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Kallian watched Loghain out of the corner of her eye as they sat on the logs by the campfire eating the questionable soup she’d cooked them. As usual, Morrigan had set up her tent a short way from the rest of them. Even now that she and Kallian considered each other friends, she preferred to keep to herself when they were in camp. Everyone else had headed to a nearby tavern for the evening, leaving Kallian on guard duty after she’d drawn the short straw. But whether she was guarding the camp, or the man sat beside her, was another issue.
She watched Loghain as he stared out into the distance, contemplating the landscape, every now and again taking a sip of terrible soup from his bowl. She had every right to hate him. She had every right to lunge forward and slit his throat with her dagger. He wasn’t wearing his armour, just a plain tunic, he’d be dead before he knew what had happened and no one would blame her. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw her father’s face looking at her through the bars of the slaver’s cage and that look alone was reason enough to take Loghain’s life.
Physically, he was in much better shape than she would have expected given his age. Although that could be the result of listening to Wynne’s constant lamenting about her advanced age. Loghain didn’t look like the typical former hero, the ones who spent their days gorging on banquets, telling tales of their glory days once the wars they’d fought had ended. She wondered if that meant Loghain had never truly believed his fight was finished.
She didn’t exactly know much about the war with Orlais. Growing up in the alienage hadn’t afforded much time for historical reading. But there was one legend that the elves told.
Kallian interrupted her own train of thought by blurting out,
“Where the Night Elves real?”
“What?” Loghain grunted, taken aback that she’d started a conversation.
“The Night Elves?” she repeated, “they were a story we told in the alienage. Some of the hahren would talk about a group of elves who helped win Ferelden back from Orlais.”
She suddenly felt stupid for bringing it up. When she said it out loud, it was obviously nothing more than a bedtime story.
“Yes.” he said without meeting her eye. “They were my company in the rebel army. We were archers.”
“Really?” Elves weren’t the heroes in many stories, “What were they like?”
“Brutal.” his tone was even, no pride in it, no nostalgic sadness. “There were city elves who wanted to help the rebellion. I suggested taking advantage of their superior eye sight. We ambushed enemy camps from afar under cover of darkness. They never saw us coming.” That last remark was accompanied by the slightest glimpse of a smirk.
“I can’t believe they’re real.”
“I’m surprised the elves remember them.”
They both fell silent again. She was used to humans seeing her people as vermin and treating them accordingly. Not all of them, but enough of them that it was never surprising when they did. But Loghain, he’d made elves into warriors, into heroes – only to turn around and sell them. Suddenly, she felt desperate to see sign of guilt from him. Some twitch of his eye, some furrow of his brow, something that signalled to her that he knew what he’d done and that he regretted it.
“What happened to them?”
“To the Night Elves?” he paused, “A few went to find the Dalish. Most stayed in Gwaren.”
“That’s your land, right?”
“It was, yes.” he looked right at her, “You’re so young. How much do you know about the war?”
“Honestly? Not much other than ‘Orlais bad.’ In the alienage they mainly stuck to the bedtimes stories about the Night Elves led by the mighty Hero of River Dane”
There is was. There was the guilt on the Hero of River Dane’s face. Or maybe she was imagining it because the alternative was too depressing.
“How could you do it? How could you sell people?”
“I –“ he started but she cut him off,
“Don’t bother. I’m not trying to convince you of anything. Just – fuck you. Fuck you for doing that.”
“Do you expect an apology?” sarcasm was dripping from his every word.
“Would that be such an unreasonable thing to expect.”
“We were at war –,” he was close to shouting. She wondered if his temper was always so close to blowing up. She’d been managing to keep her own temper in check since Loghain had joined them. But she could feel the anger rising up now.
“Right, war. And you’re the general. You’re above it all. Well fuck that and fuck you. You sold my father.”
“I did,” he held her gaze, “and I’d do it again.”
Silence fell between them, neither willing to blink first. She had right on her side but she also knew no amount of arguing would convince him of that. They still had three days to travel together until they reached Redcliffe, and Kallian couldn’t think of anyway to continue this line of conversation that wouldn’t things worse, so why bother?
“You know what? Fuck this.” She stood up abruptly and went to her tent. She reappeared a few seconds later holding two tankards and a bottle full of a thick, black liquid that seemed to be glowing.
“Here.” she thrust a tankard into his hand. Her father disapproved of her and Shianni’s tendency to default to alcohol to distract them, but Maker it was affective.
She filled Loghain’s tankard up with the peculiar liquor then sat back down and filled her own. Loghain eyed it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip.
“This stuff seems familiar.” he mused.
“I found it in some old mage’s basement in Honneleth. I’ve no idea what’s in it but I thought we could both do with a drink.” She knocked back the tankard, “Andraste’s ass, that’s disgusting.” she spluttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she refilled her tankard.
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve had worse.” Loghain looked almost amused or perhaps just grateful for the change of subject.
“You should try the stuff Oghren brews. It’s bad enough to make you swear yourself to a life of sobriety. Well- until it knocks you out. Then you’re grateful for it.”
“I think I’ll forego drinking anything the dwarf recommends.”
“That’s probably wise.”
