey skies. He was standing in the Alienage, but no one was there. It was completely deserted. The buildings leaned at crazy angles, there was evidence of recent fires, and even the usual mass of stray dogs and orphaned children was missing.

Wind whipped between the buildings, chilling Loghain even though he wasn't really standing there. "Where is everyone?" he asked the shadow spirit, but it didn't—couldn't?—speak. And he didn't need it to; he knew the answer. No one was here because he had sold them to the Tevinters. The elves were gone from Denerim—and he was the one who had sent them away.