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Maric's rule was young, and Ferelden still threatened to buckle under the political pressure.
Still, it was the first time that anything like this had happened.
Maric sat back in his throne, frowning a little at the four men in his audience. They had not been polite, and occasionally shot glances at the teyrn's sword. The king did not appear to be a threat of any kind, dressed casually in a wrinkled white shirt and dirty riding boots-- He did not scare them, no, but the man beside him did.
Teyrn Loghain stood in his grand armor like a solitary pillar, sturdy and unmoving. His icy blue eyes pierced each of the men individually with a slowly increasing hostility, but his feet did not move and his gaze did not falter.
Maric shifted uneasily. "So... Might I ask what exactly the point of your audience with me is? You've been... avoidant."
The man on the far right stepped forward-- he was lean, with dark eyes that darted across the room constantly. Loghain didn't like him, and the two had locked eyes a number of times, but the shifty man always looked away first. "We've come to offer a service."
"A service?" Maric raised his brows and leaned forward, his interest piqued. "What do you mean?"
The man took a half step forward. "We'd like to do Ferelden the service of putting Orlais back on its throne."
Loghain moved like lightning. Maric could barely process the dagger being thrown forward towards his chest before the other let out a roar and lunged, allowing the blade to ricochet off of his heavy chestplate. The three other men rushed forward, and Loghain made quick work of them with a few easy slices.
The assassin himself would be given a more impressive death. Just as he tried to slip past to get to the King, Loghain roared and brought his sword down in a mighty arc. "No!"
The blade met his neck, and Loghain brutally beheaded the man in the middle of the throne room. The noise coupling it was sickening, and blood sprayed onto the both of them, dribbling in fat drops from the end of Loghain's sword.
The silence was immediate.
Loghain, breathing heavily, looked up at his King. The poor man was terrified, blood splattered across his shirt and face-- for just a moment, Loghain regretted that the blood would stain those gorgeous golden locks of Maric's, but the feeling quickly gave way to more sensible emotions of quiet concern and relief.
Maric stared in shock at the other, eyes wide with horror. "...L-Loghain?"
He wiped the blood from his sword off on the man's clothing, and stood up straight, sheathing the weapon. "...Are you alright?" Maric gave a tiny nod, and so Loghain stepped forward and removed his gauntlets, then gently wiped most of the blood from the trembling man's face.
"Wh-What was... What was that?"
"An assassin."
"...A-Ah." He seemed to be having trouble digesting that information. "...I should have expected it, I was a fool-- if not for you, I'd... I'd be dead right now."
Loghain looked at him a moment. Sometimes he wanted to just throttle Maric for being so naive and get him to think about consequences more, but as the dark man watched his King, he found it increasingly difficult to be angry. As the king stared helplessly at the body on the ground, he pursed his lips and took Maric's hands. "Come with me. Rowan and I will get you cleaned up, and I will deal with this once you are alright."
Maric nodded and stood, looking a little faraway-- it clearly unnerved him to be reminded that, even after all his hard work to make things right, there were men and women out there that wanted nothing more than for him to die.
Loghain touched his face with a unique tenderness that only Maric ever saw. "Rest assured that you will not die. Not while I still draw breath."