He took another sip.
“Wise. No one’s called me that recently.”
“Maker, I can’t imagine why.”
He found her beyond confusing. She had every right to hate him, even to kill him, yet there didn’t seem to be any mirth in her laugh. She wasn’t mocking him she was just – laughing. She was half his size yet had managed to draw first blood when they’d duelled. She was completely lacking any military experience yet had managed to raise an army. He drank what was left in his tankard and she immediately filled it back up for him.
Each of them had a thousand questions they wanted to ask the other. The silence was daring them to fill it. Loghain broke first,
“How did you end up with the Wardens?”
For a second, she looked surprised by the question. She held his gaze.
“I murdered Arl Kendells’ son for raping my cousin.” Loghain hadn’t really expected her to answer, let alone be so blunt.
“Good for you.” he replied without missing a beat. Not the response she’d expected either.
Kallian hadn’t actually spoken to anyone about what happened that day, not even Zevran. It could have been the effect of the liquor or that she couldn’t care less what the disgraced teyrn thought of her, or most likely a combination of both – but she found herself carrying on.
“I was supposed to get married. My father had arranged the whole thing. In the middle of the ceremony, Vaughan showed up with his friends – they carried us off, me, my cousin, my friends. For a party.” Loghain’s face contorted in disgust but he didn’t interrupt.
“They killed my friend. When my fiancé tried to rescue me, they killed him too. The idiot had only known me half a day. They took Shianni though. And before I could … I didn’t get to her in time. I did get to him though. And I slit his fucking throat.”
Kallian’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground as she recounted the story she’d spent the last year trying desperately not the think about.
“We made it back to the alienage, but the guard caught up. It was join the wardens or hang. I’m still not convinced I made the right choice.”
She hadn’t admitted that last part before even to herself, let alone out loud. She was really starting to feel the effect of the liquor now.
Loghain knew first hand that nothing he could say would come close to being adequate. He’d met Vaughan Kendells at court more than once. He was close to Anora in age.
“You did the right thing.” was all he could think to say.
She nodded slightly then sat up straighter, visibly reverting back into her lighter, flippant, usual self. She’d never been a maudlin drunk. It didn’t do to dwell on the bad stuff. Especially now, with the sheer number of horrors behind her - and in front of her.
“Well you would say that,” she forced herself to grin at him, “If I’d hanged it would just have been Alistair at the Landsmeet. And he’d have sliced your head clean off.”
“Perhaps that would have the right decision.”
“Well you ungrateful nug-humper.” her laugh was genuine this time when she saw the startled expression she’d elicited from him.
“Why didn’t you let him kill me?”
“Urgh you’re really not a happy drunk are you.”
He merely held her gaze until she abandoned the attempt to swerve the question and instead elected to answer with the kind of blunt honesty only the intoxicated are capable of.
“It was your stupid fucking hair.”
“My – what?” he actually laughed, just for a short moment. The sound felt foreign to him.
“Anora.” she said as though it clarified everything. When she saw the confused expression still on his face she carried on.
“She came to me at Arl Eamon’s estate. She wanted my backing at the Landsmeet. When we were talking she kept slipping in all these little stories about you. About her. Something about you carrying a rose in a saddlebag back from Denerin for your wife. One about you letting her braid your hair when she was a little girl.”
For a moment he was confused, then it dawned on him what she’d done.
He was speechless. When Anora had appeared at the Landsmeet to oppose him, he’d thought she hated him. But apparently, after everything, she had saved him.
“Eamon was making a big fuss about Alistair and how I would have to be,” she attempted to mimic his voice, “the arbiter of the dispute. Your daughter thought I wanted to kill you. She told me she understood, that she knew you had to pay, going on like she’d just let me chop your head clean off your shoulders. Then she looked at me with big wide eyes and told me a story, about you letting her braid your hair. And that you’d worn the tangled result to court just because it made her smile.”
“My daughter,” he spoke slowly, “is a master politician.”
“Oh I know. I knew exactly what she was trying to do. But it didn’t matter that I knew. Because it worked anyway. I saw her look at you, and I saw those stupid braids tucked behind your ears and I couldn’t fucking do it.”
“Clever girl.” he murmured, more to himself than to Kallian. He reached forward to grab the liquor bottle, feeling somewhat dizzy as when he moved. He went to pour some out but found they had finished off the bottle between them.
“Oops.” Kallian giggled as she watched nothing but dregs empty into his tankard. The campfire was still burning strong but it was getting colder as the evening drew on. She grabbed a nearby blanket, laid it out on the ground closer to the warmth and sat down. Loghain shuffled forwards onto the ground too. She grabbed a few more blankets to wrap herself up in and tossed another to him.
He could tell the drink was really starting to affect her now, she seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open. She lay back so her head was just propped up with the logs they’d been sitting on. Loghain followed suit.
“Alcohol helps with the nightmares.” she said, staring up at the sky now. He didn’t need her to explain any more, he knew exactly what kind of nightmares she meant. He’d always had trouble sleeping, ever since he was a boy. But the nightmares that had started after the Joining were something else entirely.
“That’s good to know.” was all he said in response.
They both fell silent again, trying not to think about what was to come.