Unknown - Dragon Age

He pointed his sword toward her. “You there! Katriel! Step forward!”

Katriel’s green eyes flicked to Maric, and he nodded reassuringly. She collected herself and moved forward into the light until she could be seen by all the noblemen. Shyly, she curtsied while keeping her head low.

“This is the woman,” Loghain gestured towards her, “who brought us our information. We know the names of those within West Hill who provided this information, men and elves like her friendly to the rebellion. They will provide us the chance to have our own people sneak in as servants, to open the fortress gates from within.”

He paused to let that fact sink in. “In fact, she has even volunteered to be one of those servants.” He rounded on the nobles, staring at them coldly. “She, an elf, has proved herself braver and more eager to aid her Prince than an entire room full of the pride of Ferelden.”

The angry retorts began again, with many men leaping up

defensively and shaking their fists at Loghain. He stood his ground.

Some of the noblemen were outraged, and one in particular shoved to the front of several of his fellows. He was a fat man with curly red hair named Bann Donall, if Loghain remembered right. Loghain and Rowan had met briefly with him during their travels in the Bannorn, and had been summarily dismissed by him without so much as a discussion or even an offer of hospitality.

“You dare compare us to a knife-ear?” he hollered, his cheeks flushed with fury. “What do we care if some elven slattern offers her worthless life for her betters? What chance do you think she has of opening the fortress gates!”

Loghain saw the elven woman’s eyes go blank, and her face turned red—though whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t say. Before he could respond, however, Maric dashed into the middle of the hall. His eyes were wide with a rage that Loghain had never seen in him before.

“If anyone has a chance, she does,” Maric snapped. He stared challengingly at the red-haired bann, and for a moment he seemed all of ten feet tall. “And her life isn’t worthless. If you want a reason why we’re standing here at all, look no further than her. I value her life greatly, and the fact that she is willing to risk it even for ignorant men such as you makes me value it all the more.”

He turned and coolly regarded the rest of the nobles, all of whom watched him in silence. Katriel’s eyes were wide with astonishment, but she continued to stare at the floor where she stood.

“You think me capricious?” Maric snarled. No one answered him. “You think me ready to throw our fortunes away on foolish plans? I tell you that we can strike at the usurper only through the chevaliers, and in order to do that, I will use whoever I believe can get the job done!”

He marched up to Bann Donall, staring him in the face, and the fat man retreated a step. “You think we can pick and choose who that is, my lord? Do you think we are holding a court to decide at our leisure just how the usurper will be defeated? We must act because we can, and we must act now !”

Maric spun around and marched back toward Katriel. He held out a hand to her, and though she stared at him in horror, she took his hand and he brought her closer, smiling gently. “I believe that the Maker brought this woman to me for a reason,” he announced, “and furthermore I believe she and those we send with her are meant to succeed.” He turned to frown at Bann Donall. “I believe it enough that I promise this: If the gates of West Hill are not opened, we will not attack. I will not throw lives away on a hopeless endeavor.”

Maric turned to look at Katriel again, reaching out with his free hand to lift her chin. He grinned, staring into her eyes. “But they will be open. I believe it,” he said firmly.

Katriel blinked rapidly, clearly disconcerted and moved and uncertain how to respond. “I . . . I will do my best,” she finally stuttered. A blush rose up her cheeks, and she looked away.

The babble began again, voices clashing against each other in argument. Some applauded, and many bowed their heads in thought, while others shook them in dismay. The anger had drained out of the room, however, and when Maric turned to regard the line of tables before him, he seemed very much the ruler he was supposed to be. Some of the men and women nearest him began to kneel.

Bann Donall stepped forward again. “Are you all mad?” he shouted, looking around at the gathering. He was so beside himself, he was shaking, his meaty fists pumping furiously at the air. “Are you actually going to listen to this child and his fantasies!”

The room fell silent again. Maric stared at the man coldly but said nothing.

“The only reason he has gotten this far is because of the Arl! You all know this!” The Bann spun about, looking for support from the room. Many refused to meet his gaze, but others appeared indecisive. “We must face reality!” he screamed, gesticulating wildly. “King Meghren is going nowhere! We would be better off locking this pup in a cage and giving him up before the King finds out we were even here!”

An uncomfortable silence greeted the red-haired man’s words, and before he could continue, Loghain leaped across the room and put his blade through the man’s chest. The Bann stared down with naked disbelief at the sword protruding from his chest, and as he did so, bright blood gushed from his mouth. He made a wet, sucking noise of dismay, and Loghain pulled the blade out of him.

The fat man slid to the ground and landed with a dull thud. A gasp of horror rippled through the crowd, and the sound of many chairs scraping along the stone floor echoed as the nobles retreated from the sight. They stared at Loghain with trepidation, uncertain whether he was about to turn on them next. Even Maric watched Loghain with a questioning look, still protectively holding the elven woman’s hands.

As the room fell into an uneasy quiet, Loghain calmly wiped his sword on the Bann’s expensive robe. He noticed that some of the nobles were still backing away as if repelled by the murder, and some were even about to make surreptitious exits. He didn’t need to look up to know that Rowan would have returned by now, and that she would be sending men to block the doorways that led out of the hall.

“You forget yourselves,” Loghain snapped. The room was absolutely still, and he had everyone’s complete attention. “This is not some beggar asking you for a handout, but your rightful King. We are at war with the Orlesians, the very ones who conquered our land and have been slowly taking it from you.”

With a grimace, he kicked Bann Donall’s body and it rolled

several feet away from him. It stopped faceup, revealing the Bann’s horrified expression and lifeless eyes. A dark, wet stain was slowly spreading across the front of his robe, and blood was pooling around him. Many stared at the body, but nobody moved. “You all can get busy trying to think of how many ways you can commit treason in order to kiss the usurper’s feet,” Loghain continued, “or you can act like Fereldans and stop waiting for us to do all the work on our own. The choice is yours.”

Loghain stopped, wiped his mouth, and sheathed his blade. Not a single word was spoken in the hall, but he could see many faces nodding grimly. With any luck, he hadn’t sunk Maric’s chances completely.

He turned to Maric, who was still standing in front of the elven woman. She regarded Loghain warily, but hardly seemed frightened for all of Maric’s protectiveness. “I’m sorry,” he told Maric with a shrug. “It had to be said.”

Maric seemed caught somewhere between horror and amusement. “No, no,” he said. “That seemed . . . appropriate?”

“I certainly thought so.”

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